May 24, 2007

Editorial

Thoughts on a puzzling holiday

Memorial Day has always confused me. It’s the time we honor war veterans and, beyond that, put flowers on loved ones’ graves. But of course, it’s also the unofficial beginning of summer, the day we play softball, make a picnic and take pleasure in a warm sunny day, with the sweet promise of many such days to come.

So what’s up with Memorial Day? Is it about grief? Or is it about -celebration?

In our house, we’re even more puzzled than usual this year. Last week my 87-year-old mother took a fall and wound up in the hospital of my Indiana hometown. She survived a risky surgery to repair her hip and now faces months of recuperation. Beyond that, she can no longer live on her own, so the life she has known for 60 years, and the place she’s called home, will change.

Perhaps the trauma of the fall explains her confusion. Each evening while in the hospital, she worried about what to fix for dinner that night, and which children she needed to feed. And though she could barely move, she tried to conspire with visitors to bring their car out front so that she could jump in and head home.

My mom doesn’t like being old, and she misses no opportunity to tell me so. When she tells me this, I secretly promise myself that in 30 years I’ll be different. I’ll be perky, one of those 87-year-olds who treks to Nepal and takes up salsa dancing. I also, for the tiniest moment, feel a twinge of self pity that she fails so miserably as a role model. I’m sorry to report that, until last week, I wished for my mom to be someone different than who she is, someone a little more chipper, a bit less concerned with appearances and just a tad less Republican.

But as she headed into surgery, I wanted nothing more than to have her be exactly who she is and has always been, so I could just see her again.

Here’s the glass half full: she came out fine. She’s healing well, although still conspiring to find a getaway car. Whether this shows confusion or spunk, I find it inspiring. And after watching her take baby steps to recovery — sitting up for the first time, then taking a step — I find that simply taking a walk feels amazing. My legs moving up and down, my feet touching the ground — who knew that such simple things gave so much pleasure?

And that glass half empty? Life is too short. And sometimes now my mom looks at me and doesn’t know who I am.

So this Memorial Day is especially puzzling. Is it about grief or about celebration? But then, maybe all days are like that, chock full of both. I hope I remember this lesson. I also hope I remember feeling the miracle of taking each step and the astonishing joy, after her surgery, of seeing my mother’s face once again. I want to find her a getaway car and take her wherever she chooses.

— Diane Chiddister