I miss my mother greatly but she left behind some wonderful memories. 

A Simple Life

Saturday night adventures, hot dogs from Burger Carte,

Going to watch Chief Black Eagle wrestle in Oak Hill,

My mother, fists in the air, cheering on her favorite wrestler,

People slurping drinks, crunching popcorn, mesmerized,

Unaware of the traffic, or the passing of time, lost in the moment.

The Grand Ole Opry; Faron Young, George Jones, and Porter Waggoner,

Who done who wrong songs playing on a jukebox, lights flashing,

Local bars, bare and dark, filled with coal miners and dreamers,

Plain people enjoying simple pleasures, being whoever they were,

Walt Disney World with the family on Sunday evening.

Day after day, watching him put on his heavy boots,

Kissing him at the door, sending him off with a lunch bucket,

Deep into the belly of the earth to mine black diamonds,

Watching him until he was completely out of sight,

Then crawling into bed to pray for his safe return.

Then came the waiting rooms, patients in every chair,

Symptoms creeping in along with the wrinkles lining her face,

The doctor spoke of cancer, offered encouragement and pills,

She became the wrestler, fighting off cells, refusing to give up,

Smiling, demanding a hot dog, fists in the air, living until the last breath.

© Dianna Doles Petry

Mother Talks to Elvis

Mother Talks to Elvis

 

My mother is eighty-six years old now with another birthday quickly approaching. It seems like only yesterday that she had beautiful dark hair, intelligent dark eyes, and could manipulate just about anyone she came in contact with just by flashing her wicked smile.

 

Like all women, she had moments when anger flared. She didn't stay angry long though. Something would make her laugh and once she started laughing she couldn't seem to stop. Her laughter was absolutely infectious. I watched her closely then, mostly trying to figure out what made her tick. I loved her and I hated her. I confided in her and I lied to her. She could appear not to care about anything in the world except her soap operas but would protect her children the way a lioness protects her cubs. Now I watch her closely again, but this time it is because her feet move slowly and she can no longer keep a train of thought for longer than a minute or two.

 

Mother once longed for the day when she could sit and relax without having to cook, or clean, or do anything at all she didn't want to do. She got her wish. She lives in her own little world now where there are no responsibilities and no worries. She talks to herself, she talks to her long dead mother, she talks to the cat, and she talks to Elvis.

 

She talks to Elvis about her past life when she was young, strong, and beautiful. He has been hanging directly behind her bed and he's heard just about every detail of her life from her loves to her losses. She mentions her children and she talks about her hopes for the future. I guess being eighty-six is not too old to think about going dancing, taking a trip, or practicing now to make sure the honeymoon goes smoothly later.

 

Today something went terribly wrong. Elvis apparently had the gall to show up with two of his "hoochie mama's." My mother looked at me, her eyes brightening, and informed me that she would not return to her room until that "no good b****** is out of there with them harlots." There was no way to convince her that Elvis died in 1977 and could not possibly be in her room. I did the only thing a good daughter could possibly do at a time like this. I walked into her room, said "BOOM" in a loud voice, and took the photo of Elvis down off of the wall.

 

"What happened in there?" She said forcefully.

 

"I shot Elvis, Mom. Just because he's a famous man does not mean he can treat my mother anyway he wants to treat her. He won't be giving you any more problems." Her eyes softened, her body relaxed, and she became silent except for the sound of her breathing.

 

I carried the tin type photo through the dining room where my mother was sitting and then took it through the kitchen and out the back door where I placed it in an outdoor storage shed. It joined a few mirrors that frighten her, a few photos of family members who refuse to talk to her, and two porcelain dolls that were aggravating her because "They just won't go to sleep and I'm tired of changing their diapers."

 

A chuckle found it's way to my lips at the same time tears were welling up in my eyes. Mom used to tell funny stories to anybody who would listen to them; neighbors, people in line at the grocery store, or just strangers she passed on the street. She has spent the last year or so talking mostly to Elvis and now he's gone. Who would she talk to now on those rare occasions that she wanted to talk at all?

 

I laughed as I thought of my mother years ago. She had entertained people by stretching her tongue out long enough to touch the tip of her nose. Our house often looked like a band of monkeys had used it to practice target shooting with dust balls but my mother would look past the mess and see the humor of the situation. Of all the things my mother has given me, the most important would have to be my sense of humor and it is surely serving me well during these trying days. She's going to miss Elvis. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to bring him back into the house. Of course, she still has her laughing pig to keep her company if I can't bring Elvis back.

 

© Dianna Doles-Petry

10/08/2010

The Power of Prayer

The Power of Prayer

During a hospital visit to see my mother today, I met a lady I had not seen before and we started to talk. This lady, a good ten or fifteen years younger than I am, was denouncing the power of medical doctors and insisting that we don't really need modern medicine when we have the power of prayer. She was upset with her siblings for not allowing her mother to "suffer through God's will" in her own home without the prying eyes or needles of the medical professional. She needed someone to listen to her and give her some kind of encouragement to continue on with her battle to get her mother back home away from the hospital environment.

My faith is strong, it has always been strong, even during the darkest hours of my life but I cannot say that we should forego medical treatment and rely solely on the power of prayer. I also believe that we often pray for miracles that are not meant to happen and are not a part of the greater plan. For instance, my mother is eighty-six years old and in very fragile health. To pray for a total healing and restoration of her youth is not logical nor meant to happen. Praying for her to pass from this life comfortably without extensive suffering makes more sense to me, along with a prayer for strength and understanding for myself in the days following such a great loss.

Prayer is meant, in my opinion, to help us reach a glorious and promised destination when this life is over. It is not meant to help us win the lottery or acquire success without putting forth any effort. At times I have prayed for others to find success and for all of us to better our lives. I have always found an inner peace that comes from trusting God.

If you trust God with your health, you know that he has given man the knowledge to understand the complexity of the human body in order to help us help ourselves. The lady I met today caused many thoughts to jump from hidden places in my mind into a bubbling cauldron of possibility and life experiences I have stored away like a squirrel gathering nuts for the winter. I examined and reexamined my thoughts on medicine versus prayer. Must God be mythical and mystic to be believable? I think not.

Before I left the brief conversation today, I had come to this conclusion; God is mighty, he gave man knowledge and endurance, faith and precision. The power of prayer brings us closer to God. Maybe instead of choosing a side we should pray for God to hold the surgeon's hand as he wields a scalpel and pray for any of our doctor's to be rich in faith and patience. I think the power of prayer and the power of medicine work together as a team. I'm not sure the lady I was talking with appreciated my thoughts but she did not turn away in a huff. I have to think she at least considered my view of prayer and medicine as a joint treatment.

Tonight as I close my eyes I will be praying for God to guide my mother's physician's and to give us the strength to face the days ahead. I will praying for her to pass from my arms to God's arms without fear or guilt at leaving her family behind. I will not pray that she be made as healthy as she was at the age of fifty but I will pray that any time we might have left together be spent peacefully and in her own home.

Prayer is not a replacement for medicine, it is an equal partner in the course of treatment and accepting the consequences of living.

© Dianna Doles Petry

2/23/2010