My sister Janeen handed me something and asked me to look at it. I could tell she was almost to the point of tears. What she handed me was the operators manual for her lawn mower. There were parts of a number of pages that had been highlighted in yellow. Those parts were the important parts. They listed what kind of motor oil to use, how to start it and how to change the blade, plus some other things.
She said Ray must have done that for her. She hadn’t noticed it before. Her husband, Ray Pivec, had passed away the previous year after a many-months-long battle with cancer. Janeen was overwhelmed that Ray, in his last months and in his semi-invalid condition, had found the time to highlight the important parts of the owners manual for her. She said that at a glance, she found all she needed to know to get the mower running. Without it, she said it would have taken her an hour to read through the whole thing.
I’ve suggested before that it’s wise for a person to install a sturdy handrail by the steps at the door of his house before he needs one. Bubba, what about if you’re not around when your surviving spouse needs a handrail to get safely in and out of her home?
There are numerous averages pertaining to life, but no guarantees. Decades ago, a fellow I’d known off and on since he was 14 and had run with trucking hay a few times, tragically did not survive being crushed by a harrow bed. His sons were still too young to run his hay ranch, but he had bragged to me about his wife being “cheap help” around the farm.
I once bumped into him and his wife on their way home from delivering a load of hay. He had stopped for fuel, and it was obvious they had also been shopping. The cab was so full of bags and boxes that I thought his sweet wife was going to have to sit on his lap all the way home. Out of her earshot, I asked him to tell me again about his “cheap” helper. He said that now I knew why he didn’t have a truck with a huge sleeper.
That lady knew how to operate each piece of farm machinery and had been his partner when ordering parts and supplies and when dealing with bankers and accountants. She and her deceased husband had ample family in the area, so she wasn’t totally alone. The farm remained operational until the boys were able to take over, but as partners with their mother.
The lady in my life told me that one thing she was appreciative of was that whatever vehicle was hers to drive she always felt was reliable and safe. This comment popped up one day, after accompanying a friend shopping in the friend’s car. She said, “Jill’s rear end makes a funny noise.” I told her that I was surprised to hear her make such a rude comment.
“Her car! Her car’s rear end!” she corrected. The discussion followed that most of her friends drove cars they didn’t trust and that it seemed that the matter wasn’t important to their husbands.
If you were not there to check the oil and keep the baling wire tight that held your dearly beloved’s wheels together – how long would it be safe and reliable? Just food for thought.
I’ve often noticed widows needing fresh wheels just months after widowhood and feeling that they were taken advantage of by what was sold to them. Ideally, your partner in life should be on speaking terms with management or owners of a place or two you trust to maintain a vehicle. A preference for who she should take with her to a dealership should be known to her – which son, son-in-law or family friend you would trust from beyond the grave.
Then there’s little things, like grab handles in the bathroom and shower. A $10 device that will let someone with arthritic hands and wrists get the cap off a jar of pickles. A bedside flashlight. A phone app so family can know where everyone is.
Most of all, leave memories. The kind that leave no doubt to the survivor of their importance in your life. Memories that will overwhelm the loneliness. Memories of trips and outings. And memories that will leave kids and grandkids wondering why Grandpa or Grandma is sitting alone with a huge smile. And when asked, they won’t tell you. Because they’re special and will forever be private. The closest I can get to that and have it published is: In the darkness and privacy of our room, under the covers and with her arms wrapped around me, she kinda whispered, “It’s the closeness I like. No other place. No other happening. Nothing else gives me such a feeling of closeness, of oneness with you!”
Yeah buddy! Memories that are front and center after the new car, the jewelry, the surprise dinner date, etc. are all long forgotten.
