Category: memories

This entry started its life as a Facebook post, but in the midst of formulating it in my head I decided that it would probably work better as a blog entry. Besides, this poor space really does need more love.

My mother passed away this past Monday. It was not unexpected; her health had been in steady decline for a while, and in precipitous decline in the past month or so. I made plans to make a quick trip from Indiana to her home in Issaquah, WA, so I could have one last visit and, yes, to say goodbye. I cannot put into words how glad I am that I did this. For one thing, and this was difficult, it gave me a window into how much she was suffering. It was clear to me that she was letting go and based on what I witnessed I completely understood. It also gave us the rare and precious opportunity to say goodbye and to potentially mend any fences that needed mending and clear the air about unresolved things. Only in our case none of that turned out to be necessary. For Mom, it was all in the past, and none of it mattered anymore. That was a hugely immense gift she gave to me, as I had not always been a great son to her, particularly in my adulthood. We could both be bullheaded, and our heads butted on many an occasion. But to her, it was all over, no apology necessary. I have to admit, in a way, it reminded me of God’s grace. And she gave me an even bigger gift besides that one. She told me she was proud of me. For someone like me, who is now on the downslope of middle age, and who made so many mistakes earlier in life, many of which my mother had to bail me out of, to have the hard work I’ve done to turn my life around acknowledged so fully and emphatically…once again, I have no words. So, while of course there is grief, and I’ll have waves for a while to come, my heart is feeling so much peace because of that 2-day visit.

Sadly, I have precious few memories of Mom and I doing things together. That’s not surprising; growing up I was much closer to Dad. But I know she loved me tremendously. I pretty much spent the first 5 or so years of my life in the hospital, and she was with me every step of the way. This leads to one of the things that many of you may consider kind of oddball. I think of Mom every time I hear the first bars of the opening theme of the Lucy Show. Not I Love Luc, but the show she did in the 60s, with Mr. Mooney and that’s all I remember of it. Channel 5 in San Francisco ran reruns of The Lucy Show at 9 AM weekday mornings, which coincided with the beginning of hospital visiting hours. Inevitably someone in a room close to me would have their TV on at loud enough levels that I heard those first few bars of the theme, and I knew it wouldn’t be long at all before Mom came. And, in my mind, at least, she was always there almost immediately.

There was something else we shared that, to the best of my knowledge, hardly anyone else shared with us, certainly nobody in the family, immediate or extended. We both loved pickled beets. So, when I got groceries on Tuesday, I made sure to include a jar of pickled beets in the order. I’m not sure if there’s any significance to the fact that, as of this writing, I have been unable to break the vacuum seal to open the jar. But at least I have it, and I will get it open. One of these days.

One more thing. Mom was a good cook but I always had the sense that, unlike me, she never really enjoyed her time in the kitchen. But, when I was around 12 years old, she got a spaghetti recipe from a friend that became one of my ultimate comfort foods. No spaghetti I’ve ever had tastes like it, actually not even close. I cannot piece enough of the taste together in my head to take a guess at the ingredients, except that it has mushrooms and, maybe, cloves. She made it for me on my birthday on a few ocasions, and the last time she did was when she was out in Indiana for a visit in 2012. There is part of me that desperately wants that spaghetti one last time. But I fear the recipe died with Mom, and I know the friend she got it from has been deceased for a while. But my wife made pasta for me tonight, and it was very comforting. And in the end that’s how it should be. So I can’t think of a better way to wrap this up then to say, as Douglas Adams might have, so long, Mom, and thanks for all the spaghetti.

It was the fall of 1987, and I was attending my first convention of the Washington Council Of The Blind (WCB). I had attended the national ACB convention the previous summer, and it hadn’t gone well. In fact, I never even met any people from my own state. I was eating dinner in the hotel restaurant the first night of the state convention, and there was a guy at my table named Terry, who I became good friends with. As we were talking, we realized we had a lot in common. I can’t remember what prompted this, but at some point during our conversation someone from a nearby table put in an aside. Terry said, “Oh hi, Radio Rhonda!” And that is how I was first introduced to Rhonda Nelson.

Later that night, in the hospitality room over way too many adult beverages, we got better acquainted. We found we had much in common, particularly a love of sports and radio DX’ing. For those who may not be familiar with the term, radio DX’ing simply consists of tuning up and down the AM radio dial, almost always at night, trying to hear stations from as far away as possible. I recently lamented on Facebook about how recent innovations have made this pastime obsolete.

We kept the friendship alive through occasionally seeing each other at local meetings and also phone calls from time to time. Then, in the summer of 1989, I applied for a job with the Social Security Administration, and I let her know they were hiring. She already had a very well-established job, but she also decided to apply. As it worked out, we were both hired. SSA was not a positive experience for either one of us, to say the very least. We did a lot of venting to each other over the next several years about the working conditions, various policies, difficult people, pretty much everything. She had the good sense to get out 6 years before I did, on her own terms. While I was very happy for her for getting out of that pit, there was also part of me that was angry, angry that I was left behind. But I knew that was selfish anger, that she did what she had to do, and I never showed her that anger when it was with me.

Another connection we had was Scrabble. Her, me, and my ex wife played countless Scrabble games over the years. For a time she lived less than a mile away from us, so these games were almost a weekly ritual at times. We also spent many weekends at Rhonda’s parent’s place out on Hood Canal. It was, and still is, one of the most peaceful environments I’ve ever been in. I was there the weekend my dad passed away in 2000. He died on Sunday morning, and these were the days before cell service was universal, so my family couldn’t reach me until I got home that night. It had been a beautiful, sunny day, and knowing my dad as I do, I’m 100% convinced he would have approved of spending that day in the peaceful place as opposed to rushing home in abject grief.

Speaking of grief, that is the state in which I find myself now. When I moved to Indiana 11 years ago we pretty much fell out of touch, though I was able to enjoy a lunch with her at the ACB convention in 2016. I regret my part in not staying in touch. I have learned that she spent the last couple of years in some pain, and I would have liked so much to be able to help her through that however I could have. But unfortunately time only moves one way, forward, and there’s no way to go back. I do hope that she remembered me fondly, as I do her.

I’ll wrap this up with some thank yous to Rhonda, even though I know she can’t read it, or maybe wi fi has made it to Heaven, who knows? Thanks for everything, Rhonda. Thanks for the Scrabble games, even though I never beat you, not even once. Thanks for all the sports talks. I didn’t share your passion for Washington Husky football, but you were an alum, so I understood, just as you understood about my love for Gonzaga basketball for the same reason. Thanks for being my SSA sounding board so many times when we walked that road together. You’ll never know how much that helped me. Thanks for being there after my dad died. I’ll never forget your kindnesses. Most importantly, thank you for being my friend. You touched my soul in a way only a few others have in my life. As I have said elsewhere over the past few days, there is now a Rhonda-sized hole in my heart. Having said all of that, keep the Scrabble board handy. I’ll be there at some point, and maybe I’ll even have learned more things along the way to give you better competition. Until then, enjoy yourself. You deserve every bit of it.