Turn Off The Bacon

When Mother was admitted to hospice, we were given a small notebook and told we should write down things that she said. This was one of the best pieces of advice I have ever been given. At the time, it seemed like we would always remember the things Mother said, but our minds were overwhelmed and we were overtired. There was no way we could remember it all if it wasn't in writing. We were told that only some of what she said would probably make sense to us at the time. The hospice workers said that at some point down the road, some of the "nonsense" might start to make sense as well. We began to write things down. At first we only wrote some of what she said and the day she said it. As the days went on, we obviously became more desperate in our attempts to hold on to any little bit of her. We started writing down everything she said, including the time she said it.

After Mother died, I brought the notebook home with me. Over the past year, I have looked back many times at the things she said. When I read it, the raw emotions all come rushing back to me. I am back in that hospice room again. Yet, what amazes me the most is that I also can feel God's presence, just as I did when we were in that room. I have always believed in God, but like most people, I have had my doubts along the way. But I clearly remember that after my mom died, I told Eric and my kids that after spending that time with Mother, any doubts I ever had about God and Heaven were forever erased. Of course, being human, I occasionally find myself questioning things again. All I have to do is pull out the notebook and that certainty is restored in me.

Over time, I will probably share a lot of the things Mother said to us, especially in her last day. But for now I will share one very odd thing that she said to me. It was the night before her last day, and she suddenly looked at me and said, "Turn off the bacon." We had been told by hospice that the dying often have loose ends to tie up and some of the things they say are doing just that, even if they make no sense to us. We were advised to agree with what Mother said rather than to discount it as nonsense. So when she told me to "turn off the bacon", I told her I would. A few moments later, I told her that I had. I doubt that I will ever know what exactly she meant by telling me that. However, when I thought about those words a few weeks later, they brought me to tears.

A few months before Mother died, Eric and I had gone to a production of Our Town at a local theater. It's a play that has been done countless times, but it was the first time I had ever seen it. It is the story of a girl who grows up, falls in love with and marries the boy next door. She then dies in childbirth. After her death she is given the option to go back to one day of her life. She chooses her 12th birthday. When she goes back, she is both reliving the day and watching herself relive it. The play had very few props used throughout. However, in the scene where she goes back to her 12th birthday, there are many props and much detail in the scenery. There was an actual stove upon which her mom was cooking bacon. Real bacon. In the audience, we could hear it sizzling and could smell the aroma of the frying bacon. As she watches herself reliving that day, the young woman tries to tell her 12 year old self and her parents to pay attention to everything, to every detail. Of course, it is all to no avail as they can't hear her. The young woman is very upset and comments that we never pay attention to the little things when we are living and how important those little things really are.

How very true. And it was all brought back to me by that comment to turn off the bacon. I am quite certain that Mother never saw Our Town or was in any way referring to it with her statement. But, it got me thinking about the different sights and sounds and smells from my own childhood. Things pushed to the back of my adult mind over the years. Things that I now remember and associate with my mom and growing up. The scent of paint will forever remind me of Mother's love of repainting rooms and putting up new curtains to refresh the rooms in the house. If I close my eyes, I can still smell tomatoes cooking on the stove and see the windows fogged up from the heat. I remember the sweet smell and sticky mess of the dozens of ears of corn we'd cook and cut off the cob for freezing. I can hear her voice telling us kids not to eat too much sweet roll dough or it would rise in our stomaches. I can see Mother hanging laundry on the clothes line and can smell the fresh air in the clothes when they were brought in.

If only I'd known then how important those days really were. But I know now. I told Mother that I turned off the bacon. But I think she'd be okay with me turning it back on again.