New Year's Eve 2013

I'm human. No matter how many years one might keep a tradition, that memory is easily lost when the tradition is discontinued. We didn't make oyster stew for Christmas. Oyster stew was for New Year's Eve. Or, New Year celebrations. Still unsure, but I ran across multiple images of oyster stew cooking and in bowls today in my journals, so I stand corrected.

At any rate, Mom's last New Year's Eve in 2013 was a small celebration. Dad usually went to bed about 9:30 pm in his later years with mom. I was visiting so she and I stayed up until the ball dropped in Times Square. We watched the New York Philharmonic, Yo Yo Ma, and a performace of Bolero, and I was trying not to cry knowing that mom may die in the new year.

On New Year's Eve in 2014, I was in Virginia again, beginning a tradition that would last until my father died. "Christmas with Dad" was never uneventful, sometimes harrowing, other times just downright fun. But, in 2014, he had the flu and I caught it from him despite our shots. I think we both were depressed as well, because mom's decorations never went up and there was nothing to take down.

But we did have another pot of oyster stew.

I sat down to remember the recipe and shared it at Joanne's Recipes. Enjoy!

Valentines in December, 2013

I was in Lynchburg with my parents in 2013, as witnessed by my photos and notes in my Facebook memories. Mom was able to take chemo on this date, and she also had a visit with her cardiologist. I don't remember the chemo session, but I did take notes on the visit with the heart doctor.

He mentioned that he almost hospitalized mom last week during her visit with him as her edema had built up rapidly. He gave her a shot of Lasix, and prescribed pills as well. Later that day a week before, he called to tell her not to take the pills. They would stress the one kidney she had.

On this day in 2013 I wrote: "She's at home with some new heart medication and we're to keep an eye on her. She was determined to get some shopping done after the doctor, and it was the worst experience of my life--she was so disoriented that it took two hours to purchase two simple bags of groceries. That will not happen again, at least on my watch. Nope. Not again. I'll wager that she'll sleep through the next two days."

I remember that trip to Kroger, as that store was promoting Valentine's day before New Year's even peeked at us. I noted the same on Saturday this year when I went to a Kroger near where I live in Kentucky. No major holidays between New Year and Valentine's day, so marketing the heck out of that holiday is essential. I even took a photo in 2013, as mom was moving so slowly.

I distinctly remember a comment my mother made when she saw the cards shown in the photo above. She said, "I don't think I'll make it to Valentine's Day, but I hope I do." I assured her that if she quit pushing herself so hard she just might make it. Of course, that suggestion fell on deaf ears.

Near the End of 2014

Today in 2014, I wrote, "Grateful that this year of loss is coming to a close. I'm hoping for less loss in 2015. Just enough to learn how to breathe again." Mom died in June of 2014. What I couldn't possibly know was that my husband was dealing with symptoms of colon cancer, and he never shared that information with me while I was taking care of my mother. In fact, he never went to get that colonoscopy I begged for him to get until after the new year. By July 2015, he was gone, too.

Folks, if you do nothing else for the new year, please plan for a colonoscopy. If you're on a regular five-year schedule at this point, bless your heart -- and I mean that phrase in the most genuine way. If you had colon cancer and survived (or any cancer for that matter), you might think about joining the Cancer Survivors Network. This is a place where you can find your survivor twin, help, and companionship. 

Until tomorrow...

Photo: From left, my husband, Hugh, my father, Robert, and my mother, Joanne. They're all gone.

28 December, The Dullest Day for a Decade

Not much happened on this day since 2012, according to the daily gratitude lists I've kept for almost a decade (skipped a few years, sometime around my husband's death and my recovery from surgery, 2015-2018). Even my Facebook memories are dull for this day. Probably due to that "nothing is happening" syndrome that occurs during the lull between many a Christmas and New Year.

In 2012, I moved my daughter from her college town of Memphis to my house in Kentucky. In 2013, I was in Virginia, as witnessed by the fuzzy photo of that huge poinsettia my mother received as a gift. By 2014, I was with dad in Virginia, where I commented that I thought he was doing well. Also noted that my cousin was moving from Pennsylvania to about five miles from dad to take care of his mother (my father's sister). He's been there since.

In 2015, I was without a husband, as he died a year and one month after my mother, in July. I had quit smoking a month after his death, and I commented that I didn't have to take as many showers at dad's place, because I didn't smell like smoke. Dad and I settled into a tradition where I would join him every Christmas week. We would eat at King's Island Restaurant for one meal. Christmas breakfasts would consist of my mother's oyster stew. We also took walks around the mall (see photo above), and he was always ahead of me. This was not an activity that included talking, obviously. In the evenings, we'd have a glass of wine and watch Hallmark Movies.

I found his addiction to Hallmark movies hilarious, as he never finished watching a movie when mom wanted him to sit with her to watch one. He always said he knew how it would end, and he had better things to do. Always a disappointment to mom in that arena. I even told dad that mom would be turning over in her grave knowing that he was watching one to two movies every evening...all the way to the end. He especially loved the castle movies with the waltzes. I ended up buying a few waltz CDs so he could listen to the music.

I miss those few years I had with dad alone for a number of reasons, mainly because I was as lonely as he was. But, traditions always change. If they don't, then they end and all we have are memories. If we don't share memories, then those stories die with us.