Pajama Game

Why am I showing you a photograph of my mother in her pajamas? Read on...

I don't know what it is like to be 95 and I don't know what it is to be one of the last of the "clan" standing. My mother does.
Last week, her long time friend Ruth Dussia passed away.  Ruth's husband Steve and my father worked together and our families socialized for as long as I can remember.  Eventually, with both Steve and my father gone, Ruth and my mother began checking in on each other more frequently and then nightly. I don't know what all was discussed but I know the conversations were long and animated and that sometimes, my mom had to hold the phone at arm's length to make it through all the "excitement" on the other end!  I can tell you that I never got a call in to my mother between 7pm and 9pm and that I learned to remind my mom to tell Ruth when I was in town. If we went out for dinner and missed that call well...  let's just say the police was not the welcome committee we were hoping for!

Although Ruth was younger, it was my mom who took her to her doctor's visits and kept her company during her many trips to the hospital and rehabilitation centers.  My mom took her baked goods, listened to all her complaints and helped her son Brent understand what was going on.  She was the ultimate friend-- there until the end.  An angel...

I had been keeping tabs on Ruth's health for a long while, so when I got the call that she passed away, I was not surprised. My mother put on her brave voice for me until finally it cracked and stopped. It was during those seconds of silence I knew that I would drive home for the weekend to hug her and bring some cheer-- a little surprise.  The day before I left, I got an email that said she had sewn a complete set of pajamas for herself, button holes included. She also added, " My head and fingers still work."  This was her grief therapy and her own little self-test.

I set out for Ventura with the pleasure of knowing that we would soon be seeing each other. When I arrived, the house was dark and I worried that I would scare her if I rang the bell. I decided to call her and say that there was a dinner delivery at her back door.  She had changed into her pajamas and was ready to settle in with a book for the evening. I told her I would stay with her on the phone until she opened the door.  The look on her face was priceless and those pajamas... WOW!
We hugged, cried, ate, talked and finally went to bed.  She said she sleeps so well when there is someone in the house, and I in my childhood bed, sleep like a child.  I am still a child-- her child and I am so grateful for that.

We went to our favorite Lucky's the next night to celebrate Ruth's life and with the clink of our lemon drop and martini, sent our blessings into the night.  The fire place was crackling,  the room was full of life and cheer and we even had a bit of comic relief in the form of Ellen Degeneres at the next table.

When it is time for me to go, she always walks to the end of the driveway to wave goodbye. This time was no different  except that I wasn't as sad as sometimes. Why? Well, seeing her in those pajamas with that big smile... how could I be?  If there was ever a doubt in my mother's mind that she was fading, life came back into full focus that weekend. We had the best time and I left knowing that she is still in the game.  The pajama game!