I started re-reading through C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed a few days ago. It's a great book, especially if you have lost someone (and really, who hasn't?). Lewis wrote it after the death of his wife. It is a short read, just four chapters, each chapter a different journal written in the weeks and months after H's death. It is comforting for a few reasons. The journals are extremely personal and easy to relate to. It's also nice to know that if the great C.S. Lewis can doubt and ask why bad things happen, and come out well on the other side - than surely I can too.
Lewis writes in Chapter 2:
"Today I had to meet a man I haven't seen for ten years. And all that time I had thought I was remembering him well "how he looked and spoke and the sort of things he said". The first five minutes of the real man shattered the image completely. Not that he had changed. On the contrary. I kept on thinking, "Yes, of course, of course. I'd forgotten that he thought that " or disliked this, or knew so-and-so "or jerked his head back that way." I had known all these things once and I recognized them the moment I met them again. But they had all faded out of my mental picture of him, and when they were all replaced by his actual presence the total effect was quite astonishingly different from the image I had carried about with me for those ten years. How can I hope that this will not happen to my memory of H.? That it is not happening already? Slowly, quietly, like snowflakes "like the small flakes that come when it is going to snow all night" little flakes of me, my impressions, my selections, are settling down on the image of her. The real shape will be quite hidden in the end. Ten minutes "ten seconds" of the real H. would correct all this. And yet, even if those ten seconds were allowed me, one second later the little flakes would begin to fall again. The rough, sharp, cleansing tang of her otherness is gone."
That is my fear, that in these ten years, I have forgotten, replaced and changed who she was. Mannerisms, smiles, the sound of her voice are now hazy, a creation I have made in my own mind that isn't really her at all. There are so many questions I have, and things I would love to know, at the same time knowing I will never have all of those answers.
When I was a senior in high school I was at a CIY discipleship retreat. The director for the week went to college with my parents. I introduced myself as my sister and I were instructed to do on several occasions, "Hi, I'm Kate/Sara Perry and Jill's daughter(s)." After the standard introduction Kevin told me a story I had never heard before. He was a groomsman in his brother's wedding and ushered my mom to her seat. When she put her arm through his she managed to catch her bracelet on his jacket. The wedding was about to start, and they couldn't get the bracelet off. Mom unhooked the clasp, and Kevin stood next to his brother with my mom's bracelet dangling from his jacket for the wedding ceremony.
It was a sweet and unexpected gift to learn something new about my mom. So here's my shameless plug. If you are reading this and you knew her - tell me something, anything. Tell me your favorite memory or a funny story or something ridiculous. It doesn't matter, I promise I will appreciate it.
Speaking of questions. What is she doing in this picture? Selling pickles? What do you do with eight jars of pickles and a dozen eggs?
Kate - I have one very distinct memory of your mom. I'm pretty sure it was the St Louis NACC (though it could have been Kansas City or Denver, but I think St. Louis). Were were staying in the Mariott. After a half summer in the dorms of Lincoln and CBC I was excited to be staying in a nice, fancy, downtown hotel. Jesse and I quickly deposited our bags, checked out the room, and went to find everyone so we could explore the hotel. We went down the hall (making sure of everyone's room number so we could prank call them later) and found Carly at the end, next to a pile of bags. Very curious as to why the bags were not in the room, it was explained to us that your mom, being a nurse, knew that there was nothing at all clean in that room - and she was cleaning it. Surprised, because I thought mine was quite clean, I thought maybe they should ask for a new room. Then your mom opened the opened the door (in what I remember to be a thick billowing cloud of lysol) and informed me that I had no idea what kinds of things were in not-properly-sanitized hotel rooms. I said something to the effect of "eh" and was finally glad that the bags could be put in the room and we could start the exploring.
ReplyDeleteIt wasn't until several years later in life that I realized what types of things actually could be in not-properly-sanitized hotel rooms. Now, every time I stay in a hotel, I can't go barefoot. I lived in an awesome but nasty dorm for four years just fine - but any time I go to a hotel I think of your mom, her cloud of lysol, and touch as little of the linens as possible with bare skin.
In reality, I don't have a lot of definite memories of your mom. I remember her being very nice, but for most of my growing up life she was just one of the moms in the group of moms that were always there. I do remember her pretty much being at everything growing up.
Haven't talked to you in forever, but I saw your link on facebook - and you asked for any story - so that's my story. I really hope you are doing well today - I'm thinking of you.
-David