Sit with me by the homestead hearth
And stretch the hands of memory forth
To warm them at the wood-fire’s blaze!
–John Greenleaf Whittier, Snowbound
We had snow over the weekend. Lots and lots of snow. This has been the snowiest December around here for a long time. We went through the usual storm preparations—gassing up the cars, buying groceries, making sure the snowblower would start. Then we brought my wife’s mother Betty to our house. Just in case the power lines went down; just in case she had a medical emergency; just in case she got lonely when no one could reach her. She will probably stay with us until tomorrow.
The storm turned out to be less severe than predicted. This seems to happen fairly often. The TV weathermen get all excited and find themselves making predictions that mere meteorological facts won’t strictly support. On at least one local station, the excuse may be the pounding “Storm Center” music that plays in the background of every newscast whenever it snows.
We mostly kept the TV turned off. Yesterday, nearly everything was canceled. No church. No afternoon concert. We stayed in the house while it snowed and snowed and snowed.
After dinner we moved to the living room. Holiday music played softly, the fire crackled, the lights on the Christmas tree sparkled, and we talked. It was the sort of evening when family stories get told. Usually the stories are familiar, but every once in while there is something new.
We have a photo of Betty that was taken just after World War II. We showed her the picture and thought she’d have something to say about the time or the place. The story she told, however, was about the dress she was wearing, how it belonged to her sister-in-law but fit her better. As she told the story, she was a young woman again; and the world was a different place.
When the fire burned down, we turned off the Christmas lights and went to bed.
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There are 3 Responses to “The Snowbound Caregiver”
#2 Pete - 17 December, 3:03 PM
Thanks for stopping by, Patricia. My own mother struggled with dementia in the last years of her life. Betty has her wits about her, so that as we move closer to the time when she will live us (the way my mother did 10 years ago) it is an entirely different experience.
#3 wendy - 27 December, 8:07 PM
What a sweet story about Betty. She must have been glad to weather the storm with you. Nice that she was willing to share her memories too.
We did all the “storm preparations” too, including a “dry run” of hooking up my husband’s auxiliary 02 cylinder (a humongous thing installed deep down the dark basement).
- Flashlight? check.
- Take the hose off the concentrator (which is dead now - no power). done.
- Attach it to giant-sized oxygen cylinder. o.k.
- Don’t panic. o.k.
- Turn the setting to #8. done.
- No, wait - turn “on” valve first.
- Don’t panic. o.k.
- Now, adjust setting to #8. done.
- Breathe!!! phew!
Fortunately, we didn’t get a “red alert” storm either. I am glad the weather forecasters were wrong—this time.
#1 Patricia Wood - 17 December, 2:35 PM
I found your blog through times goes by and nora’s blog- what a lovely picture you paint with words. The temperature here dipped into the low ’70’s and I had to put on wooly socks LOL! There are times I miss the coziness of snow storms and being inside. I too would have conversations with my mother about the past- as her mind wavered - the past was much closer and more real to her. It was never what I thought - no big stories but small delicate ones about dresses and songs.