Mom Taught Me How to Laugh

Honeymoon, 1949

On March 27, 2002, I accompanied my son to Italy for a soccer tournament. In the middle of the night, an odd alarm that we hadn't set woke us up with a single beep. I call it a good bye because early the next morning, our phone rang to tell us that my mother had unexpectedly died late that past night. Although she'd been sick, she was getting better, and no one expected a heart attack to steal my beautiful and witty mother away from this world after only 75 years of life. So, in memory of my mother, I dedicate today's post to her because her sense of humor helped to make me who I am today.

During my grade school years, my mother would often become frazzled by her "friend" Five by Five, as Mom called her. Mrs. Five by Five, five feet tall and five feet wide, had a homely daughter who she swore looked just like me. My mother's mama claws would flare as she'd spit out how I was so much prettier than the daughter of five by five.

Mama Claws

I must not have been too terribly ugly because a few years after that a carload of boys stopped next to us and cat called from my passenger side window. At least I think they were hooting at me, but maybe not. For my mother hoisted her left hand into the air and yelled, "I'm married!"

"Darn it!" The boys promptly said.

  

Florence Paull

 Mom didn't lose her humor with age, nor did she lose her ability to spit out anyone's birthday after hearing it once. In her wheelchair, she sat in the middle of the dance floor at my daughter's Bat Mitzvah party. Goofy neon necklaces covered her head and neck but she didn't bother to remove them like most elderly people would have done. Yeah, that was Mom. She was also the lady who taught my kids how to shoot straws out of paper so they could misbehave in restaurants.

I miss you, Mom, even though I sometimes sense you telling me to be careful not to trip over broken sidewalks or other messages straight from you. Are you still here or was that one bleep of the alarm your final salute? None the less, today is the anniversary of your death, so here's to you. Did you know my mom? If so, what do you remember about her?

Colonoscopy

My big bother sent me a detailed report of the extensive cancer in our family. He wants to have my mother's cancerous remains genetically tested to see if she had the "cancer gene" and may have possibly passed it down to us. Although I see a lot of value in this, it's a scary proposition. After all, the infamous they says, "Ignorance is bliss."

Not that any of us have ever enjoyed blissful ignorance in our family. I have always visited my doctor and suffered through medical tests at the recommended times. The problem, the typical five year span for a colonoscopy may not be enough. If we exhibit this gene, we should be tested every year.

For those who have not had the pleasure of a colonoscopy, let me enlighten you. First, one must restrain from eating solids while drinking chalk and visiting the toilet to expel more manure than anyone thought the human body could hold. Next, one's dehydrated body is wheeled to the hospital to have a needle inserted into a flat vein. It's nighty night while a doctor inserts a scope through the anus in search of polyps. These bugabears are instantly clipped and tested for cancer.

Luckily, I have been polyp free after each test but am also under fifty. In our family, the fun begins as we age.

So in conclusion, my big bother wants me to go through this delightful test more frequently . . . and why does he want this? Because he loves me. Colon cancer is one of the most easily preventable diseases; however, many fail to have the necessary test. If you are over fifty or have a family history, get moving to your doctor for some probe fun.