Unlike these days when kids expect parties for every birthday, I only had one birthday party in my childhood. Actually I’ve only had one real birthday party in my life — not counting when family gets together. I used to be sad about that, but I think I like it better with just family.
I don’t know why my mom decided my 7th year was party-worthy. It couldn’t have been easy for her — she had an infant to care for.
I don’t remember too much about the party except for having this photo taken, hunting for taffy, and the ice cream. Mom decided to make her own ice cream and some of the kids said it was icky.
I’m Facebook friends with over half the girls in the photo.
L-R, back row: Kim Gibson, Devin Wolf, Cindy Choitz, Stephanie Gudeman. L-R, front row: ? (daughter of friend of mom), Me, Kathy Wolf, Lori Norris.
In Mom’s final years she reconnected with Richard, a friend from school. He was kind to her and genuinely loved her. He spent part of each day with her, sometimes spending the night. This was especially helpful after her dementia diagnosis. He knew about it long before my brother and I did; although I’d seen some signs I chose to ignore them.
While Richard was staunchly Catholic and went to church every Sunday, he didn’t force his religious views on anyone.
Once Mom was moved to my brother’s house Richard visited her at least twice weekly even though she rarely seemed to know who he was. She was always very happy to see him, so she must have known he was someone she loved and who loved her.
The night Mom died I had a dream that she rose out of her bed and seemed to want to escape the house, standing at the window on her tiptoes, arms fluttering behind her like a moth, eventually shattering into millions of sparks. I recounted this dream to Pastor Keith who we asked to speak at her funeral and he included it verbatim in his sermon. After the service Richard asked for a copy of both Pastor Keith’s sermon and what I said at the funeral.
A few days after the funeral I received this note from Richard:
Dear Donna [sic],
Thank you for your letter of your mom’s life and last night.
I really liked your dream of Pat’s looking out of the window at a bright light on tippy toes.
I think that whs the time she passed and touched the face of God.
My mom went to school with Jackie and remained friends with her for the rest of her life. Jackie had a daughter named Stephanie who was not much older than me. Maybe 2 or three years. We played together when we were young, then Stephanie moved to California. We sporadically kept in touch through letters. Dean and I drove to San Diego the summer we spent in Los Angeles and had dinner at a Mexican restaurant with Stephanie and her partner at the time, and maybe her son. More recently Stephanie and her husband visited us here in Bethesda and we spent some time visiting with her in LA one afternoon. Even more recently we’ve kept in touch on Facebook and through texts.
When my mom died and I helped clear out her house I came across Stephanie’s mom and dad’s wedding portrait. I texted a photo of it to Stephanie and asked if she was interested in it. She said she was so I put it in the pile of things to take home so I could mail it to her.
Once I got home I went through every box I’d brought from my mom’s house and couldn’t find it anywhere; I assumed I’d not packed it after all. I asked my brother to check to see if he could find it when he was in the house. No luck. I asked the estate sales people if they came across it. No luck. I told Stephanie the bad news and I could tell that she was disappointed, but said it was okay.
Fast forward 7 years to yesterday afternoon. I’d previously thought I’d emptied all the boxes of “Mom’s stuff” that I’d hidden under the guest bed, but found one last box yesterday. I pulled letters, photos, newspaper articles and drawings out of the box and found a legal sized envelope on the bottom that contained more photos and a cardboard folder with the logo of a long-gone Elgin photography studio on the front. Inside was the wedding photo of Stephanie’s parents. It’s soon to be on its way to her house.
In addition to that photo, I am also inclosing a 1959 Christmas card with a photo of young Stephanie on the front and a note from Jackie on the back. In it she mentions that Stephanie had been talking about me often. They’d moved to San Diego at some point that year, I think.
Stephanie lost her mother in the past year or two, and her father’s been gone a while. I feel like something has come full-circle — me sending Stephanie the photos and note (and writing a note, although mine is typed and not in green ink).
Clutch Cargo Lips 