Dates and Memories

Today I’m thinking about all the men in my life who have demonstrated what it is to be a good father. Or father figure. Like, for instance, my dad, father-in-law, guy friends, granddads, stepdads, pet dads, and even women who have had to be both mom and dad at times. I have seen so many wonderful examples, and I’m grateful.

 

I know there are a lot of us who are missing our dads today. May we find comfort and peace and remember all those years that we were lucky enough to have had them in our lives.

 

Today would have been my father-in-law’s 95^th birthday. We usually celebrated both his birthday and Father’s Day together even though the two occasions were off by a few days. But sometimes – like today – both events happened simultaneously. So I hope you are being celebrated today, Morris. We're thinking of you here.

 

And, of course, I’m missing my Vince and wishing him a happy heavenly Father’s Day. I hope his kids think of him today and miss him. I know he loved being their dad.

 

June is a month filled with significant dates and memories of my own dad. I’m missing him today on Father’s Day. I’ll be thinking of him on the 25^th as the day he passed in 2016. And then on the 28^th when he and mom would have celebrated their 73^rd wedding anniversary. And then a few weeks later on July 16^th, when he would have celebrated his 99^th birthday. (I think my calculator was working correctly.)

 

Even though he’s not here for me to call and wish him a happy day – I think of him daily. And I thank him for everything he did for me and the example he set for me and my siblings - and all who knew and loved him.

 

The top photo is a blurry picture of my dad and me that I discovered in my parents’ photo collection. Whenever I’d visit them at their cottage on Cape Cod for more than a quick weekend, Dad and I (and any other siblings who were there) went deep sea fishing out of Plymouth, MA.

 

That day we, um, clearly did not have a whole lot of luck. Dad’s mantra of “here, fishy, fishy!” apparently didn’t work, but hearing him say it always made me smile.

 

Anyway, he must have decided that the one puny fish we did catch (and, truthfully, I’m guessing he caught it rather than me since he was the actual skilled fisherman) could still serve as dinner for the two of them. I, on the other hand, was probably offered a hot dog or whatever leftover was hanging around in the fridge as I’m not fond of seafood. So he had the mate on the boat fillet the fish. Even though it's a little hard to see, the fish we brought home was in the small sandwich-sized baggie that we’re holding.

 

I love the wry look on Dad’s face as he’s showing off our “big” catch. It made me laugh then and it still makes me laugh now. Too bad mom wasn’t the best photographer in the world and it’s so blurry. But that’s okay – I still love the memory!

 

As I was looking for the photo under “fishing” I came across lots of photos of us fishing with dad. And lots of photos of dad fishing. They bring up so many happy memories of days gone by.

 

And those are the best memories.

 

Happy Father’s Day to all you dads out there. May you make lots of best memories!

Dad teaching granddaughter Chloe to fish.

And, okay, this is Andrew's big catch.

Proof that Dad caught more than puny fish!

The Old Green Leather Wallet

I was cleaning out some things today and I came across my mom’s old green leather wallet.

The wallet she has had for decades. The wallet that is falling apart at the seams. The wallet we tried many times to replace for her – only to have her stick with the old green one she already had.

She liked the smaller size of it. She liked that it didn’t have too many pockets and slots for credit cards. She liked that it had softened with age and she liked that she knew where the treasured photos of her husband and children and grandchild were.

 

She also knew which compartment held the ratty card on which she’d written the phone numbers and addresses of those important to her.

I hadn’t looked in the wallet since mom moved in to her memory care unit nearly four years ago. When she first arrived, she carried her purse. Mom never went anywhere without it and moving to a memory care unit was no different. While I knew she wouldn’t need a purse there, I didn’t try to dissuade her from bringing it.

But we looked inside her wallet so I could take her ID and health care cards and any other important information she carried. The only money mom had in the wallet was a $10 dollar bill, which she handed to me.

“Well, I guess I won’t be needing this anymore, she said. “Why don’t you keep it, Jane?”

I was already an emotional wreck having to bring mom to this place that I knew she’d never leave, so the act of handing over the last little bit of cash in her wallet almost did me in. I had to excuse myself for a moment to recapture a little composure.

When I rejoined her, she’d already forgotten about her purse, the green wallet and the ten dollar bill.

So when I came across her wallet in my purging frenzy today, it stopped me dead in my tracks. I hadn’t looked inside that wallet for ages.

I carefully opened it up and inside that old wallet were the parts of one’s life that seem mundane – until the person no longer has any use for them.

Inside her change compartment were, yes, a few coins – but she also carried some bobby pins for her hair. That compartment also held a religious medal – the same medal that mom gave me from time to time in moments of strife.

She meant to give me some peace by sending me that small token – but whenever I see those medals, I think of mom.  And while it brings a little sadness, it also does bring me a sense of comfort.

Also in the change purse was a small polished green stone. I suspect she picked it up on one of their many trips around the world. But I don’t think we’ll ever really know why that stone had such significance that mom kept it in her wallet.

I removed her frequent shopper cards for a grocery store and several pharmacies in Alliance.  

The card she always carried for the grocery store in Wareham had already been discarded. It could be that dad took it out of her wallet when they sold the cottage at the Cape knowing they’d never need that card again.

For some reason, she carried dad’s library card in her wallet, although perhaps they both used just one card when they borrowed from the library.

Or perhaps with the advancement of her dementia mom lost her library card and rather than replace it, they simply used dad’s card.  

But seeing dad’s signature on the back of the card brought me to tears. So many memories came flooding back.

I remember going to the library with them as a child and later visiting the bookmobile on my own whenever it came around my neighborhood. I’d check out as many books as I was allowed and then I’d struggle to carry them home careful not to drop any of my treasures.

I am incredibly happy that my parents instilled a love of reading in all their children – so much so that sometimes when we’d all gather together, we would quietly spend time together reading or doing crossword puzzles or jumbles.

Sometimes we’d all be so still, someone would invariably say, “Aren’t we a lively bunch?!”

But it was a comfortable silence broken only by someone commenting on an interesting passage or someone else asking for an answer to the clue in the crossword puzzle.

Nowadays, people can gather together and quietly spend time scrolling or texting or YouTubing or whatever it is they’re doing on their phones, but that togetherness doesn’t seem to have quite the same camaraderie.

In later years, I’d drive my parents to the small library in Wareham. Vacations at the Cape meant I got to catch up on lots of reading and I’d check out as many of the new best sellers as I could manage in the time I had there.

Dad went from reading regular books, to reading Large Print books and then later still when macular degeneration was winning the war against his eyesight, he’d borrow books on tape.

Mom, meanwhile, transitioned from historical novels and biographies to cookbooks where she could read snippets of dishes she’d most likely never prepare. But she always liked looking at cookbooks.

Toward the end of their visits to the library Dad would help her choose travel books where she could look at the photos and he’d help her try to recapture some memories of her time spent in those locales.

Finally, inside that old green wallet were photos of her husband and her children growing up. Our high school graduation photos were in there and tucked behind them were one or two of our grade school photos.  She also kept several photos of her granddaughter, Chloe, whom she adored.

There was a small black and white photo of dad taken in April of 1953 in Winnipeg. Dad was nattily dressed in a bow tie and an overcoat smiling as he sat on some steps in front of a vast pillar.

Shortly after they returned from their honeymoon, he had been given orders to report to an Air Force station in Winnipeg, the capital of the Canadian province of Manitoba. In later years mom and dad both recounted stories of that time, with her travelling by train to the remote station and staying with him in housing with no running water. 

It was a picture of dad that I don’t think I’d ever seen before. And it made me nostalgic for times that had passed and can never be recaptured again.

Much as that old green wallet captured snippets of mom’s life. She will never relive those times again, but in looking through her wallet, I got to experience some of those special moments in her life – and ours, too.