You never know when life will change
- Mike Dewey: Life Lines
- September 2, 2023
- 695
Mom got the bad news right around Labor Day in 1980 and died on New Year’s Day about four months later.
There wasn’t a lot of time to prepare, but we held onto hope.
Her aggressive form of cancer wasn’t interested in making any deals, though each of us probably tried to bargain with the Lord.
I know I did.
When you’re 25, you’re young enough to believe in miracles but old enough to come to grips with an unalterable death sentence.
So when the end of her suffering finally came, there was a sense of relief, the overwhelming urge to set the funeral machine in motion.
The worst had already happened … now it was time to get things going, which was how my brother and I found ourselves shivering on the stoop of the convent in the midst of an Ohio snowstorm.
We hadn’t meant to bother the nuns; in fact, our only objective had been to knock on the door of the rectory and convey the news that something bad had happened and we needed a little guidance.
I don’t know where the parish priest was that night, but since it was New Year’s, he could have been the guest of any number of families, which was fine. I mean, just because our holiday had gone just about as badly as possible, the world kept on spinning.
My brother broke the ice when a nun answered the door.
“Our mom just died,” he said, wasting no words. “Can you help?”
“First thing,” she said, shooing us inside where it was cozy and warm, “is to get you two out of the snow and we’ll talk about it.”
It had been more than 10 years since either of us had attended elementary school, which meant neither of us knew her name.
That social nicety soon became a moot point when the rest of the sisterhood materialized, offering condolences and cups of hot tea.
“If you’d like,” said one with a conspirator’s smile, “I could splash in a jigger of something restorative. You two have had a long day.”
It’s those random acts of kindness I remember most fondly when I cast my memory back to those dark January days, the way people went the extra mile to tend to our family. They simply saw needs and did their very best to make sure they were met.
Bundt cakes and various casseroles began being stacked up on the front porch, and it wasn’t long before we had accumulated so much comfort food that we had to start freezing some of the containers, wanting not to waste our friends’ and neighbors’ gestures of care.
In the final analysis, though, after the calling hours and the funeral Mass and the graveside service, all that remained was missing Mom and how every year, right around Labor Day, you understand why her death left a void that could not ever be fully filled.
My wife never knew my mother, which remains one of my greatest regrets, right up there with her father’s death a week or two before we were married on the beach at Kitty Hawk. It would have been wonderful to watch him walk his daughter “down the aisle,” as it were, the Atlantic over one shoulder and the dunes over the other.
These are the memories that matter, and they offer sustenance, even as we count our blessings along with our losses, calculating not only what life has taken, but also all it has offered. It’s hard not to be grateful, especially when bad news gets tossed on your doorstep.
So I’ve tested positive for COVID.
There, I said it … that’s the hard part out of the way.
What happens next, as far as I understand, is that after five days, I’ll be tested a second time, which, I’m hoping, will be the end of it.
My symptoms range from a low-grade fever to chills, a general sense of tiredness and the ability to sleep for only a matter of hours, if that. I’ve been in touch with the doctor’s office and my boss at work, wanting them to know what’s been going on these days.
But that’s just the thing.
Aside from self-quarantining and wearing a mask in public, I’m not sure what else I should be doing, if anything. Years ago I got both vaccines and the booster, but clearly I should have done more.
It’s only been a matter of hours since I failed the test, but you know me, I pretty much share everything with you folks. It’s who I am.
So far I’ve still got my senses of taste and smell and have managed to avoid those crippling sore throats so often associated with COVID, but I know the worst could be yet to come.
With any luck, when I take the next test the day after Labor Day, I’ll be back on my feet again, eager to share more stories with you.
Until then, enjoy your holiday weekend and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, even if I have to knock on the door of the parish nunnery.
Mike Dewey can reached at Carolinamiked@aol.com or at 6211 Cardinal Drive, New Bern, NC 28560. He invites you to join the fun on his Facebook page, where we all await a better tomorrow.