Saying Good-bye to My Friend Mich

I met Mich Magness three years ago when I took Mam-ma Polly to a 101st birthday party for his aunt, Lois Taylor.  We clicked instantly, as Mich learned that I was there as Mam-ma's caregiver...and he was a gerontologist for the state of Oklahoma.  Mich "had my number" pretty quickly, and he gave me great advice about caregiving, the elderly, and the sandwich generation.  We talked all through lunch, and I will always remember that on the way home, Mam-ma said, "Well, I said to Lois...'He's met his match!  If he can out-talk HER, he's really done something!'" 

I will also remember that Mich asked me why I thought I had to be responsible for distant relatives (like our little great-nephew Timothy) and "every stray that comes along"!  He said this was typical of certain groups of people... nurses and teachers, to name a couple... that we were by nature a "nurturing personality," and we felt it was our duty to care for others. As a former teacher, I fit the pattern.

The following summer, we met again at the birthday party, and Mich began to follow this blog. He usually shared my posts from the blog on his Facebook page...and he almost always had something insightful, encouraging and/or comforting to say about them.

Mam-ma Polly and Grimm Magness
July 2010

I find it interesting that in such a short time I could come to feel such a strong friendship with someone I only met twice  yet "corresponded" with almost daily via Facebook.  I never met Mich's wife or sons... although I did meet his brother, and his father, Grimm Magness, who had grown up in Arkansas with my grandparents.

Mich and I shared a lot of the same views... socially, politically, and spiritually.  I know he loved God, his family, his community, the arts, and dogs.  He had the biggest heart.  And now, he is gone... another victim of Glioblastoma... the second friend I've lost to this disease in the span of three months - and the third person I know who has been diagnosed with GBS in the last year.  Until last July, I had never even heard of Glioblastoma...it is supposed to be fairly rare.

Mich's last message to me was on June 24th, when he assured me that he was as okay as you can be when you know you are dying of a brain tumor, and he added, "Thanks for caring."  I did care... and I will miss his social commentaries...his sweet insights into aging and the elderly, and his ever-present wit and ability to tell us how he really felt - and get by with it!  I am sure I will re-read his advice (as documented in a post in July 2010 on this blog) quite often... and the comments he shared with me on Facebook, as well.

I will so miss Mich and his larger-than-life personality. Oklahoma - and the country at large - lost a good man tonight. The "gerontology world" lost a tremendous teacher and advocate.  And Heaven's table gained a delightful dinner guest.  I'm sure he, Mam-ma Polly and Mrs. Lois are already having a great conversation there.

God bless you, Mich...  we will never forget you. May you rest in the peaceful, loving arms of Jesus.

Making Adjustments...

I looked at the clock tonight shortly before 9:00 and realized that two weeks ago, I was sitting beside my grandmother, watching her take the last breaths of her life and drift away from us forever.  Tonight, I was sitting beside my great-niece, Zola, watching her drift sweetly off to Dreamland... and hopefully a long night of restful slumber.  The last two weeks have been a whirlwind of activity... planning and preparing for the funeral, acknowledging those who helped with everything from the pre-service meal to the pastors and funeral directors, those who sent flowers and those who have generously given to charities in memory of my grandmother.

My grandmother's apartment had to be cleared and the few items we didn't donate to charity had to be sorted and stored.  There were dishes to return, forms to sign, and things to catch up on at home... like laundry and housekeeping that had been put off far too long.

During all of this, I assured Timothy and Zola that when I rested, they could come for a visit.  A few days ago, we had the one and only "warm" day of this week, and my husband and I set aside everything else to go grab the kids and spend an hour at a local park playground.  Timothy ran to me, arms open wide.  As I scooped him up and hugged him, he gently patted me and asked, "Aunt Debbie... have you rested?"  I told him yes, I have rested, and he can come soon for a visit.

So Zola is here tonight for HER visit... Timothy comes tomorrow for a night, and we will all go to church together on Sunday.  As I sat down to one of the first "real" suppers I've cooked in a while last night, I said to my husband, "I keep thinking I need to go to Southridge and check on Mam-ma."  Then I remember... she is no longer there.  I have no idea how long this will go on... when I will truly realize that things have changed.  I just know that tonight, I reminded myself that it's only been two weeks.  After almost 56 years of having my grandmother as a constant in my life - and the last eleven as her primary caregiver and guardian - it's bound to be an adjustment.

I find myself still experiencing moments of feeling "bleh" - not necessarily sad, but just dull and a little numb.  Toddlers are great for that!  They have a way of jerking you right out of your vacant reverie and back to reality!  And that is a good thing.  Timothy's mother allowed him to attend Mam-ma's funeral, and having him there was a great comfort to me.  Even though he is not quite four, he had a perspective on death that we could all take to heart.

During the visitation, Timothy played throughout the church sanctuary.  Mam-ma's casket sat atop a "gurney" type table on rollers.  As visitors paraded by to speak to me, Timothy came with arms up for me to hold him.  I scooped him up, and he looked down into the casket.  "Mam-ma's dead!" he exclaimed.  "We're gonna roll her up to heaven to be with Jesus... He's a really nice guy!"  Then he was off to run and play again.  At the cemetery, he sat in my lap and said, "We can't leave Mam-ma in that box very long."  Both pastors who officiated are dear family friends, and one of them gently explained to Timothy that Mam-ma is in heaven...she's not really in that box.  Honestly, I don't know what all she said to him, but he accepted it readily.  On the ride to the cemetery, Timothy had declared again that "Mam-ma is dead!"  My mom said, "Yes, she is in heaven... and we are glad."  Timmy replied, "I'm not glad!  Well, I'm a little glad.

We could learn a lot from a four-year-old.  I'm sure my grandmother would be greatly pleased by his comments and "take" on her passing.  She was so ready for heaven, so I am glad she is finally there. And I know how worried she was about her great-great-grandchildren.  So as I tucked Zola in tonight, I thought of how pleased Mam-ma would be to know that I was rocking her to sleep... and continuing her legacy of love and devotion to others - especially our family and this new generation of little ones.

How Do You Sum Up 100 Years...a Eulogy for My Grandmother

When I was about six or seven, my grandmother sat me down on the rock ledge of the well house in the chicken yard one day and handed me a beautiful white hen. The chicken sat on my lap, warbling softly as I stroked her feathers. Then without any warning, Mam-ma grabbed that hen by the neck and began swinging her around violently. Soon the neck snapped, and the body of the hen ran round and round the chicken yard, wings flapping. I really had no idea what was happening, but that hen became dinner!

Not long ago, I told this story in front of Mam-ma, and we asked her WHY she did this – why she sprung such a thing on an innocent small child. Her explanation was that she thought she needed to teach me a lesson. In her mind, I needed to know how to wring a chicken’s neck… and she never was one to sugar-coat things. Some might even say she had a mean streak… and I would have to agree. She saw this as an opportunity to toughen up a little “city girl.” And while she didn’t necessarily toughen me, she gave me an experience I never forgot!

In his book, All I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, author Robert Fulghum presents a list of lessons learned in his first year of school. And as a former kindergarten teacher, I greatly appreciate these pearls of wisdom… things like take daily naps and eat cookies. But for all I learned in kindergarten, I learned even more from my grandmother

• I learned how to cook and sew.
• I learned how to catch fish – and how to fry them.
• I learned how to grow a garden and can fruits and vegetables.
• I learned how to paint a picture.
• I learned how to feed others.
• I learned how to cook teeth!
• I learned how to be a “people person.”
• I learned how to serve God.

Of course, there were a few lessons I didn’t learn so well. I kill more plants and flowers than I grow. I can NOT make peanut brittle… and I never did learn to wring a chicken’s neck.

Mam-ma Polly was known far and wide for her peanut brittle. Nearly a half inch thick, yet light and crispy, she had the touch for making candy that tasted like no other. And she NEVER pulled her candy. She let it spread on its own, unlike most other peanut brittle makers. She tried to teach me, my sister, Jasmine, and my cousin Natalie how to make peanut brittle one winter. She “instructed” while we did the work… we stirred the sugar syrup until it made the right “hair” on the end of our spoon, and then we added the peanuts and watched the candy cook them. We stirred the foamy scalding substance and added the baking soda. And just as the candy started to pour out of the pan onto a greased cookie sheet, I attempted to help it along. “NO! NO! NO! I’m gonna whip you! Don’t you dare do that!” Mam-ma screamed. Apparently it is complete sacrilege to touch the candy as it pours. What’s left in the pan is just left in the pan. And you do NOT help the candy spread on the cookie sheet. That part I did learn! I don’t know if any of the three of us can make peanut brittle, but we will all remember that day and the screams… and we’ll never help the candy out of the pan… ever again!


Mam-ma Polly and her County Extention
Service Home Economist - somewhere
around 1953 - in Mam-ma's root cellar

Anyone who knew Mam-ma Polly knew that she was “a mess.” My mother wrote a book about her Aunt Zula, and my mother-in-law said, “I think you should write a book about Polly.” Greg said, “You could call it Golly Polly!” I laughed and said, “No, I think it would need to be called Polly, Patchwork, and Peanut Brittle.” But in retrospect, I think maybe it should be titled I Tell You What! If you have spent any time at all around Polly, you know that she prefaced nearly everything she said with “I tell you what…” or maybe you have heard “Why, my land a livin’” as she imparted some words of wisdom. Or maybe you know some other of her many tried and true sayings that she loved to pepper into her conversation.

There is a lawyer who has a little infomercial on television, and in his ad, he says, “I’m gonna tell you a few things you don’t know, and some things you need to know!” Well, I’m going to tell you some things about my grandmother that you may know – and a few that I’m betting you might not know.

My first recollections of my grandmother are of her nimbly sewing the tiniest of wedding dresses, wool suits, evening gowns, and even underwear for our Barbie dolls – almost all done by hand or on a treadle sewing machine. I also remember catching her fill our red net Christmas stockings with fruit and nuts and hang them on either side of her fireplace. When I asked about it, she said, “Well, Santa is so busy – I’m just helping him out a little.”


I remember early mornings of John Chancellor on the Today Show… Huntley and Brinkley in the evenings, and gospel music on the big radio console that stood adjacent to a wall near the dining area. I remember stopping at Foust’s Department Store on the way home for staples like coffee, flour, sugar and Crisco. Everything else came out of the “deep freeze” or the cellar. My grandparents grew everything they could for our meals, and we feasted on canned and frozen garden vegetables and fruits – and black angus cattle raised in the pastures behind the house.

The "crew" at Young's Department Store

My grandmother worked in factories from Texas to Indiana. She worked at Young’s Department Store and the Glove Factory. She drove a school bus route for eleven years. She was a chairside dental assistant for eighteen years, and in her starched white “nurse’s uniform, white hose and shoes,” I thought she was as much a nurse as any RN at the hospital. She worked for Dr. Joe Robbins, and in those days, the dentist made his own dentures. I still can see the cabinet with the trays of molars and canines and the little table with a strong light and impressions set alongside the work-in-progress that would become someone’s dentures. Dr. Joe would “set” the teeth, and then Mam-ma would take them home in the afternoons to “cook” in a big pressure pot on her cookstove… sometimes alongside a pot of beans.

Mam-ma worked briefly for Dr. Leon Wilson – another dentist – as his receptionist, and she served as a “foster grandparent,” first at Heber Springs Elementary School, and then for several years at the Community School of Cleburne County.
 
I still recall the look on my grandmother’s face when she walked in the room to view my dad’s body after he died. Her knees buckled, and her companion, Deb Caviness, my cousin Eddie, and Greg scrambled to catch her so she wouldn’t sink to the floor. I still remember how blank and devastated she looked when I first saw her after the house she had inhabited since 1953 – and virtually all of her earthly possessions within it - burned to the ground on December 20, 1981.

I still hear the trepidation and sadness in her voice as she told me of losing her firstborn baby… being so sick and out of it from the drugs given during her delivery that she was not even able to attend his burial. She was a 20-year-old bride. She worried so when Jasmine was pregnant with Timmy, reminding me more than once that “you know, I lost my first baby.”

I still hear the bitterness in her voice as she spoke of her daddy, who abandoned his family when Mam-ma was about 12 to move to another state with another woman and start a new family. Mam-ma only saw him once ever again – when my daddy was about 10. She said Grandpa drove up in the yard and wanted to pretend nothing had ever happened. A few pictures were made of him and Daddy, but only one included my grandmother. As she would tell us in recent years, “We had a good life until Poppa left. Babe and I played with dolls and did all the things kids do. But when Poppa left, we had to go to the fields and go to work.” And work became her mantra for the rest of her life.

Mam-ma Polly loved nothing more than for people to sit and visit with her… and to make her the center of attention…and you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to see that she never overcame her feelings of abandonment, even after almost 90 years. She had a way of cutting to the chase – telling you if you needed to lose a few pounds or “dry it up” – or offering marital advice. Once, she told a widow who had remarried, “Well, you already killed one husband, and now you’re workin’ on another!” And she told me often, in one way or another – and once outright – you don’t do enough for me… you could do more! She also told me that what was wrong with our churches is that we have gotten away from shaped notes, gospel singing and the King James version of the Bible.

Mam-ma Polly would be the first to tell you, “I’ve worked hard all my life” – and she did. But she would also be the first person on the scene if you needed her. I’ve seen her bake wedding cakes for brides who couldn’t afford to buy one – and then hand the bride a new nightgown from her own dresser on the way out the door with a quick, “Here, you’ll need this.” I’ve seen her bake countless cakes, pies, pans of hot rolls and more for those who were sick or grieving… or to celebrate even the most mundane of occasions. I’ve seen my grandmother ask month after month, year after year, “Did you send my tithe to the church?” In the years 2007-2009, she must have made close to 20 baby blankets and quilts for cousins, nieces, nephews, and her great-great-grandson, Timothy.

On her 95th birthday in 2007, I asked about 100 people who knew and loved Mam-ma Polly to write down their memories and send them to be added to a special “memory box.” To Mam-ma’s credit, dozens responded, and she treasured her memories for years afterward. I would like to read a few of them that capture the essence of who Mam-ma Polly was.

From Evelyn Robbins Irwin… “You have always been a part of our family. I’m glad you were always at Daddy’s office to hold my hand.”

From Nevin Robbins…”I want to share two memories with you. The first is about peanut brittle, of course. You probably taught every person in Cleburne County to judge the quality of peanut brittle against what you make. It is so good! I remember the first time I ever saw you make it. My father took me out to your farm. I was delighted to see your place. You explained to me that the trick to making good peanut brittle was having the right combination of ingredients, cooking time, and temperature… and WEATHER! If it all fit together just right, the candy would be great. Somehow you were able to fix it just right, and we have enjoyed the benefits for years.”

The second memory is really a collection of memories back at the old dental office. I learned very quickly who was really in charge. You were always able to keep the office and people in it on the right track. Sometimes it was your smile or laugh that eased the situation. Sometimes it was your saying, “Now, Dr. Joe…” It was always your joy in life that touched us all. For all these things, I love you and thank you. I am so glad you are a part of my life.

Polly and Deb, her companion for
7 years after my grandfather died.

He was like a second grandfather to us.

From Donald Payton… The first time Charlene and I visited the Chandlers in Heber Springs, we were planning a Saturday night activity and told Polly she was welcome to go with us, “but it probably won’t be over before 10:00.” She replied, “Nope, me and Deb are goin’ dancin’… and we’ll hardly be started by then.”

Many years ago, long before we knew Polly, I wrote a song, recorded by Porter Wagoner, which was entitled “Plantin’ Beans and Turnip Greens and Thinkin’ Dear of You.” Now, whenever I recall that song, I think of Polly. Invariably, when I speak with her over the phone, I ask if she’s had any beans and turnip greens lately, and she’ll say, “I had a mess of ‘em yesterday. Picked ‘em myself right out of the garden, and fixed ‘em with cornbread. They sure were good. I just wish you and Charlene were here to eat ‘em with me.”

From Charlene Payton…Nobody in this world makes peanut brittle that tastes half as good as Polly’s. One day we asked her how she breaks it into “eatable” pieces. Polly replied, “I put it in a sack, carry the sack to the back porch, and keep throwing it on the floor till it breaks into pieces!”

One day, several of us women, including Polly, were in a Branson theater awaiting the start of a show. Just as the houselights dimmed and the crowd hushed, Polly said, “Charlene, if something happens to Donald, you should start dating as soon as possible.”

From Rufo Martin… Polly was working at Young’s Department Store and helping a young lady that was trying on blue jeans. It seems the young lady left, and Polly went into the dressing room to pick up the 2 new pair of jeans she had tried on. There were no jeans in sight, so I confronted the young lady outside the store, and Polly went with her to the dressing room to have her remove the 2 new pair of blue jeans she had on under her old jeans.

From Natalie Fall Norton… My favorite baby gift was the quilt you made for Olivia. It is beautiful. I love knowing that it was made by someone who loved Olivia before she even made her grand entrance. At first, it hung on the wall, because I didn’t want her to get anything on it. Now, I cover her up with it when she takes a nap. Not one time have I covered her up that I didn’t thank God for you and what you have given our family. I’m not talking about gifts. I’m talking about love and a sense of what true family is all about.

From Carla Lou Huson… My grandmother, Nonnie, was not as good of a cook as Aunt Polly (and that is being kind). Nonnie was, however, competitive with Aunt Polly. Aunt Polly would come into town and bring us cookies, and Aunt Polly’s cookies were out-of-this-world delicious. The minute Nonnie saw the cookies from Aunt Polly, she would start baking. Nonnies cookies were barely edible. Regardless, Mother would make all of us choke them down so Nonnie wouldn’t get her feelings hurt. I got to where I actually dreaded seeing Aunt Polly coming with those heavenly cookies because I knew that Nonnie’s contribution was close at hand!

When I was in elementary school, I would ride the school bus with Timmy to Aunt Polly’s house. We would run amok on the farm, and Aunt Polly would cook all of our favorite foods. We would do whatever we wanted to do, and then our parents would come and get us before bedtime. Going out to the farm seemed so exotic… and riding the bus was a huge thrill, too. Of course, the best part was hanging out with Aunt Polly!

My number one memory of Aunt Polly is DUMPLINGS! She makes the best ones EVER! No one even comes close. Her cooking is the best part of me coming home to visit.

From Elwanda Bailey… I recall when you worked in the dental office and how neat you were in those white uniforms… makes me think also of my mom and how she starched and ironed her uniforms and wore the white shoes with white hose… neither of you would have ever thought of wearing the scrubs professional people wear today.

From Rick Whisnant… Remember when me and Jim Huson got caught smoking grapevines behind your house?

From Jasmine Linn Gary… Mom picked a flower on your lamp post. You thought it was me. You told me you would beat my “@$$” if I didn’t stop picking your flowers.

I showed you a bonnet on “Little House on the Prairie.” You made me one just like it, but mine was prettier because it was pink, orange and yellow.

From Mike Linn…You sewed the motorcycle on my stocking so I would feel like part of the family.

From Suzanne Chandler Linn… One year we had Thanksgiving dinner at the farm. That afternoon, you and us kids went for a walk in the woods. We picked rabbit tobacco, and when we got back to the house, we rolled it up in strips of a brown paper sack and smoked it!

I remember watching you make mince meat. You clamped the meat grinder to the kitchen counter, and I couldn’t believe all the stuff you ground up to put in it. It was a while after that before I would eat mince meat pie again! Now I love it!

Right after Pap-pa died, you and I were walking through the field to pick the peas, and you told me, “Honey, I learned a long time ago that you’ve got to walk through lots of piles of manure before you ever get to smell the roses.” (except she didn’t say manure!)

From Greg… I don’t think we’ve ever really acknowledged it out loud, but we both know that I adopted you as my substitute grandmother many years ago. The first time I had supper at your house (now over 40 years ago), I immediately became envious of Debbie, Suzanne, and Timmy. As you know, my family had moved hundreds of miles away from my grandparents when I was very young. The distance made it impossible for my grandparents to maintain the sort of relationship that you had with your grandchildren.

I realized just how much I missed being close to my grandparents the minute I stepped into your warm, cozy farm house one cold night for supper. And when I say warm, I mean WARM! Besides the wood stove, Trup had a fire in the fireplace and you were cooking up a storm in the kitchen, which generated even more heat.

I was just getting to know your family, so I was a little nervous. Trup was hard to read, but you made it clear that you’d be nice to any scoundrel that Debbie might drag to your table. Over time, I came to know that Trup had a sweet heart, too.

I could see immediately how important you were to Debbie, and so I wanted to make a good impression. When we all crammed in around the supper table, you made me feel right at home, and you introduced me to the best dessert ever invented… sweet potato pie!

Up to that time, I’d never cared much for sweet potatoes, so you might as well have been offering me a turnip pie! I probably appeared a little reluctant, but I was not about to insult Debbie’s grandmother, so I agreed to try it. I was even more apprehensive when you presented my pie in a bowl and with some sort of white gravy on top. When I took my first bite, I felt like everyone’s eyes were on me, so I was fully prepared to grin and bear it. Well, I was hooked… not just on sweet potato pie, but also on my new grandmother-to-be.

Besides being a great cook, you are a great teacher. I learned a lot of things at your table over the years… here are a few of my favorites…

• Green beans and black-eyed peas are good when they’re cooked right.
• Even turnip greens are good… when they’re cooked right!
• Eating and laughing go together.
• Some people put sugar on sweet corn.
• Some people put tea in their sugar.
• Some people say “I love you” with sugar cookies.
• Life’s short and sugar’s cheap.
• Hard work is its own reward… so long as your family appreciates it!
• Love and faith will get you by.
• God is good.

I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, but I’ll try...

• Thank you for throwing me off the bus when I was 12. I deserved it.
• Thank you for being nice to me, even when I didn’t deserve it.
• Thank you for accepting me into your family.
• Thank you for your example of hard work and perseverance.
• Thank you for praying for me.
• Thank you for loving me.

I love you too.

To mark Mam-ma’s 100th birthday, my mother posted a tribute to her on one of her blogs. It said in part…

Despite long working hours, Polly made time for church activities, membership in the County Home Demonstration Club, and the Business and Professional Women’s Club. She regularly hosted suppers for her family and many friends. Every Wednesday, her three grandchildren rode the school bus home with her and stayed for supper. Polly’s green thumb and her love for digging her hands into the soil turned out deep colored flowers and bountiful vegetables in her large garden. She spent summer nights canning and freezing her harvested food. Yet, she still made time to sew tailor-made garments for herself and her granddaughters. Her favorite pastime? Picking up a fishing pole and heading for a pond with her husband and two favorite friends.

To me, she is Polly—the mother who raised my first husband and cherished our three children. To my children, grandchild, and great-grandchildren, she is Mam-ma Polly—the matriarch of our family. She has lived and loved for a century; she's endured hardships and observed changes that boggle the imagination compared to her childhood. We celebrate her 100 years of living, her numerous accomplishments, and the impact she continues to have on so many lives.

Over the weekend, my good friend John Birdsong posted this tribute to Mam-ma Polly on Facebook… I want to share this on my own page because the life of this dear saint of God was so intertwined with mine. When I was very small we lived next door to her in my grandmother's house and later in Polly's rent house. She was sweet and kind and also very proper -- one of the most dignified and elegant ladies I knew as a child, though she might not have seen herself that way! I enjoyed knowing her son and her son's future wife Arline Chandler when they were dating and newly married, and Arline later became my piano teacher. Polly's grandchildren became some of the closest friends that I and my sisters had growing up.

In 1958 when I started first grade, Polly was bus driver for the small group of kids who lived east of the river. There were so few of us that at first she took us to school in her own car (a brand-new gold-colored 1959 Chevy with enormous fins) then later in a van until our route eventually qualified for a "real" school bus. It always amazed me to watch her grapple with the stick-shift and the big steering wheel on that bus, and it looked to me like it would have been a hard job for a strong man. She could back up that bus and turn it around as well as any bus driver in the district!

Though we moved across the field into our own house later on, we still considered Polly our neighbor. When telephone service came to our community it was on an eight-party line, and Polly sometimes gently reminded us kids that we needed to be respectful of the other folks on the line. I'm sure we sometimes drove her crazy making and receiving call after call in the afternoons and evenings, (our "ring" was an annoying "long and a short") but she was always kind when she reminded us that other people needed to use the line too.

She and my grandmother were good friends, though Grandma was about 18 years her senior, and I will always remember Polly coming to my side at the cemetery when we laid Grandma to rest. I was standing next to the grave as they lowered the casket into the ground, in some degree of distress, and Polly calmy and quietly, in that genteel Southern voice reminded me that Grandma was in a better place now and that everything would be all right.

So now Polly has gone to that better place. Her granddaughter, my good friend Debbie, has kept us apprised of Polly's condition over the past few years as she continued to enjoy life as best she could while her body became more frail. She will be missed by those who cared for her and stayed close to her. I had not seen her in a couple of years, but always enjoyed hearing about her on birthdays and special occasions as her family posted on Facebook. What a wonderful life she lived, and what a better world it is because of this sweet lady's life.

Yes, Mam-ma Polly was a mess… but she was our mess, and in large part, we are who we are today because of her influence. I may not be able to make peanut brittle, and my quilting stitches may not be as small and neat as hers, but I make a mean pan of hot rolls… and I like to imagine that I think of others more than myself most of the time. I know I love serving God – and serving others, in no small part because of her example. And I’ve even started saying “I tell you what” as I get older!

There will never be another Mam-ma Polly. I’m not sure the world – or heaven – is big enough to hold but one. But I know when I get to heaven, she will be there waiting for me. I just hope she isn’t holding a chicken!

Heaven Is My Home...Mam-ma Polly Got Her Wings!

“Polly” Chandler, passed away Friday, March 8th, 2013, at her residence in Southridge Village Retirement Center, Heber Springs, Arkansas. Born November 5, 1912, in Little Red, Arkansas, as Willie Dove Thrasher, “Polly” was the eighth child of William Floyd and Mary Caroline (Cullum) Thrasher. When Willie Dove was a little girl, a man nick-named her “Polly,” and it stuck.

Polly lived in the area of Hiram and Cooter Neck much of her life. On December 18, 1932, she married Truman Paul Chandler. They were the parents of two sons… a baby who died at birth, and James Paul, who was born in 1936. Trup and Polly worked most of their lives in and around Heber Springs, with brief stints at factories and farms in Indiana and Texas in the 1940s and 1950s. In one of those factories, Polly helped to create munitions for the war. She also worked in a dress shop, a department store, and as a cook for farmhands in Texas.

Polly worked outside the home almost all of her life. Even in “retirement,” she served as a “Foster Grandparent”… first in the elementary school and then at the Community School of Cleburne County. She was a long-time member of the Heber Springs B&PW Club, the Extension Homemakers, and a charter member of the Heber Springs Folklore Society, where she was instrumental in raising the funds to build the facility that sits at the foot of Sugarloaf Mountain. Polly was an extraordinarily good dancer!

Polly served as a chairside dental assistant to Dr. Joe N. Robbins for nearly 20 years. During that time, she was a bus driver for the Heber Springs Schools for approximately eleven years. Dozens of students can recall riding Polly’s bus… especially getting out and walking across the Swinging Bridge in its later years, because she felt it was unsafe for them to ride. She would drive across and meet them on the other end.

Polly was the oldest living member of the First Baptist Church of Heber Springs, having joined the local congregation in 1953. If anything defined Polly Chandler, it was her faith in God, which served her well through many challenges, including the loss of her first baby, a fire that claimed her home and all of its belongings in 1981, the death of Truman in 1984, and the loss of her grandson Tim in 1998, followed by James Paul’s death in 1999. Throughout all of these events and much more, Polly would say, “The LORD will take care of me”… and He did.

Anyone who knew Polly knew that she was an incredible cook, gardener, seamstress, and quilter. Polly was known far and wide for her peanut brittle, homemade rolls, and her sweet potato cobbler. She was recognized in the local paper just a few summers ago for growing incredibly large tomatoes in her backyard plot. At Southridge, she supervised the community garden and maintenance of the hanging baskets and flower beds. Polly made beautiful quilts… all stitched by hand from start to finish. She could arrange flowers on the fly and whip up a feast out of a few “dabs” of leftovers that looked like less than nothing.

Polly loved people and was happiest when surrounded by visitors to her home. Her conversations were peppered with “I tell you what!” , “I started to say…” and “My land a livin’s” galore… plus many other pearls of wisdom… some that cannot be repeated! Her first question to a new neighbor was usually, “Can you stay for dinner?” followed by “Where do you go to church?” Polly lived a rich life of service to God and others, and she will be remembered by many for her beautiful smile and her lovingkindness toward everyone she met.

In addition to her parents and nine siblings, Polly was preceded in death by her husband, Truman, her infant son J.H., her son James Paul, and her grandson, Timothy Paul Chandler. Polly is survived by her former daughter-in-law, Arline (Chandler) Smith and her husband, Lee; grand-daughters and sons… Debbie and Greg Robus, and Suzanne and Mike Linn, all of Heber Springs; her great-grand-daughter, Jasmine Gary and her husband, Jamison; and three great-grand-children… Timothy, Zola , and Nathan Gary, all of Heber Springs. Polly is also survived by her nephew, Ricky Whisnant, and his wife, Lori, of Heber Springs; nieces, Martha (Faulkner) Tucker, of Searcy, Arkansas, and Sue (Barnett) O’Dwyer, of Conway, Arkansas; and Amanda (Whisnant) Holland and her husband, Bradley, of Heber Springs, as well as many other dear relatives and friends.

Visitation will be held on Tuesday, March 12,, 2013 at 1:00 p.m. at the First Baptist Church Heber Springs. Funeral services will follow at 2:00 p.m., with Rev. J.R. DeBusk and Rev. Kathy DeBusk officiating. Pallbearers are Tim O’Dwyer, Kevin O’Dwyer, Chris O’Dwyer, BJ Stracener, Hal Caid, and Bill Baldwin. Honorary pallbearers are the staff at Southridge Village Retirement Center and the Cleburne County Hospice staff, Verlon Abram, J.R. Barnett, Joel Pilkington, and Tom Welborn. The family also wishes to offer special thanks to Dr. David Eades for his loving care of Polly in recent years.

Memorials may be made to the First Baptist Church 201 N. 4th St., Heber Springs, AR 72543, or to Cleburne County Hospice, 2319 Hwy 110 West Ste C, Heber Springs, AR 72543.

Are You Really That Busy?

My last post was one month ago today, and honestly, not much has changed in the last four weeks.  Mam-ma has had good days and bad, but mostly she has remained the same.  Her table-mate and a lifelong friend of my maternal grandmother, Evelyn, passed away on January 19th.  The nurse called to tell me - and to let me know that Mam-ma was having a major meltdown... uncontrollable sobbing...asking "Why not me?"  She said she was giving my grandmother an anti-anxiety pill to calm her. My little niece, Zola, was napping - and my husband was not at home to babysit.   So I called my mom, and she went to the ALF to see about Mam-ma.  When Zola woke up 45 minutes later, we went to the facility, also.

Mam-ma was sitting in the dining room with her other table-mate, Bessie, and Mom. She was subdued and never even mentioned Evelyn.  She did reach for Zola several times with a gloved hand.... fingers wriggling.  This scared my 20-month-old great-niece half to death, and she cried and cowered on my lap.  Mam-ma has always done this with little ones... she has no clue that she is frightening them.  It's her way of trying to amuse them, and it has a totally opposite effect.

I attended Evelyn's service last Monday, and afterward, I took the funeral program to Mam-ma.  Cousins had come to visit, so we chatted a while, and I left the program for Mam-ma to look over at a later time.  The administrator has advised me that she doesn't think Mam-ma will last long now that Evelyn is gone... she says she has seen it over and again.  The resident is physically fine but shuts down emotionally.  I thought this, too, but after this week, I think Mam-ma is taking Evelyn's death in stride like she has countless others in the last two years.  I honestly believe she could defy the odds and live another year or better... or she could be gone tomorrow. I've quit trying to second-guess it.

Meanwhile, we are up to our eyeballs in babies.  Zola spent two nights with us last weekend.  I had forgotten what it is like to chase a 20-month-old baby who doesn't talk in sentences yet!  She flits from one thing to another, has little to no interest in television or reading books, and loves to throw things!  On the up side, she is an angel at naptime and bedtime.  All I have to do is put her in the playpen, wind up a musical lamb, and she is OUT for the night or a 3-hour nap!  She also eats everything I feed her.  I have begun to wonder if she and Timothy are truly brother and sister, because he is totally the opposite!  BUT... he will occupy himself with blocks, a movie, or story books or puzzles for quite a while, and he can tell me what he wants and needs.

I love these babies, but when they go home, we are exhausted!  And we have yet to keep 6-month-old Nathan!  As I was leaving the funeral service last week, my piano teacher stopped me and asked if I was still teaching.  I'm not sure what she meant by that question, but I told her no, and she began to tell me how hard it is to find substitute pianists for church.  She really needs me to help fill in when she needs a break.  I told her I was absolutely too busy.  She wanted to know what on earth I was doing!  I told her I was up to my ears in babies and taking care of Mam-ma Polly, and she said, "Well, you could work up some pieces in your spare time and have them ready!"  I tried to tell her that I really don't have "spare time," and she looked at me and asked, "Do you really keep the babies that often?"

I had just dropped Zola off from her two-day stay that morning... in time to go home and shower for the funeral service.  Zola stayed two nights and 3 days because her brothers were sick with fever, and her mother wanted her out of the house in an effort to keep her well.  I took her home Monday morning, and she promptly ate a handful of dried cereal and threw up in the floor.  We were afraid she was getting sick, so on the way to the service, I stopped back by to see if I needed to pick up one of the boys ... or Zola... instead.  All were well, and napping.  We decided that Zola stuck her fingers too far into her mouth and gagged herself... hence the vomiting.  But I never know from one minute to the next when my niece will call for help with the children... or the facility will call with a problem about Mam-ma.  And it almost never fails that Mam-ma's problems occur when we have at least one child in our care.

Don't misunderstand... this busy, crazy life is full - and full of joy for the moment.  I really am at a comfortable place with my grandmother's care... save the fact that we cannot communicate and there is virtually nothing for us to talk about.  I have made peace with taking "busy work" to do while I am with her... or cleaning her apartment and sorting her drawers... or just sitting in the dining hall with her and staring at her smiling face.  And I love, love, love these babies and watching them grow and develop.  But this is just about all my husband and I have time for these days.  And we are 100% okay with that.


It used to bother me that others judged me... that people thought I should have time for church ministries, social outings or whatever.  But I am past that.  I don't know what is happening in their lives either.  I just know that mine is something of a roller coaster on occasion... and certainly never dull!


Table-mates Evelyn, Mam-ma, and
Ruth (my 3rd-grade teacher). 
Mam-ma is the only one still living.

I will end this post with a thought to ponder.  As I sat at Evelyn's service and listened to her grandson (who happens to be a Methodist minister) deliver the message, he spoke of how his grandmother always loved her family so deeply... and showed it.  This woman was in a coffee club with my maternal grandmother and great-aunt, my neighbor, and several other ladies.  These women were a huge part of my childhood... and some, like Evelyn, were lifelong influences.  Until just about a year ago, Evelyn never failed to kiss me when she saw me.  It didn't matter if it was at church,in a local store, or even at the ALF...she always greeted me with a kiss.  Now, I have no doubt that Evelyn kissed everybody... but she made me feel loved and important with this simple gesture.

I have thought about that a lot this week... how this single, seemingly insignificant act was filled with impact.  And I wonder... are we making such an impact on those in our lives?  Do we greet others with love and kindness?  Do we make them feel important?  Are we showering our children - and our elderly - with love and kisses?  Or are we so caught up in the "busyness" of our daily lives that we barely even greet one another?  I am determined to take a page from Evelyn's book... to make a concerted effort to offer up hugs and kisses - to the babies and children, to the elderly, to friends and family members - and to tell them just how much they are loved.  This should fill up any remaining "spare time" I might have.  I can think of no better way to spend it... can you?

One Ringy-Dingy...

When I visited Mam-ma Polly yesterday, I found her cordless phone in the floor behind her night stand.  Honestly, she has not spoken to anyone by phone in months, and it would be virtually impossible for her to do so now.  I have left the phone in her room more for her peace of mind... an assurance that not everything has changed.  But in reality, everything has changed, and the fact that her phone was on the floor behind her night stand told me that Mam-ma doesn't even notice.  Removing the phone will actually give her more space on the night stand for things that do matter now, like her drink cup.

So this morning, I called AT&T and disconnected my grandmother's phone service.  The number that has belonged to my grandparents all of my 55 years, and probably longer, no longer belongs to them.  I have to admit, it was a bittersweet moment.

A speech therapist is working on papers to qualify my grandmother for her assistance... to see if there is anything that can be done to help Mam-ma get out at least a few coherent sentences.  It's worth a shot.  We believe she knows what she wants to say, and LORD knows she certainly tries to talk... but the words just will not come.  Her frustration is clearly evident... and often she simply cries.  Through gritted teeth, she told the Hospice nurse yesterday, "I.am.so.tired."

I don't know what will happen in the next few weeks/months.  I've reserved a room at the ALF for a 100th birthday party for Mam-ma on November 4th (her birthday is actually the 5th, but that's a Monday).  This morning, I sent the requisite application form and photo to Willard Scott, in hopes he will recognize Mam-ma on the TODAY show on her birthday.  While these things have to be done well in advance, I know there is every chance that the birthday celebration will never happen... and that is fine with all of us, because I know that an even bigger and better celebration will be taking place... in Heaven.

For now, I will remove the phone and remind any who might still try to call my grandmother that she can no longer communicate with them in this fashion.  I hope whoever gets this number next enjoys using it as much as she did... and has even half as long a run with it.

Learning to Let Go...a Difficult "Life Lesson"

My mother pointed out an article in the Sunday edition of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette that was reprinted from the Washington Post.  Written by hospital internist Craig Bowron, the article dealt with our efforts to prolong life... often at the expense of the very ones we vowed to protect and nurture.  We have a difficult time of letting go.  To read this insightful article in its entirety, click here.  I share below an excerpt I found particularly profound.

This physical and emotional distance becomes obvious as we make decisions that accompany life’s end. Suffering is like a fire: Those who sit closest feel the most heat; a picture of a fire gives off no warmth. That’s why it’s typically the son or daughter who has been physically closest to an elderly parent’s pain who is the most willing to let go. Sometimes an estranged family member is “flying in next week to get all this straightened out.” This is usually the person who knows the least about her struggling parent’s health; she’ll have problems bringing her white horse as carry-on luggage. This person may think she is being driven by compassion, but a good deal of what got her on the plane was the guilt and regret of living far away and having not done any of the heavy lifting in caring for her parent.

With unrealistic expectations of our ability to prolong life, with death as an unfamiliar and unnatural event, and without a realistic, tactile sense of how much a worn-out elderly patient is suffering, it’s easy for patients and families to keep insisting on more tests, more medications, more procedures.

Doing something often feels better than doing nothing. Inaction feeds the sense of guilt-ridden ineptness family members already feel as they ask themselves, “Why can’t I do more for this person I love so much?”

Opting to try all forms of medical treatment and procedures to assuage this guilt is also emotional life insurance: When their loved one does die, family members can tell themselves, “We did everything we could for Mom.” In my experience, this is a stronger inclination than the equally valid (and perhaps more honest) admission that “we sure put Dad through the wringer those last few months.”

At a certain stage of life, aggressive medical treatment can become sanctioned torture. When a case such as this comes along, nurses, physicians and therapists sometimes feel conflicted and immoral. We’ve committed ourselves to relieving suffering, not causing it. A retired nurse once wrote to me: “I am so glad I don’t have to hurt old people any more.”  ©2012 Craig Bowron via The Washington Post

I found so much of this familiar.  Don't many of us know that "white knight" relative who wants to breeze in and "fix" everything?  We primary caregivers have all experienced the "helpful" friend or relative who thinks we should be paying attention to details we have already deemed unimportant in the overall scheme of things.  And yes, some of us who are closest to our elders can see what my grandmother sees... that "they's worse things than dying."

A couple of days ago, I was talking with one of my dearest friends, and I said, "I am amazed at how far my grandmother has come since her illness and fall at Christmas time."  She replied, "Don't you mean how far she has declined?"  "No," I explained... "I mean how much she has bounced back and improved.  She is walking and moving well.  She is probably as clear mentally as she was before the fall - even though she still is not all that clear - and she is incredibly healthy for a woman halfway through her 100th year!"

Mam-ma Polly and Timothy in late
November 2011, just days before
she was hospitalized for six days. 

Given all of this, I am extremely reluctant to agree to any "routine" medical tests, medication changes, or anything else that upsets her apple cart.  My mother and a few others have been quite upset with her lately for taking her walks outdoors.  Mom is so afraid she will fall on the sidewalks.  She keeps telling Mam-ma... "You have vast hallways to walk indoors... why do you need to get outside?"  Mam-ma's answer... "I need fresh air."  I get that... and if she falls happily walking outside in the warm spring sunshine, so be it. 

This weekend, a fellow resident who is still mobile spoke to my mother at church about "really getting after" my grandmother for walking across the street from her ALF to visit a friend who is in the nursing home.  My mother had already admonished Mam-ma not to make this trip.  Mam-ma has not mentioned it to me.  Honestly, I am fine with it.  My grandmother is at a stage in life where she has very little that gives her a purpose.  If visiting her fellow Sunday School member friend and offering encouragement gives them both a lift, who am I to say she can't make that walk.  Is it rife with potential pitfalls and dangers?  Sure it is!  Is there a chance she could fall and hurt herself seriously... face a length hospital stay or worse?  Absolutely!  Is it worth these risks?  I believe so.

My mother's cousin, who is 88 and has a litany of ailments, is dying. He was placed in Hospice care last week.  It took his companion of almost a decade a long time to come to the conclusion that he had already drawn... he was dying.  She kept insisting, "He can't die... I can't live without him!"  He insisted, "I don't have much longer."  And with virtually no quality of life remaining, he shouldn't have to. 

 

So last week, he raised his hand and said "No!" to more tests, needles, poking and prodding.  No more medications.  No more procedures to drain fluid that is building up around his vital organs.  Nothing but a reasonably comfortable bed in his own home, with his own television and people who love him to watch and wait.  He told me Sunday, "It won't be long now."  I told him that was fine... I would see him on "the other side."  He and I had agreed a few days ago that we are both okay with this.

I told my dear cousin what I would tell my grandmother or anyone else in this position... you don't have to stick around for anything or anyone who is here.  You have fought well... lived well... and now it's time for your big party.  Rest, relax, drift off to sleep and let the angels carry you to heaven when God has your mansion ready.  Hug your wife, my dad, and a few others for me... and save me a seat!

The longer my grandmother lives and the more time I spend in the presence of elderly people who are being somewhat artificially kept on this planet, the more convinced I am that Dr. Bowron has it right when he quotes the nurse who said, "I'm so glad I don't have to hurt old people any more."  There is no shame in recognizing that sometimes, we go too far.  In certain instances, we do more than is necessary... and we fail to recognize when enough is enough.  I pray that God would grant me wisdom to stop short of this... in the lives of those for whom I am caregiving - and that the same dignity would be afforded me if/when I reach this stage of life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, I do think my grandmother is still having little mini-strokes, and in the effort to provide information of the "you-just-described-what-is-happening-in-my-world" variety, I share the following:

My grandmother had company recently - cousins from another state who drove over for the day to visit with her, bring her KFC (her favorite), and maybe play a game or two of dominoes.  The night before they arrived, Mam-ma phoned me, upset... she was worried about how she was going to get ready for her company.  I was in bed with the flu - and she knew this.  I told her that she didn't have to do anything to get ready - her room was clean... they could go to one of the common areas and eat their meal and play dominoes... everything was set. 

After a long difficult conversation, I was able to determine through the brief words and a few tears that Mam-ma was worrying about how she would "clean up the mess" after the company left.  I finally said, "Mam-ma!  We're talking a couple of boxes and a sack from KFC!  There won't be a mess.  Besides, those girls would never leave you with trash and expect you to clean up after they were here."  What can I say?  Maybe it was the flu talking.  I was probably too curt.  But she sniffled and said, "Well... okay."

The company came and went, and the day afterward, Mam-ma called again... asking how I was feeling.  I was still sick and in bed... the flu really took it's toll on me, and that is never a good thought for Mam-ma!  I asked how her visit went, and she told me, "Terrible!"  She proceeded to cry and tell me she had grown tired and asked the company to leave, and she just felt awful about doing so.  I assured her that they probably were not offended... they had only planned to stay a few hours.  She was not convinced.

I spoke with the cousins later, and they said they had a wonderful time.  They arrived around noon and stayed until approximately 3:30 p.m.  They ate KFC... visited... and walked all over the ALF.  Mam-ma really showed them around.  They told me was talkative, but apparently she never suggested playing dominoes.  One of the cousins told me, "Polly started nodding off around 3:30, and we were needing to leave anyway, so we told her we thought we should head for home."  They were clueless that Mam-ma felt she had insulted them... in fact, leaving had been their idea - and they felt they had all had a wonderful visit. 

I am quite certain that Mam-ma enjoyed the day.  I am also quite certain that she had a mini-stroke that probably began the night before when she called and was worried about clean-up.  The nurse told me a few days later that she mentioned to Mam-ma, "I hear you had company over the weekend," and Mam-ma did not remember the cousins had been here.  She has never mentioned their visit to me again... and I have not mentioned it to her.  This is the pattern of the mini-strokes... confusion, even agitation and a sense that things are all awry, followed by extreme fatigue, maybe a little more confusion... and then the forgetfulness.  It's as if none of it ever happened.  Or... as in the case of a convoluted phone call a month or so ago, she will remember that something happened - and she was not herself - but she can't put it all together.

Last week, Mam-ma called twice.  For the woman who used to call several times a day, two times in one week is now a lot... and there is a lot of silence and struggle to find words when she does call.  The first call came at 9:00 p.m., and she asked (remember, this took several minutes to accomplish)... "Do you still have light bulbs?"  I determined that the bulb in Mam-ma's bedside lamp had burned out when she said, "Oh... I've turned on my bathroom light... maybe that will help."  I suggested she have an aide get the bulb from her other bedside lamp and swap them for the night.  She agreed to that.  I asked, "Are you okay otherwise?"  She replied, "Well, I'm just all shook up."  I (stupidly) asked, "What's got you 'shook up?'"  She answered, "Well, my light bulb in my lamp isn't working."  I reminded her to call an aide to exchange the bulbs... and she said she would.  I went to visit the next day (and take more incandescent bulbs I had rounded up from my own lamps - she will not use the new energy-efficient variety!), and she had done what I suggested.

A couple of nights later, Mam-ma phoned.  My husband looked at the clock - 6:45.  He knew immediately why she was calling.  It took several minutes to confirm that she was unable to locate "Wheel of Fortune."  It's March... the SEC college basketball tournament was in action, and the local station was broadcasting the games instead of regular programming.  I tried to explain that "Wheel of Fortune" would not be on that night - nor the next night.  "No!" she said, "I'm a lookin' at Ole Miss and Tennessee."  Exactly!

Mam-ma kept saying, "You don't understand!"  Finally, she got out, "Well!  Where is ABC?"  I told her again, "ABC is not on your TV right now because the ball tournament is being broadcast.  You will have to watch another channel tonight and tomorrow night.  I'm sorry."  "Oh... okay," she said, in a disappointed tone.  Honestly, I was just glad to hear her television blaring in the background - for the first few weeks of January, she never turned it on.  This tells me how much improvement she has made in the last month or so.

So while my grandmother is well enough to walk across the street and visit a sick friend at the nursing home, she may not remember that she went... nor be able to say more than three words to her when she gets there.  She still has trouble conversing, and on any given day, she may have a little mini-stroke.  She has become more "clingy" when I go - reaching out to pull me close for a second or third hug... crying and saying, "I've just missed you so bad," even though I visited two days prior.  The general decline continues.  She very well might fall and hurt herself badly while walking outside... and I might be making my next posts from her hospital bedside. 

But I am beyond trying to stifle any efforts she makes to stay active and engaged, short of her suggestion that she might like to drive a car one more time!  That, I think, is where I draw the line!