Most of the time on my trips to Elgin, I spent the night. Before I left for home the next day, Mom and I sat on her porch overlooking the backyard and garden and reminisced about life in Lake Fork, Bountiful and now Elgin, surveying all that we had accomplished. I remember a rather grueling day working in the flowerbeds, trimming trees and washing windows. She, at eighty-seven, kept up with me most of the morning and was upset that she finally had to stop and rest, saying “I do pretty good in the morning but I’m not worth a damn after noon.” Now, sitting on the porch, she looked at me with that wistful look in her eyes. I wasn’t sure what she was thinking and then she said, “Oh Della, if I was only ten years younger, just ten years, think what I could do.”
I couldn’t help myself as I burst our laughing, and I said, “Mom, if you’re going to wish, then wish for at least twenty years!” Then we both had a good laugh.
When she reached the age of ninety, George said, “Mom I can do your mowing and tilling now, I think you’ve done it long enough.” For once she didn’t argue.
Mom lived in the little house in Elgin for fifteen years. Happy and content, she took care of herself, taking pride in cooking a hot meal everyday. Most often she ate alone but other times children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews or great grandchildren came to visit, share her dinner and listen to her many stories. Memory was never a problem for Mom.
At ninety-six, her physical health deteriorated, she was hospitalized and diagnosed with congestive heart failure. After a short hospital stay, I brought her home. Barely able to walk with a cane, the next morning she was determined to mix a batch of bread. As she turned from the sink after “punching” the bread down, her hip gave way and she dropped to the floor.
A broken hip, three weeks in a Boise, Idaho hospital, then to a care center with the hopes that with rehab she could walk again and go home. The three weeks that Mom spent at the hospital she held “court,” entertaining everyone that visited her. She was in charge, her wit never better, and her memory unfailing. Her mind still sharp, she called the many doctors and nurses by name and never complained no matter how much they poked and prodded. Instead of a hip replacement, the doctors decided to repair the hip by inserting screws to keep it in place. After the surgery, as she lay in recovery, the doctor explained that the surgery went well and told her exactly what he did. When she could have visitors, she would show them her new scars and say, “Can you believe it, I was drugged and screwed in the hospital.” We listened to her stories and we laughed and cried, but she never shed a tear.
I think back to one of the days as we sat on the back porch reminiscing, when I asked her: “Mom why didn’t you marry after Daddy’s death? Forty years is a long time to live alone.” She leaned back in her chair, her fingers bent and crooked from arthritis. She pushed the hair off her forehead and with a dreamy look in her eyes she replied, “I figured the years I was married to your Dad I had cream and I wasn’t about to settle for skim milk with some other guy.”
Mom died on July 17, 2005 at her little home in Elgin. Family and friends gathered at the McCall, Idaho cemetery for her graveside service where she was laid to rest next to her husband and true love, “Whistlin’ Joe.” The end...Hugs to All...OWAV:)
Photos from happy years in Lake Fork.
