October 24, 2011--The End of an Era

October 24 of 2011 was another moment that changed the lives of everyone in my family. Sometime between 10 and 11 in the morning, my mother tried to get out of bed and collapsed on the floor.

No one found her until seven o'clock that evening.

I received a call from my sister in Ogden. Ann and I were on our way to Boise for some important  educational meetings. I was going along for the ride in a way, mostly because I drove.

The trip to Boise is one that lasts three hours and thirty minutes, and beginning the trip late in the evening meant knowing there would be deer on the highways. It's that time of year. Hunters begin brushing them out of mountain hollows, and they appear where you least expect them.

Just before we reached Blackfoot on I-15, the call arrived from my sister.

At first, I told her I had to be in Boise. I was nervous about the trip for Ann, and besides, she had been sick for several months. I figured I could bring her home if she was not feeling well.

Plans changed. We turned around and returned home, packed the VW Bug, and I left in the Jetta with my bags. Ann left for Boise with Kristin and Jack. It was nice to know that someone was with Ann during the week she was to be in Boise.

The next several hours were difficult. I spent time thinking about the past, and playing music my dad loved didn't help me avoid the nostalgia. Mostly, I wallowed in the sadness, the realization, the melancholy. Nothing would be the same now. Not since my father's passing in 1991 did things seem so dark, so crushing.

My mother, devastated and affected by a massive stroke, also embraced the past.

Memories are things that support us during times like this.

Things were so different in the 50's and 60's. Sunday was a day for the family. It started out going to church at 10:00 a.m., and then we were home in the afternoon for dinner.

In the early years, we often would either have my paternal grandmother at our house for dinner, or we went there.

The staple was potatoes and gravy.

My mother's ability to communicate improved in the next days, and one afternoon, she shared a story with me.

One family, whose friendship was important during those years, had a different set of traditions. My mom told me about how they had fried chicken twice a month on Sundays. Mom immediately asked my father.

"Hell no," he said. "We raise beef." I smiled when my mother mentioned it.

My father once told me the key to success in a good marriage: "Let them think they're boss, even if they're really not." He winked at me when he said it.

Mom never questioned the whole concept of fried chicken. We ate it once or twice a year, mostly on The Fourth of July with my mom's potato salad.

My mom continued to spin the story. She told me how dad never had much of a chance to sit with us during those years. He was always on the stand, and that began soon after his baptism.

"Dad always was there early, and he stayed late talking to everyone." Mom was serious as she thought about the memory.

She told me how one Sunday he walked up to her and whispered in her ear. "Make plenty of gravy."

Mom probably smiled, her eyes twinkling like they always did.

A woman who saw dad whisper talked to my mom. "Is Jon whispering 'sweet nothings' in your ear?"

Mom was serious as she finished the story. Her response was simple. "He told me to make plenty of gravy."

The woman laughed, but mom didn't see any humor in it. She told me, that dad was never much for public displays of affection. His feelings for my mom, while very strong, were private. It's how my parents saw things. It's how my mom still sees things.

My parents shaped my life in such a positive way. It was where I learned about character, about honesty, about hard work, but most importantly, it was where I learned how to treat someone you love.