Part 1 ended with the death of my grandmother and my bewilderment that my mother’s response was only: “It’s terrible” and “I can’t believe that mother is gone.” This is the only expression of any feeling, despite the fact that they essentially lived together since my mother’s birth. I pick up on this thought …
On trying to fathom my mother’s reactions, let me deal with it this way. Growing up, I always wanted a dog. But my father was adamant against it. Dogs are messy, bring dirt into the house and so forth. Yet sometime long after I was gone, my parents got a dog. It was the neighbor’s dog. When the neighbors moved and couldn’t take it with them, my mother took the dog. Stubby was his name. But Stubby was an outside dog. Indeed, he came with his own doghouse, which was just carried over into my parents’ backyard. Thus, no dog was coming into the house and making a mess. Even in the winter, he stayed in his house. In fairness to my father, he ran an electrical cord out to Stubby’s house, with a light bulb in a blanket to keep him warm. My kids knew Stubby and always played with him when we visited.
I think you see where I’m going with this. Pet animals often die, since their life spans are much shorter than ours.
1978: September 6. “Had Stubby put to sleep. He could no longer sit up. I feel so terrible & sad.”
Sept 7. “I’m very sad & miss Stubby so much. He was part of the family.”
Sept.8. “Poor Stubby – I really miss him!”
Sept 13. “I still miss Stubby.”
Later, they got a cat named Mittens because of her white paws. My uncle’s cat had several kittens and she was the one my mother picked, I believe. Of course, cats are cleaner than dogs; plus, they have a box in the basement, etc. So, she lived in the house.
On November 29, 1983 Mittens died.
Nov. 30. “We miss her so much – it is so lonely today.”
Dec. 1: “Miss Mittens very much. She was a joy to us.”
Dec 3: “We miss Mittens so much & feel very sad.”
Dec.4: “We still feel very sad.”
The fact that the latter are plural, unlike those about the dog, is because Roy liked the cat.
More importantly, these emotional reactions by my mother show why I’m dumbfounded at the death of my grandmother and the absence of any expression of feelings – after their proximate living for the first 51 years of my mother’s life.
One topic that I know would always get a rise out of my mother is music. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that music was one of the few aspects of her life that gave her real pleasure. She was always happy playing the violin or piano, and later the organ. She was very musical and could play any tune without sheet music. My mother played the violin in her High School orchestra. She often talked about that experience, always with a gleeful smile on her face. On January 21, 1987, they went to a concert at Heinz Hall – an open rehearsal of the Pittsburgh Symphony. It triggered her memory. “I really enjoyed [High School] orchestra.” And this triggers my memory of her talking about those halcyon days for her. She could recall specific cases of Mr. Somebody, the conductor, saying such and such and the students playing so and so – as if it were yesterday. She would recreate all the details of them getting through Rossini’s Overture to the Barber of Seville.
While I was growing up, however, my mother primarily played the piano. Only occasionally did she take out the violin. But as recorded in the diary, in the late 1970s she started playing duets with a man named Carl, whom I think was a retired co-worker with my father who often came to the home. On the phone, she often spoke about how much she enjoyed getting back to the violin. Hence, I find this:
1982: Oct. 8. Carl died. “No more violin duets. He was 71 years old.” There is an element of narcissism here, I’d say.
Oct. 11. Went to Carl’s funeral. “Another beautiful sunny day. 70 degrees.” Back to the weather, eh Mom?
Around the same time that she got back to the violin, she also started taking organ lessons.
1979: Nov. 23. “Enjoy my 2 hrs. [practicing] at the organ.”
Nov. 24. “The organ is really fascinating to me. I practice 2 hrs. each day.” It’s nice to hear you talking about feelings, Mother.
Allow me to generalize for a bit. My mother had only a High School education. She read little. Except for music, she never grew intellectually in her adult life. There was little to no speculation from her about deep issues in life. It’s not in the diary, nor do I ever recall her talking about such things. Except for her remembering her High School years, as seen – she otherwise lived only in the present. In a real sense, her psychological development stopped after High School. This, I believe, was common for many women of her generation who married and became housewives and mothers, without going further in their education. Their lives peaked in High School. Everything I know about her supports this thesis.
Mentioning High School again allows me to segue into the role of Class Reunions in her life. I was very young, but can still remember when my mother’s High School class had their first reunion. When she heard about it, she was ecstatic. She became one of the major workers, calling people and doing the chores to make it come off. The enthusiasm she had for this continued over the decades. It even went past the 50-year reunion. She went to ALL of them, often telling me about this person and that person, whom I never met. She was, in her mind, back in High School, and especially, I believe, in orchestra.
Sept. 22. Class reunion. “Played piano for cocktail hour and sing along.”
Sept 23. Very tired the next day. “It was great & worth being tired.”
1978: June 24. Class reunion at Wildwood Golf Club. “Played piano at cocktail time.” Yes, I can see my mother in her glory. Both playing the piano and being back in High School. Perfect, eh Mom?
The late fall of 1987: Planning another Class Reunion. Lots of meetings. She is treasurer.
Nov. 20. “Worked on reunion letter. It will be fun contacting school friends.” As if it were yesterday and she was still in school.
Winter of 1988: Still working on the reunion. It will be the 50th. Writing letters, making phone calls, etc.
Saturday, July 9, 1988. 50th reunion. 45 people. She played piano. Lasted till midnight. “Success.”
Two more diary entries to end this topic.
April 4. She went to a wedding. Mentions where it was and who they sat with. Only one remark: “Loved the piano playing.” That’s my mother!
March 21. “Amalia from [high] school called today.” I have no idea who Amalia is, but the nonchalant way my mother says this caught my attention. As if school days were only yesterday – not over half-a-century ago!
Confronted with her obsession with her High School reunions – a place where we do get some expression of feelings by her – makes me note this. My High School class (which, incidentally, was at the same school) had reunions going on for over 50 years, too. The last one was just a few years ago. But, in contrast to my mother, I never went to one! Of course, unlike my mother, I didn’t live in Pittsburgh. Nonetheless, I’ve never had the desire to relive all that, even though there was nothing negative about my High School years. In fact, it was very positive. But the ensuing decade of university life & learning transformed me in ways that made the High School past another world – a world that I left behind. Unlike my mother.
*** Look for the final segment of David’s story next week. ***
Part 3 – 6/25/25
