Category: memorial

Maybe forgetfulness is part of healing. I know it’s related to grief.

I didn’t remember Mom on June 24, the day she died two years ago, but I had a restless, sad week. I thought I was anxious about the debate between, you know, Him and Him.

The debate passed, and I was a bit nonplussed by the performance of both Hims. Good Lord. However, after that day, I was still uneasy and lethargic.

Friday, I went to the nail salon so Wii could put that powder stuff on my nails. I’m growing nails out under those shells, and I think this week will be my chance to go au naturale. I’m going to the salon where I took Dad three weeks before he died and Mom three weeks before she passed. It took me almost two years to get back there. I just went anywhere I hadn’t been with Mom or Dad.

When Wii began to speak, it came to me. June 24 had come and gone, and I hadn’t remembered that Mom died on that day two years ago. I grieved for a few minutes. I was surprised that the date hadn’t come to me. I think about her almost daily. But it had arrived in the form of almost a week of depression. My condition is better named Sorrow.

The body and the mind managed the grief. After the week had passed, I felt a small healing, and now I can laugh at some of the predicaments Mom and I got into. There were so many.

I’d started this blog piece three weeks ago, and now I felt I could write.

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In April, my dentist and I decided I might need a gum graft. This is where the surgeon excises live gum tissue from somewhere in somebody’s mouth and then “plants” it in receding gums. It’s not a delightful procedure, but I endured it well with the help of whatever stuff they used to sedate me.

After the first look at my lower front teeth post-surgery, the doctor told me that after the new gum tissue had settled in, I might also need a frenectomy. Another dental surgery, whereby the little thing that holds the bottom lip to the gums is clipped. Yay for me.

I said, “Goody.” This procedure is scheduled for July 24.

I had a frenectomy when I was nineteen years old, living in Lewistown, Montana, with my folks, working for radio station KXLO. My dentist was Dr. Harry Ziolowski, known to most of us as Dr. Z, a man who weighed at least 400 pounds. I liked him but wondered how he could get close enough to work on my teeth. He always attended to my mouth with gentleness and efficiency. And he was funny.

The day Dr. Ziolowski clipped the frenum, I drove myself to the office. He numbed me up, and it didn’t take long. Dr. Z had just received a new kind of bandage for such a task. He explained that this material would feel like three big pieces of bubblegum inside my lower lip. He pressed it to the double incision and told me to pretend I had a wad of chew in there.

I tried to laugh, but he stopped me.

“No, don’t laugh. You can’t pull on that bandage. It’s supposed to settle in against where I did the work.”

Dr. Z had already prescribed some painkillers, and I had picked them up before the appointment. I headed to the restroom to clean up my bloody face and popped two of them before I drove home.

I was drowsy, but I knew Mom had not been feeling well when she went to work, so I fixed the Littles hot dogs, canned chili, and potatoes. Our Littles were the three Wong boys that we were fostering. They were happy to eat as soon as they came in from school.

“What in the world is wrong with your mouth?” Johnny Wong, the youngest at age nine, asked.

“Had surrrrzhy,” I said.

“What’s surrrzhy?” Jerry asked.

Johnny answered in a low tone, “They cut something out.”

“Her tongue?” Jerry asked.

Johnny huffed. “No, probably a tooth.”

I didn’t bother to correct him. I just wanted to get that bottle of ketchup on the table and make it to my bed. The numbing was wearing off.

Jimmy didn’t acknowledge his brothers’ conversation. He just said, “Good, Dinah,” as he pushed a large piece of chili-laced hot dog into his mouth.

“Oo eyes puh disses in dihwahher,” I said, turning toward the hall to my room.

I didn’t hear Mom come in. My mother was plagued with migraines, and I knew the worst of this one was on its way when she left for the bank. She was seeing an aura. I assumed she would go to bed early after talking to the boys and saying goodnight. She always read to them, but maybe not that evening, and Dad was away from home for some educational reason. She did go to bed, I found out.

At about midnight, I woke in terror with a giant bubble still attached to my mouth but lying on my pillow. I screamed and jumped away from the bed. Blood from this melon-sized balloon spattered over the whole room, pink bedspread, white ruffled pillows, and the walls. I grabbed a pillow and held it against my face. Mom was in front of the bathroom by the time I got there.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” she asked.

“I tink my buhbuhguh boke,” I answered, muffled by the pillow.

“Good grief. I don’t know what you’re saying, but we better call Dr. Z. And go get a towel.”

I grabbed a green hand towel from the bathroom and left the pillow in the tub, then weaved and wobbled back to Mom’s bedroom, helped her lie down with the princess phone, and propped two pillows behind her back. I was right. She was in the middle of a migraine.

I could hear the phone ringing.

“No answer,” she said. She hung up. She dialed again. It rang and rang, and finally, Dr. Z answered.

“This is Ethel Blair,” she told him. “Something’s wrong with Diana’s mouth. There’s blood everywhere.”

“Okay. Okay,” he said, half asleep. “Meet me at the office.”

“Alright,” she said to him and to me, “Honey, put some clothes on.”

I grabbed a yellow sweatshirt and a pair of wheat-colored jeans from the chair where I’d left them and staggered down the hall and through the kitchen to the garage. I jumped when I realized Mom was behind me. She was wearing her bank uniform skirt, a blue chenille cotton robe tied around her waist over her pajama top, and red fuzzy house slippers.

“You on’t hah tuh doh wif me, Ma,” I said. “You toh tick.”

“I’m in better shape than you are. Get in the car.”

I was in my seat by the time she made it to the driver’s side, holding onto our co-owned sixty-six Mustang. She backed out of the garage and handed me a brown grocery bag.

“Here, hold that in case I vomit,” she said.

We knew we’d probably make it to the doctor’s office before he did, as he and his family lived farther out of town.

We sat in the car in the dark. Mom held onto the steering wheel. After a few minutes, she said, “He’s not coming. I bet he fell asleep.”

There was a phone booth between Dr. Z’s place and the Dairy Dip.

“I doh cah him,” I said. “Do oo how caynzh? Doh hab pursss.”

Mom grabbed the paper bag and heaved. She leaned back against the seat, sighed, and said, “While you do that, I’ll throw this away.” Then she handed me her purse. I lifted her wallet and was glad to see she had a zippered pouch full of coins. I took it with me as I made my drunken way to the phone booth.

I knew his phone number. I dialed.

“Ethel? Is that you?” he asked.

“Dr. Z, ‘s Dinah. Dat baddash bust.”

“Oh no,” he answered. “I thought I was dreaming when your mom called. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m sorry.”

“‘Tay,” I said.

Mom had driven across the parking lot to the Dairy Dip. She was hurling into their big garbage can.

“Ma!” I called. “I tumih.”

I was beginning to gain control of myself, although I’m sure I staggered a little across the lot to the Dairy Dip trash can. I held Mom. She turned and said she thought she was feeling a little better.

“Oo dit ih duh sigh, an I dwibe,” I said. I pushed her into the passenger seat and rounded the Mustang, balancing myself against the vehicle with my left side.

She looked comfortable in the car. “Is he coming?” she asked.

I nodded my head.

“I’ll just stay here,” she said.

I drove slowly over a couple of bumps between the lots and parked as close to the door as I could.

“Whah if oo bahf?” I looked in the back seat. Nothing there to throw up in. I got out and opened the trunk. There was one of Dad’s leather book bags. It was sturdy. I emptied the books, papers, pens, paper clips, and whatever else was in the bag. I handed the bag to Mom and saw Dr. Z’s big truck with its bed cover-camper shell coming down the road.

I leaned against the car and waited for him to park and get out. He was wearing yellow and brown striped cotton pajamas, a matching plaid robe, and a bowler hat.

“Oh, Diana, I’m so sorry. Come on in here. Where’s Ethel?”

“Ih duh cah,” I said. “Siht. My-way.”

“Oh, gosh, I remember she gets migraines. Let me get her out of this car.”

He ran to the vehicle and opened the door.

“Ethel,” he said, “You can’t stay out here in the dark. Let me help you inside, and I can give you something to calm this old headache. “

Never mind me, I thought, moving the towel to a dry place.

Mom held his forearm with both arms, Dad’s book bag dangling from her left, as he carefully ushered her up the steps to the door. I held the wrought iron banister, glad to be a bit more with it than an hour ago.

“Diana, go on back,” Dr. Z said as he turned on the hall lights with his right hand and held onto Mom with his left. “Ethel, can you curl up on this sofa? I can give you a shot of Valium. I think it would help.”

Mom nodded. The sofa was a red velvet Victorian loveseat. It looked odd compared to the rest of the chairs in the room. Mom scrunched her knees up on the sofa as Dr. Z pushed her into place. She looked like she belonged on the short couch.

“I’m going to give your mother something for that headache,” he said, rambling around in the hall closet.

I climbed into the dental chair in the back room. It was dark.

I heard Dr. Z say, “Ethel, I’m going to pull your sleeve up. I normally give Valium in the buttocks, but I’d have to move you.”

Footsteps in the hall.

Dr. Z turned on the task light. I was nearly blinded.

“Where’s Rev. Blair?” he asked me as he prepared a tray.

“Pihwins,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Ah, Billings. I bet he’s at the State Teachers’ Conference. I thought it might be in Great Falls this year.”

“Es,” I answered. “Oo dib Ma sot?” I wrapped the white towel he gave me over my chest and under my chin. still holding the bloody towel against my mouth.

“Yes,” he said, “She should be feeling better in a few minutes. Okay, now, open up. Just a little. “

I opened my mouth and pulled down my lower lip.

“Oh my God, this is a mess,” he said. “That stuff…It’s not supposed to do THAT.”

He paused for a minute or two.

“After I numb you up, I’ll pull this bandage out and temporarily replace it with a stack of gauze. Then I’ll get you to hold it. You can be my assistant.”

“Here comes the numbing,” he said as he pushed the needle into several points on my lower gums. I remember seeing stars alternating with pitch black.

“Now, while that’s setting up, I’ll get that stuff out of there. Open just a little more.”

He lifted some instruments from the tray and started gently pulling on the rubbery mess. I held the gauze against my cheek.

“Okay, it’s almost out. Give me the gauze.”

He pressed it between my lips and my gums. “Hold that pretty tight,” he said. This was a bigger wad than the bubblegum.

“Oh, good lord,” he said, dumping the messy lump from his other hand onto a stack of paper bibs, which he carried to the waste can in the hall, along with my bath towel.

Blood ran from my mouth and filled the gauze. I kept holding. He gave me a second stack and left the first on the tray.

On his way back into the room, Dr. Z said, “Diana, I may have to cauterize this thing. You just keep holding for a minute.”

He went into a storage room across the hall and started grabbing equipment.

I didn’t care. I just wanted the whole thing over with.

I heard a thud closely followed by, “Oh, no, Ethel.”

I jumped from the chair, still holding the gauze, and followed Dr. Z.

Mom was on the floor, and this big man was going to try to put her back on the sofa.

“No, no,” I yelled. “Eeb huh oh tuh foohr.”

I rushed around the two of them, pulled a cushion out of a side chair, and pushed it under her head.

“You get back in there, young lady,” he said. “You’re going to cause that mouth to bleed.”

Like it’s not already bleeding, I thought.

He was back in the closet in a couple of moments, and called out to me, “I’m getting her a blanket and a towel in case she vomits.”

“See otay?” I asked.

“She’s good. She’s just sleeping.”

That’s what they say when somebody dies, I thought, and I got up and down the hall again.

“Mom, Mom,” I said, leaning over her on my knees. “Tan oo heeh me?”

“Yes, Honey,” she mumbled. “I hear you. I’m okay.” She put her forearm over her eyes.

Dr. Z. pulled me up and said, “Come on, let’s go.”

He followed me to the exam room. I climbed back into the chair.

“Leaning you back,” he said. “I’m going to stop that bleeding now.”

“I’m going to put this over your face,” he said, “and then you just let me lift your lip off the place, and it will only take a minute.”

Something heavy lay across the top half of my head.  Dr. Z. pulled my bottom lip out and started to remove the heavy gauze. I instinctively put my hand to my chin, thinking I would help him, I guess.

“No, no,” he shouted. “Get your hand back!”

I immediately heard a small sizzling. Then the smell hit me.

“Uhhhhhhgg,” I said and shivered.

“One more time,” he said as he touched the wound again. It did not hurt, but I heard it, and I smelled it.

“I doh be siht,” I said and wretched.

Dr. Z. fanned me with something, probably a magazine, and said quietly, “One last small one, and we’re done.”

He probed the third time and fanned me again.

“Wait, wait, wait just a minute.”

I did…wait. And then I threw up. All the blood I’d swallowed all night, and for all I knew, all my insides.

Dr. Z. helped me out of the chair. I stepped into the bathroom. I’d wet my bloodied jeans, and my yellow sweatshirt was a sickly-looking brown. There was blood in my hair and on my white tenny-runners that would never come clean.

“Diana,” he called. “You may want to shower yourself off before you go home. Is there anyone that can pick you up?”

“I tan dwibe,” I said. “I doh hab kwobes.” I hadn’t known there was a shower.

“You can wrap up in my bathrobe. It’s still clean.”

I opened the door. He was a mess, standing there holding out his bathrobe. “I’m going to throw your towel away. Is that alright?”

“Es.”

“How about your clothes?”

“No. I hab to tate dem ho.” Even in my sad condition, I wanted to save my favorite jeans and sweatshirt.

“I’ll find a bag or something,” he said.

“I nee tet oh Ma,” I said.

“I just did. She’s fine. Get yourself cleaned up a little.” He opened the door to his office and led me to his personal bathroom in the corner.

How about that? I thought. Corner bathroom with a corner shower.

“All I got is Lifebuoy. There’s a towel and face cloth on the sink,” he said. “Leave your clothes in the shower,” he said. “You can get the mess tomorrow.”

“Now,” he said, “I’m going to close my office door, and you can lock the bathroom door if you want.”

I closed the door, locked it, and turned the water on in the shower. I pulled the sticky sweatshirt over my head and unzipped the jeans. I decided to rinse them out. It took me longer to give the clothes a bath than my shower. I wondered what LifeBuoy hair would look like in the morning.

It took both Dr. Z and me to get Mom in the car. She was fairly limp.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” he asked.

“Es,” I said. (I had a big gauze wad in my mouth.)

When we pulled into the garage, I realized I was not okay to get Mom into the house by myself. I was uncomfortable waking a neighbor at that hour of the morning. I leaned her seat back as far as it would go and went into the house to get blankets. She wouldn’t need a pillow, but I would.

The boys were all sound asleep.

I tucked a red bedspread around Mom, scrunched up in the back seat, and pulled a blanket over myself, still in Dr. Z’s bathrobe. I hope those boys set their alarm, I thought. I smelled Lifebuoy soap.  

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