Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Not One Thing Left to Do


Have you ever had an elder relative who delighted in the number of cards received for a special occasion?

When I was a child, I remember my family traveling to visit an aunt, just a few days after her birthday. While she, by that time, was well into her sixties, she had not lost that magical, child-like delight over the occasion of yet another birthday. With our family encircling her in her living room, she was nearly breathless as she announced the exact count of how many birthday cards she had received—so far.

Perhaps that was a generational thing. I hardly remember any of those I know now—whose ages hover from just above mine to nearly equal my mother’s generation—taking such delight in counting their cards. From that generation, you are more likely to hear elicited a groan over the approach of yet another birthday.

Birthdays weren’t the only event which garnered such card-counting delight in that previous generation. I remember others reveling in the number of cards received for anniversary celebrations, too.

So it may not come as so great a surprise to read that Lummie Davis Moore knew the exact count of the cumulative get well wishes the Ladies’ Auxiliary had delivered to her hospital room in Phoenix, Arizona. And, reciprocally, it was probably de rigueur that each of those thoughtful socialite matrons and bridge luncheon companions insured that they got their card in the mail within the proper time frame. After all, someday they, too, would want to boast about their hundred-and-four cards.

Not to be too condescending of poor Lummie—after all, what did one do for days on end in an early 1960s hospital room thousands of miles removed from any relatives? If, from her letter, we can extrapolate any estimate of how long she had already been confined, both at the acute care hospital and at the rehabilitation facility, it was likely approaching three weeks already. In addition to that long span of time, we can tell from the continuation of Lummie’s letter below that she had been advised that she had months of difficult recuperation ahead of her, too.

Yet, if Lummie had nothing else, you may amply credit her for her spunk. She was determined to keep active and stay as independent as possible—with the possible caveat of gratitude that her husband, Wallace Moore, had, at his passing ten years prior, left her in such a position as to be able to maintain that level of independence.


Friends bring me everything. 104 get well cards so far—flowers perfume powder all sorts of things—Bless your heart for offering to come, but there is not one thing left to do—I will have to cancel my trip East for this year. Dr. says it will be Oct before I am walking with either crutches or a walker. The nurses take me all over the grounds in a wheel chair and roll me out in the sun—Lawyer Divelbess says those big places carry insurance to cover such as this, but if they don’t—thank God and Wallace Moore I can take care of it myself—I have taken myself to dining room a couple of times I am so anxious to learn to operate chair—it is going to be some time before I am back home, but friends + neighbors are taking care of everything there—So don’t worry.

10 comments:

  1. Lummie sounds like a cheerful and optimistic person, especially considering the circumstances that might have caused a lesser person to indulge in some woe-is-me time. I'm glad she received 104 cards -- she was worthy.

    I know what you mean about that generation taking pride in the number of cards. Whenever we visit relatives in the Shenandoah Valley, I enjoy reading the local paper to see all the ads for card parties. Not Bridge or Canasta. No -- cards! For so-in-so's birthday or anniversary or illness. I wonder if strangers send cards.

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    1. That's interesting about your Shenandoah Valley card party story, Wendy. After Lummie's story--and knowing how my other aunt delighted in cards, too--I can believe it!

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  2. I just realized that Lummie would die soon after this... :(

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    1. That just clicked for me the other day, too, Iggy. Funny how you can know the "story" but not realize how each of the pieces falls together...until later.

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  3. Cards and note were a big thing back then! I suppose that is like saying you have x amount of Facebook friends..well kinda:)

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    1. Well...that is an interesting way of seeing it...and you are probably closer than you think in the comparison.

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  4. Lummie was obviously a very well-liked lady with many caring friends. Wow! 104 cards! That is impressive.

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    1. I was quite amazed too, Jana. Makes me want to know a bit more about what life was like for Lummie in those later years in Phoenix. Actually, I wouldn't mind knowing some more about all the rest of her life, too. She must have been quite fascinating to talk to.

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  5. Lummie has such a wonderful attitude!! That's something we could ALL remember today when every little things seems to leave us "all stressed out."

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    1. She did seem to take it all in stride, didn't she? I know I certainly would need that kind of reminder if I had to go through all that ordeal. Of course, who knows what kind of life experiences went into shaping that ability.

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