Sandwiched
I’m writing this on Wednesday, the day before I head up to Mishawaka, my hometown near South Bend, for a viewing for a dear friend’s mother. I had some amazing times with Kevin and his family growing up, and while there will certainly be sadness, I look forward to talking with some people that I haven’t seen in decades.
But I already know this trip will also bring me sadness outside of the funeral home. Since it’s located just a couple of miles from the house where I grew up, I plan to take a drive through my old neighborhood.
I haven’t seen my mother’s house since we sold it in December of 2017. Actually, while I helped to pack and clear things out of it, my brother and his wife did the lion’s share of the work. Kudos to them!
I’m sure there will be changes to the outside of the house. I also know just seeing it will bring back a flood of memories – and some tears. If someone were to ask me what causes the greatest amount of sadness when you’re a member of the sandwich generation, I would say it’s remembering how your parents used to be.
Seeing the sidewalk on my old block will undoubtedly make me remember my mother holding the back of my bicycle when I first ditched the training wheels. The poor woman ran up and down … up and down … up and down that sidewalk. I took longer than most kids to get confident on two wheels and it shows when you see a picture of Mom from that day!
Looking at the front porch will take me back to all those times I’d see Mom with her nose buried in a book. Mom, my sister Vicky, my niece Melissa, and I were all voracious readers. We could have formed our own book club as we passed novels back and forth between us. Vicky, Melissa, and I still do.
Viewing the bushes, flowers, and plants that I hope are still there will help me remember Mom working outside in the warmer months to make our yard the envy of the neighborhood. She had an incredible green thumb that I did not inherit.
These days, it’s hard for Mom to even walk down the hallways of her facility. She can’t seem to focus anymore in order to read a book. And whenever we bring her flowers or plants for her patio, she forgets to water them and they die quickly.
I’ve written that it’s important to remember that our parents haven’t always been elderly and frail. But I haven’t shared how those memories can slice into your heart, form a lump in your throat, and bring tears to your eyes. Despite the pain, I know I’ll drive into that neighborhood and be glad to have gone down memory lane. In my mind, it will always be important to remember Mom as energetic, a reader, immersed in greenery, and full of life.