Depression

 I bet you think I'm going to talk about the illness, depression. No, this is about the Great Depression. I'm reading this book about the Great Plains in the 1930's. A family leaves Texas after multiple years of drought and dust storms that almost killed one of the children (dust pneumonia). A woman takes off in a jalopy with her kids (her husband had previously left her when she refused to leave Texas) and crosses the desert to the San Joaquin valley which is lush and beautiful but where they are treated like dirt and called "Okies" which they take great offense to.  

This family is among the lucky, they have one potato to put in their soup for 3 people. The mom works 10 hours cleaning a lady's house and is given $.40 and practically spit on. She signs up for "relief" and is told she can come back in a year for assistance, after she has established residency in California. This is hardship folks. Not that my Americano was delayed because no one cleaned the machine last night, not that I left my fuel saver card at the store, not a technology failure that screwed up my work for 4+ hours this week. 

Wow, I keep thinking about my dad's experience in North Dakota. We often heard the story of his father working as teacher/superintendent/janitor (all at once) of a school and the pay was a bucket of soup to feed his family. I'm sure he was grateful to have a pail of soup. Things eventually got better, but that depression era mentality stayed with my dad his entire life (and was passed down to some degree to me). We made fun of him for cleaning his plate with his finger, eating the leftover food off our plates, and (forgive me mom for telling this one), scooping the baby food off our faces and eating it after spoon feeding us. It's sinking in through my experience reading this book, what that might have felt like and it was not kind to ridicule that behavior. 

So, to put it lightly, this book is humbling me a bit. These are people that were alive when I was. I knew my grandparents who lived through this mess of a situation. It's amazing the things I will complain and be upset about when these people were absolutely destitute and living in tent villages and cars, not knowing if they could feed their children the next day. Somehow they persevered and the next generation recovered and for the most part prospered. This was situational poverty as compared the generational poverty we see more now, but that's a topic for another day. 

 A couple of things resonated with me over time about grief, child loss, suicide loss, my loss of my firstborn, Adam. The first was, "It doesn't get easier, but you get more used to it." Later, I adopted the idea, "you grow around your grief." It's a journey for sure, and I am drawn to those who have to go through this also. 

Ok, this post has sat for days, when this morning I had an awakening, after awakening. Last weekend I took Adam's watch to the local jewelry store for a new battery, probably only the 2nd or 3rd time I've had to change it in the 7.5 years I've been wearing it. While I was waiting, I was looking at watches and decided maybe I could get a new band. The leather is wearing out and it always slides around on my wrist, even on the tightest hole. I had the guy punch a new hole and order me a new watchband. Later this week, as I was putting it on, the band broke. My new one will be here today. Hooray! Someone was making sure I didn't go without my watch for long. 

A step forward in the Mommy-Daughter relationship: it seems like my mom and I get along best when we are doing something together. Cooking is most often the go-to. Last Sunday we were making Blintzes (blinis, crepes) together, and I showed Mom how to get the blintz onto the spatula by tipping the pan. She was Amazed. She wondered how she never thought of this in all her 87 years!

Pat gave me a gift this week. He was looking through his Kindle and found this picture I don't remember ever seeing. Probably taken within the last year Adam was here. I love it and am grateful for every remembrance that comes my way.