Thinking a lot, posting lessLeave a comment
September 21, 2009 by 8junebugs
Many thanks for the prayers and well wishes last week. Memere is stable and out of ICU, and she seems to understand some things and recognize people. She’s able to do some things with her left side, but Dad says it’s not quite consistent — they don’t know how much is intentional and how much is muscle memory (i.e., if you wear glasses, do you even know when or how often you adjust them? I don’t.).
I like to think that she might just be stubborn, too. Like, “I’ve lived 80+ years, young man, and I will lift my hand when I want to, not when you tell me to.” There is no scientific reason to think this, but it makes me smile.
Dad’s up there now and someone is with Memere at all times. (Finally, I see the benefit of having seven children…) His main worry this week is that the doctors will try to put her in a nursing home farther away from everyone — Burlington or Rutland, presumably. There’s a waiting list for the one in Middlebury, and no one really wants to wish for that waiting list to move quickly, but…
The closing for Mom’s house is still set for this Friday. I did sign a week-long extension on the financing side — the Labor Day holiday and some vacations bunged up the paperwork. As far as I know, though, we’re still on track.
My cousin’s husband told me it made them sad that the house is being sold to someone outside the family, that they would’ve loved to buy it if they could have. We would have loved that, too, but…would it ever have really been their house? Or would people have said they were going “up to Jeanne’s” until almost-11 Alexandra is in college?
We would have kept it if we could have. This way, though, it’s a new start for a new family. It’s their story now, and we have no choice but to find out what our own stories will be, too.
The writing desk from Mom’s house fits perfectly in the space where my fold-up desk from Target was sitting, and there’s room for two laptops on the desktop. I don’t remember the origin of the desk and neither did Dad, but it works. There are charming little cubbyholes for paper and envelopes, too…you know, for those Sunday afternoons when I need to catch up on my correspondence.
My highchair is in the massive front closet, and the rocking horse is in a corner of my room for now. All the wine glasses and goblets have been washed and incorporated into my stemware cabinet, and I’ll need to re-wrap and pack away the china. (I always said I’d take it — I never promised to use it. She never did, so I think that’s fair.)
I’m sorting through all the loose photos and albums and baby books, and I’ll have my gentle readers know that I was a delightful child. Cherubic, too.
I’ve uploaded a couple of old pictures to facebook in Memere’s honor, to share them with family, but otherwise I’m still trying to sort, scan, and store them safely — many are still stuck to the sticky pages we’ve all learned not to use. I don’t want to stick them into a scrapbook where the back can’t be seen without removing the photo, so I’m thinking about the slotted albums with a space for notes. (Any archivists out there? Recommendations are welcome.)
I’ve also instituted a new rule — any printed photo that comes into my house gets a note on the back about who, what, and when, especially the family photos. If I want to know these things, looking back at other old photos, it stands to reason that someone else may want the same thing some day.