My Mom and Dad

Today, especially this afternoon, I've been thinking about my folks all day long.  I miss them so much!  I wish I had more pictures of them in my house to pop up on the wall, especially from when they were younger.

I have a sensitive nose, so smells are sometimes a powerful memory for me.  Mom wore Passion perfume. The stuff absolutely stinks on me, but it smelled wonderful on my mom.  I loved the smell of her skin and hair after she showered, too.  It was nothing special she used; it was just 'my mom'.  Mom and I had a rough time when I was a teen.  I have anxiety now that I take medication for and I very much believe it caused me undue stress and depression growing up, too.  But that was not at a time when mental health issues were talked about.

When I grew up, we became much closer.  I loved to go shopping with her and then out to lunch.  I loved being able to buy things for her and be the one who paid when we went out to eat.  But my favorite moments with her were when she started talking about her life - growing up in the '30s and early '40s, how she and my aunt and cousin Betty all hung out together, how she met my dad.

My grandfather owned a Ford dealership and my mother sat on the lap of Henry Ford when she was a little girl. She also worked for the father of writer Kurt Vonnegut and tells a funny story about when he returned from college.  He was known for pulling pranks in the office building.  In those days, they used a pulley system and Kurt put a mouse in it and sent it up to one of the secretaries.  When she screamed, his father hollered, "Kurt!"  because he knew his son was up to something.

I loved hearing about how she and Daddy moved all over while he was in the Army.  In fact, my oldest brother and I were both born in Germany and although we returned Stateside when I was only 6 months old, my three older siblings have lots of memories and stories from the stay in Europe.  I hope one day I can return to see the place I was born.

Dad wore Old Spice aftershave.  When my husband wears it once in a while, I think of my dad.  I loved to hold his hand.  They were big hands with thick fingers and my long, thin fingers would get a little squished, but I loved holding them because it made me feel safe.  I remember talking to him about books I'd read and listened to him discuss the ones he read, too.  He loved Louis L'Amour, Robert Parker, and Isaac Asimov.  Dad smiled a lot.  Usually, he was cracking some kind of joke.  He liked pun wars and most of us are pretty good at them, though I don't really do it much anymore.  Dad was a big man in my eyes, around six feet.  I grew to be just shy of 5'11" and he shrunk from chronic back degeneration, so in the end, I thought of him as a little gnome with his bald head.

Mom died on March 30, 2011.  Dad followed on March 22, 2012.  They'd been married for 65 years.

Today, I sit here wishing I had them around to talk to about my health issues.  I have to start using oxygen at night and I hate the idea that I cannot just be well.  I know they would reassure me in a way that no one else can, like no one but your parents can.  It doesn't matter that I'm over a half-century old, I still miss them.