The Cowardly Lion

This entry is about one of my favorite kiddie holidays – Halloween. As I watched all the little ones come to our door, I couldn’t stop my stroll down memory lane. Mom and Dad loved creating costumes for us. The only time we had store bought costumes was the year we moved to Delaware. We moved in the day before Halloween. Needless to say, homemade creations were bottom of the priority totem pole.

The following year M&D outdid themselves. Lynn, Mike and I were transformed into the scarecrow, the tinman and the cowardly lion. Lynn suffered through a night of itchy straw as the scarecrow, Mike had to maneuver through the streets with silver painted corrugated cardboard wrap around his arms and legs as the tinman; and I had on a pair of dyed brown pj’s and a frayed rope mane as the cowardly lion. I, by far, had the easiest to wear costume. I loved it. in fact, I won an award at the annual Halloween parade. We never figured out why the judges didn’t see the three of us as one unit. Of course as the youngest of the “three older ones” it felt great to win something all of my own. What can I say? I can still tap into that childhood feeling of triumphing over my older sibs.

A couple of years later it was Patty’s and Betty’s turn to be transformed. Mom and Dad dressed them up as Jack-in-the Boxes. They were Jill-in-the-box and cute and fun to watch.

Mom didn’t stop making costumes once all of us were grown. Nope, she had a new crop of grandkids to fuss over and continue her creations. Adrienne took advantage of this desire. She asked for a fairy princess costume and Mom delivered. Adrienne loved her princess dress with its mounds of pink tulle and touches of silver sparkle here and there.

Then there was the year I tried to make Adrienne a poodle skirt. Mom and I shopped for the red felt material. I proudly displayed the finished skirt to Mom, only to discovered that we had bought craft felt. Craft felt stretches – in case you didn’t know this; we certainly didn’t. Poor Adrienne, by the end of Halloween night she was tightly gripping her skirt so it wouldn’t fall down around her ankles.

These are memories I tightly hold onto every day. I am ever so thankful that I can recall them in fine detail. I deeply regret that Mom doesn’t remember all of these times. She has snippets of it here and there, but the picture has holes in it like fisherman’s net. Some memories flow through while others are caught in the net, never to be released again.

I miss the Mom with all of her memories intact. Her joy has dimmed, just like her mind. As hard as I vow to rejoice in the Mom I had for so many years, there are times when the Mom with a blank stare saddens me. This is the struggle I face as we continue down this path. I fear the dark tunnel that lies ahead where the net will trap all of Mom’s memories.

Maybe I am the cowardly lion and I need the scarecrow’s intelligence, the tinman’s heart and the Jill-in-the Boxes’ joy to walk with me. Together we can help each other love and care for Mom.

JaneEllen