I grew up the youngest in a family of ten. All of us siblings recall our Mother’s sense of humor, which all of us inherited.
Mom was a busy farmer’s wife, yet had time for pranks and fun. She was the one who “got us” every April Fool’s Day. She was the one who had the greatest idea for decorating our home for church youth Halloween parties. Even in our adulthood, she never missed an opportunity to make family or friends laugh.
So it didn’t surprise us, after her stroke in her 80’s, her sense of humor was still intact, albeit child-like. Even though there were days she didn’t know her children’s names, she always knew she was “The Mother.”
The siblings set up a 24 hour care-giving service for her. In those four years we logged in our days in “Mom’s Diary.” It is from this diary I’ve gleaned these stories.
In cleaning out Mom’s dresser drawers and setting up a mini-hospital room, we found, even in her death, Mom saw humor. A tiny notebook, in one of the drawers, held the Bible verses and songs she wished for her funeral service. On the last page she had written: “Actually, I’m sort of glad you can’t take it with you. How else would I get rid of all this junk I’ve collected?”
The first three months Mom had been bedridden. Yet, within three days of her stroke, she’d say silly short sentences. We’d ask, “How old are you?” She replied, “130.” At times she’d know our names and even have a good sense of things, like flowers. “They’re pretty!” By Christmas, she regained a child-like humor. A small Christmas tree had been placed on her dresser for a few weeks. Finally, she told one of the sisters, “Put that Christmas tree away. I saw enough of it!”
Soon after Christmas, Mom’s energy returned, and with it years of plain child-like naughtiness.
Eventually feeding herself was helpful, but keeping her hands still was a problem. She was continually pulling at the catheter tubing. We’d hide the tube under the blankets and pillows, but she’d find it somehow. Someone eventually came up with the idea of tying short pieces of strings, or tie one end of hankies to the rail of the hospital bed, to occupy her hands. She kept her busy hands knotting these over and over again.
Her nocturnal feats always amazed us. One morning, when Mom and I awoke (we slept on a cot in her bedroom) I couldn’t find one of the long stockings we kept on her in wintertime. I went through covers over and over looking for it. Finally, I found it. She placed one stocking over the other stocking during the night.
Besides the stocking feat, we often found her naked, her nightgown wrapped securely around the rail. After untangling it, we’d dress her again and again. We also pottied her (after catheter was out) and listened to her babble and exercise—all night long! We hardly ever had a full night’s sleep.
Mom scared all of us with her strength and carefree manner. She was especially fond of exercising during the night. One evening I heard her do a cheer for Kutztown (the town she lived in).
Even though we’d try to keep her up late, to at least 8 or 9 p.m., she’d fuss so much, we’d put her to bed early. One night she started these bed exercises at midnight and did them over and over again. Her legs would flail into the air, interspersed with “My cup runneth over.” Rest period. And on and on throughout the night the same routine. I finally scolded, “It’s not your cup that runneth over, it’s your mouth!”
One of the girls noted in the diary that Mom had one leg over the rail. She even told us, “I’m going to crawl out of bed.” We never worried, thinking the rails protected her. Wrong! Through the years, she often got herself out of bed. We startled awake upon finding her sitting on her wheelchair, with a bit grin on her face. No matter how often we scolded, this was one of her many accomplishments.
My sister, Dorothy, noted Mom insisted on getting up at 6 a.m. Sleepily, she wheeled her into the living room, sat her in front of the picture window, and said, “I’m going to rest on the sofa if you don’t mind.”
“Be my guest,” Mom replied.It was only four months after Mom’s stroke we started placing her in the wheelchair and letting her eat at the kitchen table. She was thrilled. It was my sister, Mary Alice, who first wheeled her to the kitchen. Mom asked her who she was. She said, “Mary Alice.” Mom was so tickled, “I’m Mary Alice too!”
One time, with Dorothy, Mom insisted she wanted Senna tea, not her laxative. Dorothy told her she had to take her laxative. Mom said, “Listen to your Mom. If you like me, you’ll give me tea.” Naturally, Dorothy said she gave her the tea.
My daughter, Mande, made Mom mush (a Pennsylvania Dutch dish) in the microwave. Mom probably thought a kitchen stove to be more modern and told Mande, “You’re way behind the times.”
Mom usually ate slow, building high mounds with whatever foods were on her plate. We couldn’t leave her pills anywhere near her food. If she could reach them, she’d hide the pills under the glass or plate, or stick in a mound of potatoes.
One day she played with her bowl of soup for such a long time, I finally said, “Hmmm good. Hmmm good. Hmmm good. It looks delicious.”
She pushed her bowl of soup towards me and said, “Then you eat it!”
My sister Gladys, found out the hard way about letting items too close to Mom. We’d often let her peel potatoes or dry dishes. Gladys sat beside her at the kitchen table quilting. Not thinking, Gladys left the table to do something at the sink. When she sat down again, Mom had cut an end of the quilt.
Even the doctor had some good laughs when he came to check on Mom. She told the doctor, “Carole is ugly. She doesn’t let me go to bed.”
The doctor said, “Mary, why don’t you stay up later with Carole?”
“Piff on it”— Mom said, one of her favorite, oft repeated expressions.
Another visit, Mom didn’t think the doctor heard her and told me, “The doctor is so dumb.”
He told her, “Mary you better watch out, or I’ll give you a shot!
Once Mom was on her wheelchair, the doctor suggested a therapist come by to exercise her legs. The family agreed, but became concerned she might try to get around on her own, she was so daring. We canceled therapy and did what we could in exercising her legs on our own.
I was the one who decided to exercise her legs a bit different. She had just awakened from a nap on the sofa. I threw pillows on the floor, leaving a path between them. I then slid Mom to the floor and had her crawl between the pillows. She started a few crawls, toppled on the pillows, and with legs and hand in the air flailed back and forth in peels of laughter. Her position looked so child-like for an adult, I couldn’t stop laughing myself. Afterward, I realized I hadn’t thought out this plan too well—how would I get her back on the sofa? I coaxed her to sit up with her back against the sofa. I pulled her up under her arms and told her to push with her legs. We made it!
At some point, we asked the doctor if Mom’s catheter could come out so we could train her to “go potty.” The doctor agreed, but felt strongly that she could never be trained. He was wrong.
It was a trial and error thing at first. Mom asked, “Must I run to pee now?” No, we said, call us. And call she did. She’d call day and night, “I have to go. I have to go. I have to go.” We’d rush her to the potty often. It was exhausting. Because I worked a a nursing home, I asked for help. I was told we should keep a schedule. We did just that. We stopped running her to the potty, watched when she went last, and most times, she was able to control it. Of course, the doctor was amazed.
I had a particular funny time with Mom’s pottying. She wasn’t quite done with dinner, but insisted, “Piss. Piss. Piss.” Although this was a new way of saying “potty,” I rushed her to the bathroom. Once there, she hung onto the wheelchair bars and I couldn’t budge her off to get her on the toilet seat. Back to the kitchen. On wheeling her past the stove, she reached out to the pot and said, “Piss. Piss. Piss.” She wanted the peas, which were in a pot on the stove!
There were times one of us would ask Mom who was the prettiest, or who was her favorite. Her response was always, “I won’t say.”
My sisters and I continued our traditional birthday parties at Mom’s house. Mom enjoyed our parties as much as we did. Usually Mom wore nightgowns, but for parties we dressed her up in hats, makeup and jewelry and dresses. We, the daughters, joined in the fun by dressing up in her dresses, hats, and jewelry as well. She thought we were a blast.
For one of these parties, I decided once and for all I’m going to prove to the sisters that I’m Mom’s favorite daughter. For weeks, when I came to take care of her, I’d practice walking into the kitchen from the garage. I told Mom, “When I walk in, you clap.” She then clapped heartily. Then I started saying, “What do you do when I walk in this door?” She clapped every time. Now it was time to prove something to my sisters. On purpose, I came to the party late. When I entered from the garage, Mom clapped and clapped and clapped. I didn’t have to even ask the question. I just walked over, kissed her, and said, “I guess I’m your favorite daughter, after all.”
Mom was able to go for rides in the car at times. Since she loved fun and it happened to be April Fool’s Day, Mom and I dressed up in her dress and hats We visited Mary Alice and presented her with a bunch of dead flowers. We visited Dorothy and presented her with candy made of rags I couldn’t tell you who laughed the most over our April Fool’s jokes—Mother or daughters.
I think the most favorite memory I gleaned from Mom’s diary was my sister, Anita’s entry: “I put Mom to bed and told her not to forget her prayers. Mom said she never forgets her prayers. As I left the bedroom, I heard her pray, the prayer she taught us as children, ‘Now I lay me down to sleep….'”
Carole Christman Koch grew up in Berks County and has been published in numerous publications. She has a passion for writing and has many stories from growing up on a farm to raising children to humorous stories about her and her husband to everyday stories to season stories and more.
