January 20, 2003
My mother is crying. Her brother is dying. Well, he’s 89 years old, in the hospital with pneumonia for the second time in as many months, and thinks it’s always somewhere around 1950. It doesn’t look good.
For decades, my uncle and his wife lived in the apartment below my mother and father in the two-family building that they jointly purchased. My dad died first. Then my aunt. And then it was just my mother and her brother until I finally moved her up to live near me three years ago. My uncle refused to leave the apartment that he and his snappy mean-tempered dachshund had committedly shared for all those years.
My mother called her brother every other week since she moved. She often had to remind him who she was. My cousin told me tonight that he no longer remembers who anyone is.
Tonight, despite the tears, my mother began to worry that she didn’t have any black shoes to wear to a funeral. It’s very important to her to look appropriately dressed at all times. So, tomorrow I will take her out shopping to buy black shoes. I’m waiting for her to start getting on my case about what I am going to wear. No problem. I have plenty of black.
My mother will be 87 next month. I know that she’s thinking that her turn is coming soon. Do you want to bet that she’s soon going to start going through all of her clothes to make sure that she has something appropriate to wear?
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Old Comments (5)
mare on 21 Jan 2003
Those black shoes, that's something she has control over. Thank goodness for small treasures.
The One True b!X on 21 Jan 2003
Didn't they have two weiner dogs, the first one who was perfectly fine and the second one who was holy hell on tiny legs?
Elaine on 21 Jan 2003
Yeah. The first (KC) dog died. It's this second one (JB) that growls and grabs onto your ankle as soon as the door opens.
Emma on 21 Jan 2003
Elaine, I wouldn't take that bet on a dare. I've had two elderly female relatives mention exactly that--this is what I want to wear...
Richard on 22 Jan 2003
Though I have often thought upon death I have never considered what I might like to wear at my own funeral. I favor cremation so I would hope to be clad in nothing but a luminous vase of art deco design or, perhaps, a sleek obsidian box. . .