I had a lot going on during my mom’s last sixty days of life. It was all connected by the 168-mile stretch of I-65. At Point B was my dying mother and at Point A was my failing marriage.
In late March, early April during those final sixty days, the upstairs bathroom flooded the kitchen downstairs at our house west of Mannheim Road.
The MasterBlamer (a person who always finds it easy to blame others) concluded that one of the Shepkids must have gotten up in the middle of the night, used the shitter and didn’t jiggle the handle properly. A slow, quiet rush of water ran all night, soaking the kitchen ceiling.
It gave the former Mrs. Shepley the perfect excuse to design her dream kitchen. My mom was dying one state over and my wife was more worried about putting lipstick on a pig.
Fast forward to the end of April.
We had made plans to drive down to Indianapolis as a family....
....maybe for the final time to see my mom.
The hotel was reserved, the schedule was set and the kids were excited for a road trip, even if it was to visit their dying gramma.
On the Thursday before we were supposed to leave, my mom went to the little beauty salon inside the nursing home. She wanted to look nice for her grandchildren. That same day, my wife got a phone call from the kitchen cabinet makers up in Elk Grove Village.
Her specially designed cabinets were ready. They could either be picked up Saturday morning or they could be shipped in mid-May.
Waiting three weeks wasn’t acceptable for the anxious kitchen designer. Never mind that the contractor was still behind on the prep work. Never mind that my mom was running out of days.
I got a text message while I was at work: We’re canceling the trip because we needed to pick up the cabinets instead. We should be able to cram them into the back of your Suburban in one trip.
So, three kids in car seats, one impatient lady, a guy with a dying mother, and a bunch of poorly made cabinets all jammed into my Chevy Suburban. it sounded like a perfect plan... for one person.
After dinner that Thursday, I called my mom to tell her we weren’t coming down to Indianapolis. Before I could say a word, she excitedly told me she’d had her hair done for the visit. It was the happiest she had been during those trying days.
It was the last time that I lied to my mom. I told her Hazel was sick and I also used the stormy forecast as a reason to postpone. I told her we would come down the following weekend. The first weekend of May.
I could hear the disappointment in her voice, but in typical Cecilia fashion, she said, "That’s okay, Pumpkinhead. I understand..."
Saturday came. It was cold and rainy. We crammed the cabinets into the Suburban. The kids were miserable. I was miserable, but their mom got her personally designed kitchen....
....Hinsdale cabinets for a LaGrange Highlands townhouse that already had decent cupboards in the first place.
The former Mrs. Shepley took a small check from State Farm and crowned herself a big-time home designer. It took her mind off her infidelity and it kept her away from supporting her husband...
...as he watched his mother die.
That was the last weekend of my mom’s life. I picked my failing marriage over my dying parent. I chose the mule behind Curtain One, when the shiny RV was waiting behind Curtain Two.
I think that decision killed my mom’s will to keep fighting. Looking back, that’s when I quit on my side of the marriage. A year later I moved to Riverside.
My mom knew my marriage was failing. We had talked about it on one of my many journeys down I-65 between March 6th, when she told me she was dying and May 6th, when she finally met her idol..... The Virgin Mary, Mother of God.
Those cabinets?
They’re already falling apart.
Luckily, I’m forbidden from entering that house on the other side of Mannheim Road. The sight of that kitchen makes me sick.
This is the first piece of my therapeutic writing, capping off my "Sixty Day Celebration of Cecilia."
"The Kitchen Cabinets" will be followed by "The Twenty Minute Detour" next week.
Thanks for letting me chalk about this stuff.
Today is the "Spring Fling" in Riverside — an annual event that goes toward charity and signals the start of the warmer months.
Good music.
Good neighbors.
Good food.
Good booze.
Come to the village nestled in the woods where a river runs through it.
Get out and enjoy the chilly sunshine on this last Saturday of April.
