Life Without Momma

After Jamie and I got married and started our family, it wasn't long before Momma and I switched positions. I became the caregiver and she became the cared for. Her shopping, doctor's appointments, bathing and personal cares, her hair perms, everything, one by one, became my responsibility. By this time I also had my first two children, daughters, who my grandmother adored. They loved playing on her bed and brushing her hair, and sometimes that would give me the break I needed to get supper started. Our household included three teenage boys also, so a full house indeed.

I was quite a good seamstress, so I morphed into an entrepreneur with a nice little business. I designed and made countless wedding gowns, bridesmaid's dresses, prom outfits, and my favorite of all, Hallowe'en costumes!!! So to say I was busy would be the understatement of the year, I just didn't realize it at the time. In 1975 when I graduated from High School, I designed my Prom gown with fabric bought at Leo's Fabrics in Charlottetown, I can still see the little narrow shop buried in the Mall. The next year I bought more fabrics and laces and started working on my wedding gown; our date was for August 6, 1977. I truly believe that no matter what the circumstances, every bride on her wedding day has a certain look. Pride. Happiness. Determination? Who knows. I also believe that couples get married for all sorts of reasons.

But Momma continued to be unwell. She had been a heavy smoker for over 60 years with little to no activity. She stayed in touch with the world through her beloved Guardian every day. She was in a constant rotation of daily phone calls with Isabel, Dottie and Kathleen. Her daughter-in-law Anne was a busy school teacher, but she found lots of time to visit, sometimes she'd grab one on the kid's bikes and peddle on down. I know for a fact she not only taught me my first three grades in the one room school, she'd taught me to read even before I started school. She was also to be first grade teacher for most of my children. She was so patient and sensible. I think most of the time Momma liked Anne better than Freddie, he could be an awful crank!!

One thing she loved for as long as I can remember was playing cards. Rummy, Solitaire, and Poker if my Uncle Terry was around. God, we'd play all evening and half the night!

Oh, how I miss those loud and boisterous kitchen card games. Back in the day Sunday afternoons were busy with family visitors, it's just the way it was. And whatever night a card game got started, the roster went a little like this:

Momma had stayed in bed all day. Not feeling well at all. "Would somebody bring me a cup of tea? My stomach is sore." So one of us would grab the ever-boiling kettle from the back of the woodstove and start a pot. She DID NOT like weak tea, and she liked it with a good dollop of evaporated milk. (Yuck)

Then she'd hear someone coming in to the porch. The kitchen door would close. She'd hear a voice. Then someone shuffling a deck.

Well, Jesus, never mind the tea. On with her robe, the pack of cigarettes would go in the pocket, ready for action, her sore stomach forgotten. That woman could play us right under the table.

As much sometimes as she would tell stories of Terry and his younger escapades, he sure could play cards, he lived for Poker. And he didn't play for nothing, even if it was just penny ante, we'd play for money. But he also had a flair for the dramatic. His face was deeply scarred from injuries in the Korean War, and he was proud to brag about the shrapnel in his head and on his legs. All true, no doubt, but it's no excuse to be a jerk.

But boy, could he "read" the cards, he was amazing. And he could be scary. He made no bones about how he could call on the Devil, how he could calm the sea. He was quite entertaining to a bunch of teenagers. His ghost stories, needless to say, were legendary.

Of course, we were pretty innocent at the time. How little notice we took of all the blue smoke in the air. We just blamed it on the cigarettes. We were used to it. Little did we know that when he rolled his own smokes, he was using his "whacky tobbacky" from a squirrel skin pouch that he'd made himself. Talk for gullible......

My aunt Mildred was his wife, a fantastic Registered Nurse and a lovely person. She shared Momma's love of reading and pots of tea, and she was busy rearing 7 kids. They lived in the Doucette family farmstead after relocating back to the Island from Boston. It was on the property where Shannon Keenen has her new home now. Nice and close for Momma to see them often. Good thing too, because Mildred loved the cards just as much! And the lunch!

In a previous Blog I made mention of the Sunday get-togethers here when Momma was alive, they certainly petered out after she died, as with a lot of families the grandparents were the glue that held everyone together.

But the card nights required a good lunch too, and we were always prepared. Lots of tea, and later on, pots of coffee, as I got into that habit after I started working.

I would be kept busy slicing up meat and cheese, piling up sandwich after sandwich. A whole pan of squares would disappear, and a package of cookies too. I'll never forget the night Freddie and Anne were down and I was putting the plates on the table for lunch. He reached over and grabbed a Ham sandwich and took a couple of good bites. He took a swallow of his tea, and Freddie was the only person I ever knew who would pour his tea from the cup to the saucer and drink it from the saucer. I can see him yet. Then he looked at me and snorted, "That'd be a pretty good ham sandwich if there was any ham in it." One of the sandwiches got buttered and mayoed, but I missed putting the ham on. Leave it to Freddie!

Those were good times and fun times. A boyfriend or two joined in the fun, learned how to play Poker with Terry, and one of them even stuck around and married me!

A few years later Momma fell and broke her hip, that was quite traumatic. And a lesson in nursing for me, since I was living with her. Thank God for Darrell too, Momma needed a lot of help, but she walked again, and healed well.

Time passes quickly and it was 1985. Christmas. Christmas morning, in fact, with two very excited little girls and a newly pregnant Nova. I had had a miscarriage the previous September and was devastated at the loss. It was the first time I can ever remember Momma wrapping me in her arms and saying nothing, just holding me. I was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, crying my heart out into a folded towel, so as not to upset my girls too much, but Momma heard me. She came out of her room and asked what was the matter. I told her I thought I was losing the baby, and she didn't know what else to do I guess, she just hugged me. Even with the constant upheaval in the house, the busyness, I mourned that pregnancy as much as any full term baby born sleeping. But nothing doing, I was pregnant again right away, with a baby due in July.

The kids had finished their gift opening and were happily playing with their new toys, Jaime Lee would have been seven and Krystal was four. The turkey was smelling amazing and I was busy prepping the dinner, one of my favorite things in the world to do.

Momma hadn't wakened yet, so I just let her rest, we were being pretty noisy, so I knew she'd be ready for tea shortly. The kettle was always on the woodstove, although we had an electric range by now too. I heard a little whimper out of her, and popped by her bedroom door. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, almost crying, saying, "I need some help." Her color was hard to describe, but needless to say, it was ghastly, I'd never seen anything like it. And she needed help because sometime through the morning she had begun to hemorrhage and was soaking in blood.

It was a Christmas morning never to be forgotten. I called for an ambulance and then called Isabel and Freddie, since they lived so close. They all came to the house, all her children, they knew the news wasn't good. One look at her ashen face told the tale. Isabel went white, she worked at the Manor, and she knew right away what it was. The EMTs were so kind and gentle, and she didn't seem to be in pain. Away she went to the new QE Hospital. And she never came back home. Two weeks later she died from stomach cancer. It had spent the last number of years destroying her body. She often complained of pain and stomach issues, but the doctors didn't seem concerned. She numbed the pain with 222s and any liquor she could get ahold of. What did we know? If Momma ordered a bottle of rum, you can bet one of us got it for her. Looking back, we could see, and should have seen that something was wrong, but isn't hindsight a wonderful thing? She hadn't even turned 80 yet, what a miserable way to go. Later on, in cleaning out her room, we started finding empty liquor bottles hidden in a drawer, in a winter boot. She was trying to self-medicate. And when Art found out, I can so clearly remember him saying, "Poor Liz. If I'd known, I would have brought her a case."

Jamie and I salvaged Christmas for our girls, I honestly don't remember the dinner. They were both too young to understand the grown up stuff all around them. But this wasn't an ordinary trip to the Hospital, we could feel it.

A day or two later I went to the Hospital to see Momma, since all her children stepped in to look after things, and my aunt Mildred took me aside. She knew my pregnancy was delicate and I was extremely worried about my condition, I didn't want to lose another baby. She took me to a lounge that was equipped with a couch and fridge and things, and a chalk board of all things, but I soon understood. She was an experienced R.N., and wanted to explain to me what was happening. After all, Momma was her mother.

She explained in detail exactly what a tumor was and what it did to the body. So of course, naive as I was, and not even 30 yet, I stupidly said, "So, will they operate and take it out?"

Mildred just looked at me and slowly shook her head. And then I got it. Momma was dying. I had never dealt with death before, and the timing couldn't be worse, if there's ever such a thing as a good time.

Christmas went by in a blur of hospital visits, so many phone calls, and then New Years. By now Momma was unconscious and on oxygen, and if you can believe that even in a coma, she went through the motions of smoking, raising her fingers to her mouth as if taking a drag. On the thirteenth of January, she was gone, and just as I'd wished, I was the only family member not present at the time. I couldn't face it. I was resting on the couch when the call came that Momma had died, and Jamie woke me up to tell me. It was the first time in the whole ordeal that I let myself cry, since it all seemed so unreal to me.

Momma's children all got together and let me know that they'd take care of all the details, I had done enough. A major snow storm had hit and delayed the wakes and funeral. That was in the days of two solid days of wakes and then the funeral. I was allowed to rest a lot and spent time at the funeral home when I felt I could.

An era was over. Things changed fast. I was in charge now, but after things settled down, I felt a guilty sense of freedom. An unburdening. It was hard to get used to her being gone, she was the ship AND the rudder, always the Boss. I seemed to have so much free time. And yet always so busy. And in July I gave birth to our first beautiful son, our rainbow baby. I finally let myself be happy.

But little did I know that in the middle of my happiness I would suffer my first post partum depression, a horrid case of the baby Blues.