Toying With Nostalgia

When my grandchildren left my house after a visit, I found two stuffed animals with which they'd been playing. My mother Sybil Miner Beck often held those animals on her lap as the ravages of Alzheimer’s disease became more and more noticeable. As I returned them to their storage bins, I began to recall their importance. One was a fuzzy white dog about twelve inches long and ten inches high. The other was an even fuzzier white cat with almost the same dimensions.

My mom was raised on a farm Near Indian Head, Pennsylvania with seven brothers and sisters: Rachel, Cora, Violet, Dale, Ina, Ted, and Cosey. She used to share stories of her past life as she raised me, my brother Ken, and my sister Kathy. These stories became fewer as she aged. Sometimes we would start a story and look to her to corroborate the facts and she would only respond, “If you say so.” Her past memories became locked away in the dim recesses of an uncooperative mind. It was sad seeing this intelligent, witty woman disappear as Alzheimer’s claimed more of her faculties.

She loved to read, but Alzheimer’s stole that ability from her. Near the end of her life, she forgot how or why it was necessary for her to eat. Occasionally after much coaxing, she would reluctantly take a bite and swallow it.

With that history out of the way, I will return to the reason I started to write this tale. While she still lived with my dad Carl Beck, she was given the dog and the cat. Some women claim a doll to hold and care for as their mental capacity diminishes. My mom claimed the cat and dog instead. She would hold one or the other on her lap, stroke it, or just rest her hand on its back. I can’t remember where she got them, but they were constant companions.

When she and my father passed, I inherited them and kept them with the toys to entertain my grandchildren when they visited. This time as I tucked them away, the significance of what there two creatures meant to my mom struck me and they now have a new resting place on my bed.