WordSisters

Author: cmkraack

  • Life with Pets

    Our kids had a golden hamster named Pucky. While he amused them and they cared deeply for him, Pucky also spent part of each day hanging out with me or riding in my shirt pocket. 

    Hamsters’ lifespan is less than three years. About that time Pucky’s fur turned from gold to grey then developed white streaks within a month. After the kids were in bed one night, he began shaking. I wrapped him in a dry washcloth, tucked him near. He passed. There would be future hamsters and gerbils, but they were not as cuddly and left this world curled in a corner of their homes.

    We have always been a dog family, living with five over forty plus years. Our now adult children lean toward cats. Dogs’ personalities unfold over years of sharing home, food, play, work. Our pets age, we age. Like any family member dogs and cats create good memories, and some better forgotten. 

    Now we’re caring for our crazy, fun-loving, gentle Havanese in his final stretch. Just like older people, he’s developed an assortment of health issues– dementia, mild arthritis, high blood pressure. Life is still good, just quieter with more need for reassurance and assistance. We are in the palliative care time. Like Pucky, the hamster, change is more rapid which makes our time together bittersweet. 

    The most difficult part of adopting a dog or cat is the knowledge that their shorter lifespans mean some form of heartbreak down the road. Yet some of us open ourselves over and over to a companion who loves to walk in any weather, play each day, protect the front door, and loves unconditionally. Cats put on a good show, but they’re sweeties in their own aloof way. 

    If only we could move through our palliative care stage comforted by love, a few meds, an extra cookie or two, cuddles, and a few minutes of massage each day. 

  • The Life You Live

    My great-grandmother Octavia had a difficult childhood that probably ended the day her father killed himself in front of his wife and children. The event was chronicled in the Green Bay newspaper because it took place on a public street as his former wife planted fence posts at the edge of their property.  Octavia would marry a decent man who took her on a train trip to Chicago, provided generously, and shared decades of marriage. They lost their youngest daughter, who died after giving birth to my father, then helped raise him.

    My father’s life had plenty of ups and downs which meant he grew up in the homes of his grandparents and a few uncles as well as his father. As he waited to die, my father said he was most looking forward to meeting his mother on the other side.

    As today’s wars rip apart families and their homes, thousands of children find themselves without the support of biological adult relatives. Many of the displaced children of Ukraine and Gaza haven’t lived this life in their past. But this is the life they now know.

    Some of us had wonderful families with great parents. Some of us grew up carefully avoiding an angry parent, a parent with mental health challenges, maybe in families always on the brink of some sort of disaster. Regardless the life we lived, we are now role models and sentinels for the future of today’s children. 

    Decades ago, my husband and I cherished the good wishes and Mother’s Day cards that were shared during the early stages of a first pregnancy. The next year we stumbled through Mother’s Day following a premature still birth of twins. The following year we had a five-month-old. We know folks who were not able to become parents, folks who chose to not become parents, babies who were amazing surprises and a few not exactly celebrated surprises. Regardless of how early years play out, all kids grow into adults. Their 

    As we celebrate the 2024 parenting holidays, the challenge is to embrace our adult responsibility of helping children and young adults walk confidently toward their futures. A helpful hand, a few kind words, the demonstration of how bumpy steps can be traveled, should be extended by anyone regardless of physical parenting status. For those who have a mother, hopefully the years were good and you’re paying it forward. May your children celebrate the family you’ve created. May others remember your support so the lives they live are more smooth than bumpy.

  • Home and Away

    College recruiting, corporate management and consulting carried me across much of the United States. Although some of that travel prompted future visits, a suitcase in one hand, briefcase in the other wasn’t the most satisfying way to explore cities and countryside. There are cities I enjoy, mountains worth the travel, lovely ocean sides. Driving across the plains or open lands remind me how different our life experiences are from fellow citizens.

    The Midwest continues to be where I am comfortable living my life. Green spaces, cities, the Great Lakes, agriculture, forests blend well. We considered moving during our careers, imagining our lives in desert lands or other river cities, even one Canadian possibility. Except for Canada, I don’t regret passing up those changes.

    Something moved me in the childhood lands of Pat Conroy and Flannery O’Connor. The charm of old Savannah and the Lowcountry areas of Georgia and South Carolina felt homey. I wanted to stay for a year, maybe two, and learn about the rhythm of that region’s residents. To walk where azaleas and trees blossomed in March, to witness the loggerhead turtle’s journey, to try Sunday church once more, to celebrate holidays differently.  Biscuits tasted better, seafood fresher, crayfish better than a slab of whitefish. 

    Weeks in Maine challenged my Midwest assumptions that farms were farms, days on the shore universal, that New England was an area of wealth and education. Spending weeks in a London flat introduced reality to daydreams of living in a congested metropolitan area. Nearly two weeks in a small Irish community felt nice, but I wanted to go home. This stretch of the south felt like it could be home as if the slower movement of my mature life would be acceptable in a place that has nurtured so many artistic folks.

    When the roof needs repair, spring returns to stormy winter, property taxes increase, daydreams happen about a mythical life in a charming setting where all seems lovely. But roofs deteriorate there, summer temps and humidity can be high, history and today’s politics lean away from my values. Best to keep Savannah on my writing retreat list and my home in the Midwest. I’ll be back with a notebook, laptop, and good walking shoes during azalea season.