From audio journal episode: AJE-2010-01-29-23-14.
Why Do I Stay?
What keeps me here with Mom? You know, with all the trouble we’ve had getting along due to all the irksome and (at times) idiotic choices she makes. Why do I stick around and put up with that chronic aggravation?
Certainly a big factor is my desire to live out the remainder of my days here, in this house. This building has always been a very special and safe place for me because Gram and Pap Jewell lived here, and they without fail, took great care of me from my perspective; spoiled me, I guess, as my sisters would point out with a tone of indignation from having been short-changed of the Jewells’ affection. I think Gram and Pap favored me because I did not see well, and so my memories of them would seem to be more positive than those my sisters hold.
Indeed, I pretty much started out life here; this place in the family since I was born, which is even longer than my primary childhood home where we all grew up, on North Third Street in Bellwood. We lived in Bellwood for twenty-one years, but it came about in 2007, that the amount of time our family lived here along the old highway surpassed the Bellwood house. Indeed, the Jewell place where we live now, holds many fond memories for me, and thus, nostalgic value no doubt, kindles my desire to stay here with Mom.
This place feels more like home than anywhere else I’ve resided, because it’s one of the only places I’ve ever lived, where I do not miss being somewhere else. While making my home in Pittsburgh, I often reminisced about the good times back here, and wanted to visit as much as I could. The same was true of Dayton and, to a lesser degree, Philadelphia. But in all those spots, Altoona and the grounds surrounding here enticed me, predictably, look forward to the next holiday, when I’d get to come home again.
Also, leaving this place with my wonderful pavilion in the back yard saddens me every time I depart for a week or two. Again, this is one of the very few residences to pull so hard at my heart. Then, while I am away, I worry about things here and hope that no pipes freeze, that no shingles peel off of the roof in a windstorm, or none of our appliances short out while I’m absent. In some ways, this spot on the boulevard feels like a child to me, that I care for, and worry about, and wish not to stay away from for very long.
Plus, I like it here because (accessibility issues notwithstanding) it’s exceedingly quiet, and the rent’s cheap too; zero cost actually, although I do maintain the property, care for Mom’s cats daily, and manage her meds and appointments. I do all this as payment for my room and board. Additionally, I shop for her groceries weekly, and charge nothing for the labors of any maintenance tasks I perform. Finally, she and I split the costs of common utilities, maintenance, and upgrade supplies. Yes. My living here is a great deal for both of us, and I’m sure that this, in and of itself, would be enough to persuade most folks to stick around, in spite of the difficulties of living with a parent.
In short: A big reason for why I stay is because I just like being here for now and the future, and so, wish to safeguard this property with my presence. But there’s more too, that makes leaving so untenable: To me, Mom represents the chance I’ve longed for all these years, to get it right when it comes to caring for one’s parents; to take care of someone who took such good care of me, the way they should be cared for; to give them at least the same level of comfort and security that they did me, when I was too young to fend for myself. I care for [Emmy] like this as well, because I desire to humbly show my compassionate side for those very special people in my life. Yes. Perhaps I am trying to score brownie points with God, or hoping to win a favored position in eternity (or oblivion) by loving “unconditionally.” What’s wrong with that? If aliens were watching, unknown to me, I’d want my actions to show them a positive view of the benevolent side of humanity. I’d want them to see good, and at least a little bit of the best parts of humanity.
I stay because I love this place and all the memories it holds.
Not Enough I Love Yous
Not all times in my life saw me as charitable; particularly as a teen-ager, when my grandmother Jewell died. The thirtieth anniversary of her passing happens later this year. So I’ll probably think a lot about her as that date (July 20th) approaches.
Just before she left us forever, Gram laid there, in that last bed in which she would ever sleep, looking up at me with dim but definite recognition. I noticed pleading in her eyes, as she had suffered so much for so long, from the pains of terminal uterine cancer. I wish I’d been God then because I would have given up all my special powers, to be able to drive away that torturous anguish I saw on her face that day.
I wished for a lot of things actually; the most mortal of which was to freely tell her that I loved her. Though I’d struggled with this for years, it was only at the tail-end of that last time I saw her alive in 1980, that I finally managed to blurt it out. Even then, I’m not sure I could have, had she not been so dazed from the morphine (pain medicine). Indeed, I might never have said it had she had been fully alert. Thank goodness I did though, because I’ve carried guilt into the twenty-first century because I didn’t say it enough. Sometimes, I’m ashamed that I had so much difficulty saying it. But I imagine that regret would riddle me much more than it does today, if I’d never said “I love you” to her at all.
And then, she was gone. After leaving her bedside, I headed back to [First Love] in Pittsburgh, and less than two days later, she died, and I was not with her, and in fact, didn’t get the word until several hours later, in the early morning of July 21st, 1980. Read more about this sad day here.
I stay to say I love you.
Grandparents’ Deaths Improved Me
But this event, nearly thirty years ago, triggered a change; nudging me significantly toward a less selfish personality. Now it wasn’t Gram’s death alone that transformed me into a more giving person; but a series of impeccably timed, fateful occurrences that picked away at my childhood self-absorption. When Gram died, my difficulty saying I love you to dear family members and offering help to others was already frustrating me. Until that day, I usually could not say it to Mom or Dad, or my sisters. In fact, I don’t believe that I ever said it to Dad until the last time I saw him alive, in March of 1997. Before that, my bashfulness effectively muted those special words, and I’m not sure why.
But Gram’s passing as well as Pap’s nearly three years earlier, seemed to dissolve at least some of this shyness. Probably the biggest event that helped show me how ridiculous and potentially hurtful this fear of expressing love could be, occurred the last time I saw Pap Jewell alive in September of 1977. While shaking his hand good-bye, he attempted to draw me toward him to give me a farewell kiss. While pumping my hand, he paused, becoming motionless but still grasping my right palm with his. I did not feel him pulling me. Honestly.
Then after nearly ten seconds of this “stalemate,” Mom, who’d been watching us nearby, scolded me, “Tommy! Come on. Let him kiss you!” At that point, I felt his hand begin to tremble, and I never found out if this rapid shaking was him trying to muster all his strength to bring me closer to him, or if he was starting to cry at my resistance. I’m pretty sure that he, like Mother, thought me mean for avoiding his lips.
But I was not totally opposed. I mean, I’ll admit that I wasn’t crazy at sixteen years of age about Mom’s father laying a sloppy kiss on my cheek. But had I known that he wanted it so, especially as sick as he was, I probably would have been more sensitive on that occasion. I honestly did not sense his pressure, because his arms and hands, so weakened from his advanced diabetes and other complications of aging, could lift practically nothing. Indeed, his pulling was so weak that I mistook it for the dead weight of his body, as I had to support his arm even while we shook hands. So I did not perceive his exertion until after Mom admonished me. But honestly, and again for the record: I didn’t recognize his effort at final affection. But after Mom snapped at me, I moved a little closer and his draw became more pronounced. Then I moved the rest of the way to him, and he kissed me with one of those loud lip-smacks that hurts the ears. But at that point, his meaning now clear, I didn’t mind; my irritation replaced with guilt for having been so cold to him. I suppose I had a lot of funny ideas and hang-ups about familial affection as a boy.
Fast-forward to my last visit with Gram. I tried to more freely and abundantly to communicate my love for her, to her; an opportunity I clearly missed with Pap. I wanted to do better this time, with Gram, and when she motioned me to her side for a good-bye kiss, I went to her without objecting. Indeed, I wanted to do it. With the whole Pap experience still fresh in my mind, I was determined to be more understanding this time around and thus, more loving.
Though I allowed her to kiss me, and in fact, kissed her back on her right cheek, I still could not say I love you until afterward, while heading hastily out the door, my back to her. Clearly since Pap, I’d gotten somewhat more expressive of my affection. But still, I wasn’t as open with it as I wished. In fact, if I could talk to Gram today, I’d tell her repeatedly and profusely how sorry I am that I just couldn’t face her when I said it that last time; particularly since her and Pap both did so much for me without reservation, and all I could give her in our final minutes together was a very reserved ‘I love you’.
I stay to make up for the affection I denied Gram, and to prove that I have indeed improved.
Making Up For Those Missed I Love Yous
As I said earlier, this year I’ll remember lots about my Mom’s parents as the thirtieth anniversary of Gram’s death approaches. If they could just read one more letter from me, I’d write that as follows:
Dear Gram and Pap,
I’ll give you ten I-love-yous now as you read this that I should have said so many times while growing up under your kind guidance:
- I love you.
- I love you.
- I love you.
- I love you.
- I love you.
- I love you.
- I love you.
- I love you.
- I love you.
- I love you!
I did love you then, and I still do today, even though I never said it very much.
You know, my bashfulness so restrained me when you lived, and it not only makes me afraid of women I desire but also, it stills my tongue at times when I really should speak up. It holds me back a lot; as it did those last days I saw each of you. Most of the time, it rightly restrains; keeping me from danger and sparing me needless embarrassment and humiliation. But sometimes, as in that last visit with you Pap and the last one with you too Gram, it should not have silenced me. For as much as the both of you took care of me, cried for me, wrote to me when I went off to school in Pittsburgh, laughed with me, gave me quarters, dimes, and nickels for the jukebox across the lot from your house at the bar, with all those wonderful memories you gave me, I so wish I’d have been more forthcoming with my affections. Of course, we can’t change history, and now that you’re gone, I’ll never be able to completely set things right; though I hope you forgive me and that you understand that when you knew me, I was highly under-developed emotionally, and carried many insecurities which for the most part today, have disappeared.
I am a much better person now in this regard and my biggest regret involving you, is that you’ll never see the much more loving and expressive man I’ve become. Now I realize that what I’m about to tell you may not undo all those times when I wished not to bother hugging you. But for whatever it’s worth, I’m taking what you gave to me without much in return, and I promise you that I’ll not just sit on it. These days, I’m passing it on. I’m taking care of Mom now as best I can, to manage both her money and mine, to give her the daily medicines she now must take without fail. You remember how she is though; typically non compliant. But whenever she rattles me, and gets me to consider leaving her, I remember you both, and how you stood by me, even during times when I didn’t treat you so well. I endure her difficult nature in your honor because it would not be fair for me to harbor all the wonderful things you gave to me, without helping someone else with it. So I must pay forward your love because if I allow it, which I very much do, you can live on through me, and help Mom (your daughter) as I’m sure you would if you were still around. Please, work through me to care for her.
Now you might have thought that all the things you taught and exposed me to made little difference. Well, that might have been true while I was a boy. At least, I rarely showed much gratitude then, for your many gifts. But I can tell you now that, though this was a delayed response, how you loved me back then has profoundly influenced the person I am in 2010. I believe I owe it to your memory to emulate you; especially your seemingly-boundless compassion for close friends and family. Sadly, I did not blossom under your tutelage until well after you both passed away. But today, I think I have. You gave me the desire to care for those very special people close to me who need it, like Mom and [Emmy]. Anytime I feel angry or malevolent, memories of you surface, and this always stops me. I’m so grateful that I had you growing up because if I hadn’t, I likely would have gotten into many bad things. Your memory keeps me “on the straight and narrow” these days, and I wanted to thank you for your steady and kind hands that guide me to this day, and show me what to desire and what I’d best not pursue.
I wanted you to know that your effort was no waste, because not only am I taking care of Mom, but I’m helping out a young woman who is totally blind and who, for many of the sorts of gifts you gave to me, has nowhere else to turn. She didn’t have grandparents like you. Sometimes, she frustrates me because she needs so much. But then I think of you again, and my joy of serving her returns all over.
To come to think of it, I don’t remember one time that you ever became frustrated with me; not even with all my rants about the school kids teasing me, my resulting anger, and learning difficulties in public classrooms. Then too, I’m sure that I used to complain about Mom sometimes and how she used to yell so much. But through all that, even when at nine years old I stole $20 from Pap to buy a radio from another student in Pittsburgh, the both of you never deserted me; lovingly forgiving me for the incident, and teaching me a lesson that survives in my heart to this very day. I don’t believe I ever stole anything after that.
I stay to atone for my many shortcomings.
Paying it Forward
These are just a few of the many lessons, generosity, and other gifts that you gave me, and I so want to pay that love forward and give it to folks who need it today. Sometimes, [Emmy] (she’s the young blind lady that I’m assisting these days) wonders aloud how she’ll ever repay me. So I often tell her that I expect no payback because in fact, I never repaid you folks (my grandparents) before you died. Even if you’d lived to a hundred, there just wouldn’t have been time to compensate you for all of that priceless comfort and understanding you granted me. Why? Put simply: You gave me far too much to ever repay.
But passing it on is the next best thing. Unfortunately, though you both left before I could even get started on loving you back, these days I find great peace in giving to others some of the same generosity you heaped on me. Knowing the kind of people you were, I trust that you are pleased with me giving your gifts away to folks like Mom and [Emmy]. In fact, had [Emmy] come into our lives while you lived among us, you would have helped her too. So I’m paying you back the best way I can; by giving to her and others.
I comfort [Emmy] by insisting with a hundred percent conviction that she owes me nothing, because you already took care of it. In fact, I’m the one who owes. You gave me a big surplus of love, on credit if you will, which I, for many years now, have felt obligated to return to you. So I’ll do that by meeting some of [Emmy]’s and Mom’s needs. Since I’m certain that you would consider my debt paid in full if you could see how [Emmy]’s face lights up when I provide for her, and how Mom’s health improves when I manage her meds and appointments, I will pay you back by loving these two women in your honor. So in a sense, I owe them what I owe you, because by showing patience and generosity to them, I sense that I’m repaying you. Hopefully through me, [Emmy] will know some of what you were, because I’m passing on to her what you paid forward to me.
So no I expect nothing from her in return, and I tell her just to pass forward what I’ve done for her. She then complains that there’s no one in her life to pass it to, and I respond that opportunities will present themselves; perhaps not now or not in the next ten years. But at some point, she’ll come into contact with people who could really benefit from these sorts of gifts. I told her to watch for these, and trust that this convinced her that she has obligation to repay me.
I love the both of you, because they way you were has shaped me into the way I am; into a man of compassion. Now I’m not as kind as Mother Teresa by any means. In fact, there are many whom I’d just as soon do nothing for. Though I expect no repayment from either [Emmy] or Mom, my compassion is not unconditional, and it may not even be as unrestricted as yours was. But I like who I am today, and think that I am generally a very nice person to others.
I strive to be nice everyday though admittedly, I don’t always do a very good job. Sometimes, I grow frustrated, and then angry with Mom because she behaves so idiotically at times. However, I manage to put up with it by thinking of you. After all, she’s your offspring, and so, you’d want her to be cared for when she needs it. Clearly, she does need it. So to satisfy your desires, I want to be here for her in spite of how frustrated she makes me at times.
I stay to pay it forward and pass it on.
Thank You
I want to thank you for this streak of compassion that you put into me. The way you were made it possible for me to be as good a person as I am; if I’m good at all. You’re largely responsible for whatever good I am.
Let me tell you again just how much I love you, for everything that you did for me while alive, as well as all of the good bias in my thoughts that memories of you has supplied me long after I left your funerals. You impact me today most profoundly, and so, I’ll never forget you. How could I?
I’m sure that when the day comes that I’m lying on my death bed, I’ll be thinking of you. In fact, you’ll probably be my last thought after I take my least breath. As improbably as I believe this to be, I’ll be hoping to see you again and join you once I die.
I’ll be hoping for an opportunity to apologize for everything that I did as an ignorant little boy, as well as my lack of appreciation for all that you’d given me to that point, and what the good memories that you were creating then would mean to me in the future. Those memories helped keep me good. Thanks for my dearest values that have kept me out of jail and allowed me to maintain a respectable standing in society. One day, I hope to tell all of this to you.
I’d explain why I was so selfish with [First Love] when our relationship ended nearly thirty years ago. I thought then that you might be looking down on me with disgust at the way I treated her. Well, perhaps you weren’t. But for these and so many other reasons, I truly hope that we’ll meet again someday. Perhaps one or a combination of you both will be part of the woman that I eventually fall in love with and stay in love with.
Yep. You folks were great. Like I say, I’ll never forget you, and I’ll always love you, and I’ll always be so thankful that you guided me as you did and kept me out of serious trouble. You know, without you, I might have ended up in jail. I might have become a hellion because, in my teenaged years, especially during the 1970s, I was easily influenced by peer pressure – either overt, spoken or physical pressure, or the more subtle kinds that happen as a result of seeing the other kids behaving in certain ways. Such witnessing often made me feel compelled to join in because I’d likely get their approval if I followed. I’m just glad however that you were there to keep me from being influenced too much in bad directions by the crowds.
Okay, I’ll let you get back to your eternity, and I’ll get back to my life here. I just wanted to thank you, and I hope you’re doing well. Perhaps you’re in oblivion now (or you will be once my generation (all those who ever knew you)) passes on. But maybe your energy is still around and helping me today. Maybe it’s encouraging me to hold my tongue and temper with Mom.
It’s funny how she used to get mad at the two of you for being so nice to me. But now, because you were so nice to me, I’m finding it easier to be extra caring to her. What goes around comes around, I guess.
I stay to thank you.
So anyway, I’ll let you go. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you! I love you. I love you. I love you! Never forget that.
Take care.
Tom
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Key Concepts
- A long time living there can transform a house into a home.
- Avoiding kisses from grandparents.
- Scoring brownie points with God.
- Care-giving to both humans and pets.
- Cheap rent.
- Excessive self focus.
- Extra love for the handicapped.
- Giving to Mom and [Emmy] what my grandparents gave to me.
- Good memories of a house change it into a homey dwelling.
- Grandparents spoiled me in this house; one reason I still love the place to this day; all those great memories.
- Growing old and frail, and the weakening effects of aging.
- Guilt as an adult for having lived a selfish childhood.
- Hard to say I love you.
- Home maintenance.
- I didn’t say I love you enough.
- I enjoy a noiseless residence.
- I pay my rent (and then some) with work around the house.
- I like being useful and needed.
- Leaving then missing home.
- Living with a parent.
- Loved ones lost.
- Opportunities for me to give something back.
- Pain and agony.
- Parents and their adult offspring living together.
- Pass it on.
- Pay it forward.
- Peer pressure and how my grandparents strengthened me against it.
- Regrets make for a better person.
- Security needs.
- Silence is golden.
- Stealing money as a kid.
- That hateful thought of relocating again.
- That special love of grandparents.
- There’s no place like home.
- Those to whom I give owe me nothing because my grandparents already paid for it.
- Touchy feely. Too much.
- Unconditional love is perhaps not so unconditional after all.
- What I give, I got from someone else.
- Where to finish out my life.
