HerStory

My mother's still working on her obit, and while she hasn't shared it with me in its entirety, she says it's coming along nicely.

This project all started, you'll remember, when she began comparing a decrepit, demented old lady at her Funny Farm, whom they called Little Betty, to the woman's sterling credentials as they appeared in the Kansas City Star upon her death a couple weeks ago.

Mom couldn't believe that Little Betty ("She didn't look like much to me...") could have had such an eventful, successful, ambitious, and illustrious past.

"I've added something new," Mom says. "I'd forgotten to say that I was born in Milwaukee and moved to Kansas City when I was five. What do you think?"

"Well, yeah. You've gotta mention your birthplace. Did you also mention that you were the only child of Carl and Bernice Pattengale?"

"No. I hate all three of those names: Carl, Bernice, and Pattengale. And I hate my middle name, too. None of those names will be in my obit."

"But, Mom, won't the readers wonder how you got to Kansas City without parents bringing you here? And wouldn't that make them wonder the names of your parents?"

"Nobody cares about that. I'm going to put that I flew here with angel's wings."

"Um, you know I love you, Mom. But you're no angel..."

Now, I can understand how young people can visit a nursing home and imagine that the residents there have never had a life. Young people, after all, really only have the experience of however many years they've actually lived from which to draw reliable conclusions. A 15-year-old pretty much understands something of what it is to have been every age, up to and including the age of 15.

But wouldn't you think a 75-year-old woman, who's surrounded by a retirement community of her peers, would easily understand that the deteriorating minds and bodies she's confronted with every day are real people with real histories? That each of them is more than the fragile, stooped shell he appears to be, that each one has a story that's taken a whole lifetime to tell?

It makes me question whether I might be looking at my own peers with the same lack of recognition. Do I see their weaknesses rather than their wisdom, their frailties more clearly than their faith, their blemishes but not their beauty?

"After I'm dead, you're going to put the names of Carl, Bernice, Pattengale, and Gracia in my obit, aren't you?"

"I gotta tell ya, it's gonna happen, babe."

"Katy, you make me so darned mad."

"Oh, yeah? Tell me something I don't know."

She raises her hand like she might slap me, but we both know she's playing. We laugh, and I remind myself to remember: No matter what she may look like to others, to me, and even to herself, this isn't just some old lady who never had a life.

This is the woman who had the guts to give me life, and then some.

And you know what? Whether I'm smart enough to realize it or not, she's still got it goin' on.

Posted by Katy on 06/19/05 at 09:24 PM

Fallible Comments...

Maybe it happens everywhere...perhaps I didn't start looking at the obituary page as frequently as I do now when I lived in other cities - a topic I don't really wish to explore with anyone including a therapist - but here in San Antonio you'll often see obituaries featuring photographs of very young people and be sort of shocked thinking, "what a shame they died so young", only to read the information and learn they were 70, 80, 90 or older when they keeled over.

I mean it is extremely common to see a photograph of a handsome 19 year old man and then read the obituary of a guy who died in his 90's.

I always thought this strange (not as strange as the people who put their "Glamour Shot" pictures in their obits - does anyone sit with their hand on their face like that in real life? But that's anothe rant) until I started thinking about my own life. I think there is an age we all reach and kind of stay at...our bodies may grow old, our hair may turn gray, but in our minds we're 19 or 25 or 39 and holding.

They say the music most folks claim as "their music" is the music they listened to while in high school, perhaps it's the same with life in general. We grasp onto an era of familiarity, popularity, comfortability...when life was good...and in our minds that's where at least a part of us always stays.

I applaud your Mom. Let her make sure folks she leaves behind remember what has been important to her...not to them.

Go for it...just don't use the Glamour Shot please :)

-M
-----
Posted by Michael Main on 06/20/05 at 06:08 AM
Oh, Katy, I thought I was gonna get the obit name thing for my blog! She told me that after the shower yesterday! She also wrote down that "the food will come from Hi-V. Call them first." I laughed and told her that we'd just show up on the morning of the funeral and say we were there to get the food. :)
Posted by Bridget on 06/20/05 at 07:13 AM
One of my peers buried his mother fifteen or so years ago. The lady was in her 70s, but the pic they chose (or maybe she chose it in advance?) was from the 1940s. She was fabulously beautiful, and the weird thing was that she looked EXACTLY like my friend's wife!

Evidently, he wanted a girl just like the girl that married dear old Dad!

Right this second, Michael and Bridget, I'm a little spooked when I remember that Mom moved into the Funny Farm three years ago tomorrow. Her long term care insurance only pays for three years, and then she's on her own dime. At the time, she vowed the Funny Farm would never get a cent of her own money, that she'd be dead inside of three years, no matter what.

I THINK she's reconsidered that point until, hopefully, it's moot. Sheesh. You never quite know with Mama!
Posted by Katy on 06/20/05 at 02:08 PM
Katy, I daresay you're "smart enough to realize it" because you just said it. I love it.
Posted by Paula on 06/21/05 at 09:01 PM

Page 1 of 1 pages

Commenting is not available in this weblog entry.

Next entry: For Your Monday Morning Entertainment

Previous entry: Godspeed

<< Back to main


		more fallible attitude »

Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	HerStory My mother's still working on her obit, and while she hasn't shared it with me in its entirety, she says it's coming along nicely. This project all started, you'll remember, when she began comparing a decrepit, demented old lady at her Funny Farm, whom they called Little Betty, to the woman's sterling credentials as they appeared in the Kansas City Star upon her death a couple weeks ago. Mom couldn't believe that Little Betty ("She didn't look like much to me...") could have had such an eventful, successful, ambitious, and illustrious past. "I've added something new," Mom says. "I'd forgotten to say that I was born in Milwaukee and moved to Kansas City when I was five. What do you think?" "Well, yeah. You've gotta mention your birthplace. Did you also mention that you were the only child of Carl and Bernice Pattengale?" "No. I hate all three of those names: Carl, Bernice, and Pattengale. And I hate my middle name, too. None of those names will be in my obit." "But, Mom, won't the readers wonder how you got to Kansas City without parents bringing you here? And wouldn't that make them wonder the names of your parents?" "Nobody cares about that. I'm going to put that I flew here with angel's wings." "Um, you know I love you, Mom. But you're no angel..." Now, I can understand how young people can visit a nursing home and imagine that the residents there have never had a life. Young people, after all, really only have the experience of however many years they've actually lived from which to draw reliable conclusions. A 15-year-old pretty much understands something of what it is to have been every age, up to and including the age of 15. But wouldn't you think a 75-year-old woman, who's surrounded by a retirement community of her peers, would easily understand that the deteriorating minds and bodies she's confronted with every day are real people with real histories? That each of them is more than the fragile, stooped shell he appears to be, that each one has a story that's taken a whole lifetime to tell? It makes me question whether I might be looking at my own peers with the same lack of recognition. Do I see their weaknesses rather than their wisdom, their frailties more clearly than their faith, their blemishes but not their beauty? "After I'm dead, you're going to put the names of Carl, Bernice, Pattengale, and Gracia in my obit, aren't you?" "I gotta tell ya, it's gonna happen, babe." "Katy, you make me so darned mad." "Oh, yeah? Tell me something I don't know." She raises her hand like she might slap me, but we both know she's playing. We laugh, and I remind myself to remember: No matter what she may look like to others, to me, and even to herself, this isn't just some old lady who never had a life. This is the woman who had the guts to give me life, and then some. And you know what? Whether I'm smart enough to realize it or not, she's still got it goin' on. Posted by Katy on 06/19/05 at 09:24 PM Fallible Comments... Maybe it happens everywhere...perhaps I didn't start looking at the obituary page as frequently as I do now when I lived in other cities - a topic I don't really wish to explore with anyone including a therapist - but here in San Antonio you'll often see obituaries featuring photographs of very young people and be sort of shocked thinking, "what a shame they died so young", only to read the information and learn they were 70, 80, 90 or older when they keeled over. I mean it is extremely common to see a photograph of a handsome 19 year old man and then read the obituary of a guy who died in his 90's. I always thought this strange (not as strange as the people who put their "Glamour Shot" pictures in their obits - does anyone sit with their hand on their face like that in real life? But that's anothe rant) until I started thinking about my own life. I think there is an age we all reach and kind of stay at...our bodies may grow old, our hair may turn gray, but in our minds we're 19 or 25 or 39 and holding. They say the music most folks claim as "their music" is the music they listened to while in high school, perhaps it's the same with life in general. We grasp onto an era of familiarity, popularity, comfortability...when life was good...and in our minds that's where at least a part of us always stays. I applaud your Mom. Let her make sure folks she leaves behind remember what has been important to her...not to them. Go for it...just don't use the Glamour Shot please :) -M ----- Posted by Michael Main on 06/20/05 at 06:08 AM Oh, Katy, I thought I was gonna get the obit name thing for my blog! She told me that after the shower yesterday! She also wrote down that "the food will come from Hi-V. Call them first." I laughed and told her that we'd just show up on the morning of the funeral and say we were there to get the food. :) Posted by Bridget on 06/20/05 at 07:13 AM One of my peers buried his mother fifteen or so years ago. The lady was in her 70s, but the pic they chose (or maybe she chose it in advance?) was from the 1940s. She was fabulously beautiful, and the weird thing was that she looked EXACTLY like my friend's wife! Evidently, he wanted a girl just like the girl that married dear old Dad! Right this second, Michael and Bridget, I'm a little spooked when I remember that Mom moved into the Funny Farm three years ago tomorrow. Her long term care insurance only pays for three years, and then she's on her own dime. At the time, she vowed the Funny Farm would never get a cent of her own money, that she'd be dead inside of three years, no matter what. I THINK she's reconsidered that point until, hopefully, it's moot. Sheesh. You never quite know with Mama! Posted by Katy on 06/20/05 at 02:08 PM Katy, I daresay you're "smart enough to realize it" because you just said it. I love it. Posted by Paula on 06/21/05 at 09:01 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: For Your Monday Morning Entertainment Previous entry: Godspeed << Back to main


copyright 2011, ngenius media inc.

Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

Recent Posts

Search

Syndicate

HerStory

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri