Becky’s Room

Becky’s room became an imaginary gift, but it is a gift that truly exists today and will for many years to come. It is a gift to me as well as to my grandchildren. I cannot tell you that it was a planned gift… it just was. Love surrounds Becky’s room by day and night; a memory of a beautiful person exists within the room and in the hearts of all who enter there. As you read this story, it is my hope that you, too, one day may be blessed with a “Becky’s Room”.

When I was six years of age, I lost my Father to cancer. We were given a Stepfather in the years to come who raised us with much love and gentleness. His name was Tony but we called him Dad; he held the responsibility of raising the children in our blended family as a privilege. He possessed a gentle soul and a heart that gave me a love that I carry in my heart for him today, nineteen years after having lost him to Cancer and Alzheimer’s disease.

My Mother, Becky, walked with courage through out her life; her children and grandchildren were a priority through all of her years. Life became difficult for her after Dad passed away but yet she kept his memory alive within all of our family…. including her grandchildren.

When I look back, I cannot tell you of the day I first realized that she had grown older, her journey of footsteps an effort in themselves. Mom had once driven the 300 miles to visit me and my two sons, Darren and Ryan; she now relies on a member of our family to travel the three hundred mile journey there and back to visit with us.

 The stairs to Becky’s room have become harder for her to climb and the once short hallway to her room has become a distance to be measured…. but once there, she is home…in Becky’s room.

Becky’s room actually started as my youngest son Ryan’s room; just a plain room with white walls, comforter disheveled on the bed, new movie release posters taped to the walls. Then came the day my oldest son Darren became independent and moved out of his bedroom which was located downstairs. He was moving away from home on his journey to independence, leaving Ryan elated at the thought of taking over his big brother’s room. Darren felt such joy; he was growing up and away from me and I grieved for the loss of the child within him who had filled our home with laughter and joy and life…. yet I felt joy in knowing that he had a world ahead of him and a heart filled with dreams.

Ryan went on with his task of creating Ryan’s room downstairs and a part of me grieved for Darren as I repeatedly set his dinner plate at the table for nearly a week after he left.  With tears in my eyes, discovering what I had done, I would quickly return the plate to the cupboard. I wondered how long I would miss him; I wondered if a mother ever adjusts to her children growing up; I prayed that he would find happiness in whatever path he followed in his life.

I was faced with the empty, drab bedroom upstairs with discolored white walls and the thought that someday both of my sons would be gone from home. It was from somewhere deep within the heaviness of my heart where the thought that the plain upstairs room could be a guest room was born…. A gift for Becky, my mother…. even though she would rarely be able to use it.

I purchased a beautiful pink satin comforter set for the old antique bed. The window displayed white lace curtains with pink satin tiebacks. And on the newly painted plain white walls, I hung pictures of my grandparents, her mother and father, as well as a picture of my grandfather as a young man. I was determined that copies of old pictures from her childhood would surround her with love.

On the old chest of drawers, I placed an antiqued oval frame holding the picture of Mom and Dad I had held dear for many years. The glass reflected Mom and Dad dressed in Klondike attire; the picture taken months before Dad was hospitalized. In my heart, I felt that Mom would not only have her parents surrounding her but she would have Dad’s memory close to her as well. My intent was to make her feel welcome and at home in a room in my home…her room. In looking back I now realize how Mom carried Dad in her heart; a picture was never necessary.

I then purchased an old rocking chair at a garage sale and placed it with pride in her room. In time an oriental rose-colored rug partially covered the lino floor.  Delicate embroidered colorful doilies given to me by her in days gone by found their home on the top of the chest of drawers; an antique Victorian rose lamp she had given me many years before stood beautifully on her nightstand.

And then, as time passed, Becky’s room came into a room of it’s own...old furniture was replaced by newer older furniture; wall to wall carpet covered the once plain lino floor and the room became a place to sit on the side of the bed and visit with Mom in the precious days she spent with us while she rested.

 Darren and Ryan paid numerous visits to Becky’s room to discuss their day and hang out with Grandma. And me… my memories will be of wishing her a good morning as I awoke calling across the hall to her room; of watching her nap quietly in the afternoon as I walked by her room to put her laundry away, and in the evening kissing her cheek and hugging her as I whispered goodnight before crossing the hallway from her room to mine. I did not know it then, but my silver memories were turning to gold.

Her bedroom closet shelf held boxes of memories of both of my sons from the time they were born. The boxes containing their baby books, baby pictures, baptismal records, my writings of their daily activities as they grew, kindergarten drawings, school yearbooks, and small gifts given to them as children from their Papa Tony were often taken down and gone through during Moms visits. I like to think of it as “memory sharing”. As the years passed, the pictures of my family with Mom were added to my son’s memory boxes. Joy and laughter; pain and tears filled Becky’s room over the years…we were blessed to have her stay with us two to three times a year.

And on the days when Mom was not here with me I dusted the precious pictures and thought of my beautiful Mother...and I realized that she must have missed me when I left home as a young girl, just as I had missed my son Darren. A part of me had awakened to an understanding of my Mother I had never known before.

Time passed and the day soon came when Ryan decided that he, too, would be leaving home. With much happiness following his graduation day and the thought of being independent like his brother Darren, the house became silent… again. One less place at the table for dinner left my husband and I to share a family dinner…and once more I set an extra place at the dinner table for days and quickly placed the plate back into the cupboard upon discovering what I had done.

Yet, even though my husband Art (my sons’ Stepfather) and I carried on our discussions over dinner…. a silence filled the room. It was the beginning of the dawn of my years. I once more realized how my Mother must have felt when all of the children had left home… how fast the years of raising a family must have passed for her too. In the months to come, Art and I began to see our children as the adults they had become and we grew in our wisdom and maturity as well.

When the day came that I found my self on my knees in the middle of my living room floor, screaming from the depths of my soul, Becky’s room became Ryan’s room once more. Ryan had been diagnosed with cancer and the weeks and months to follow reflected a change in the special room.

 A masculine green disheveled comforter once again covered the bed. Becky’s room now had to be changed into a masculine “guy” kind of room. And this I accomplished with a heavy heart. The plain white walls were now covered with beautiful cards, letters of hope and inspiration, bookmarks, children’s coloring pages and a tiny rugged carved wooden cross sent through the mail hung from a hook next to his bed. People held our family up with their hope and with their hearts.

Ryan’s room became a room of silent prayer in the quiet hours and yet, through the months to follow, our sleepless early hours of the morning would often see me propped up with pillows at the head of his bed; both of us feeling peace from the laughter erupting from us in the darkness as we repeatedly watched sitcoms, comedy shows, and videos on the television.

 It became a room that was frequently filled with family and friends and above all else, love! Ryan’s room became a room where hope triumphed over despair, where family and friends laughed and shared precious memories at a time when one would think that feelings of joy could never again be a possibility. The months of chemotherapy passed leaving behind the belief that miracles truly do happen; Ryan went into remission!

What became Ryan’s room once more in 1997 again became Becky’s room a year and a half later! Ryan was in remission; the room held memories of laughter and joy and pain and tears but most of all, our special room revealed that there truly was a God watching over our family and the realization that the overcoming of despair for all who entered there yielded thankfulness.

In November of 2000, my son Darren and his wife Kerry were married. Beside Darren stood his brother Ryan and his best friend Harold… both in remission!

Tears filled many eyes that day and Mother watched the ceremony and cried too, and later when we returned home she returned to the Becky’s room that she had once known… and we shared the memories of that beautiful day before I hugged her and whispered goodnight and crossed the hall to my room.

The white walls had been re-painted to reveal a soft white hue and borders of green with pink flowers covered the walls. Mom’s delicately sewn doilies again covered the chests of drawers. What once was a room that held a story of a family triumphing over despair once again became a room that revealed memories of a Mother and Grandmother who stood strong together. Her hope never faded and, yes, if walls could talk they would tell the story of two women who were Mothers ….my Mother and myself.

On November 3, 2001, my grandson Keaton was born! Once again we traveled the three hundred miles to bring Mom to stay with us. She was now seventy-four years of age and she wanted to see her great grandson. Once again Becky’s room had changed over those months. During the days when Mom was not visiting our family it became a place where precious babies napped. It became a room of receiving blankets, and diapers and diaper bags. More pictures were added to the memory boxes of a great grandmother holding her great grandson; of her daughter holding her grandson and of a mother and daughter holding a child. I now knew that these were the feelings of my mother at the time in her life when she had become a grandmother! Keaton was welcomed into Becky’s room by Mom for the first time at Christmas of 2001; with frail and aging arms held out for him, she gathered Keaton to her and held him with her heart full of love. She felt that she must bond with him as a grandmother.

As the months passed I tried to call Mom often. Her fear was that Keaton would not remember who she was… that he would not remember her after the short spans of time she spent with him.

Darren and Ryan’s bedroom downstairs had been converted to a playroom. Shelves were covered with toys; the walls were covered with colorful decals of planes and trains and boats.  Beautiful pictures of Keaton and my grandchildren Austin, Ashton, Kaydee, and Hayley who were a gift to me from my stepchildren adorned the walls. Children’s storybooks held their place on the shelves along with the children’s videos next to the television. A small white rocking chair sat in the corner where I rocked my grandchildren… and months passed.

When Keaton was a year and a half old, Mom came to stay with our family for a while. She stayed for a lengthy time. As a result of having emphysema, Mom required oxygen as she slept at night, and during the day she required a side stream of ventolin to help her breath.

 Keaton watched her very closely and as Mom held the oral apparatus in her mouth and breathed, air vapors bubbling in the water within it, Keaton looked up at Mom and softly stated…”My turn, Nana”. He thought she was blowing into a balloon.

Keaton would visit her room and listen to Mom tell him stories while she rested; his vocabulary being limited, he remained quiet most of the time but she was his Nana Becky. A beautiful bond formed in those treasured days and more pictures were placed in the memory boxes.  Leaving was difficult for Mom; her concern over being forgotten weighed heavy on my heart. When I think back to that time, she was leaving her daughter, her grandsons and her great grandson!

Tears came to my eyes the next day as I looked at the beautiful pictures of Mom and Keaton which I grasped tightly in my hands. I had ordered extra copies of the pictures and it was at that moment when I decided to place them throughout the house. One picture lay on the little toy kitchen center, one lay on the play table, one lay on a shelf of the tool center and others were scattered around the playroom. As Keaton played, he packed Becky’s pictures around from room to room. Where one picture would be picked up another would be laid down. From time to time, he looked at the pictures and smiled.

 It was at this time that I made the decision to call Mom each time Keaton shared time with me. At least once a week, he held the phone to his ear and “talked to Becky” and later after he tired of holding the phone, I would place it on the sofa beside me….  the speaker phone remaining on while he played and laughed and jumped with joy. My mother listened with her ear pressed to her phone, listening to him while he played. She laughed with him as he carried her picture in his little hand from place to place and he talked to Becky from the distance across the room! I had unknowingly given my mother a gift so precious…Keaton would not forget her.

And so the months passed, and when I would ask Keaton where Becky was, with a smile on his little face and the tiny fingers of a two year old, Keaton would point to Mom’s picture on the wall. Art and I had five grandchildren at that time and although my other grandchildren did not see Mom often, they all knew who Becky was…and I thanked God for the blessings in my life.

Then came the day when I would once again fall to my knees. On August 11, 2003, our home was destroyed by fire. Gone were the memory boxes, gone were the precious mementos left to my sons by their Grandpa Tony, gone was the last picture taken of Dad leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek before he passed away; gone were the precious pictures of my grandchildren which hung in jungle print frames on the playroom walls, gone was the home where I raised my sons…. and gone was Becky’s room!

We stayed at my son Darren and his wife Kerry’s home that night. Art and I sat up in the large green tufted chairs in their living room and sometime during the wee hours of the morning; each of us stared out into the blackness surrounding us, revealing a silence of unspoken words as we occasionally lifted our heads to look at the shadowed form of each other across the room. In the darkness and in the silence, the tears fell unceasingly but we gave in to them in our quietness…. No sleep came that night.

Still wearing the clothes we had put on earlier the day before, Art and I arose quietly and drove the few miles into town. In patience we waited for permission to enter what was left of our home; waiting for the fire department to declare it safe. While waiting, we spent our hours on the back deck of our friend’s home and sitting on two borrowed chairs in our back yard. The numbness that overcame me did not yield an out pouring of emotions.

I decided to call Mom from their home; I needed to hear her voice. I recounted the fire and told her of our losses. “Millie”, she asked, “Were you able to save the little grey pearl handled knife that Dad gave to Ryan before he died”? “No Mom”, I replied.

When given permission to enter, Art, Ryan and I entered our home and with each step I took over the rubble, I swallowed the eruption of agony that tried unceasingly to escape from within me. Ryan had arrived early to wait with us. We walked through our home; our final destination being Becky’s Room and the memory boxes. As Ryan pulled rubble off of what was left of the closet shelf, charred pieces of what were once pictures fell to the deep, soot covered remains of the floor.

I fell to my knees and in slow motion I used my arms and hands to clear the charred debris away; my eyes searching for anything to hold on to. Beneath the rubble, a piece of cardboard lay seemingly untouched by the fire and as I lifted it up, my eyes caught the sight of a tiny soot covered red box! In silence, I opened it to reveal the little pearl handled knife which Dad had given to Ryan so many years before! Angels had watched over Becky’s room; our miracle with Ryan had been revealed in Becky’s room and here in my dirty, soot covered hand, I grasped the little knife until such time as I could open my palm and show my treasure to Ryan and Art.

At that moment I knew that precious memories from the memory boxes had been taken from our lives; our home had been taken from us but the memories I held as a treasure within my heart were mine to hold on to forever! Our family was still safe!

Art and I tried to maintain a life of some normalcy living in a one-room kitchenette motel room. He continued with his work and I began the frantic, emotional job of trying to replace our possessions. I remembered beautiful memories that had been gifted to us in that home; the sad ones and the happy ones. It occurred to me one day that I needed familiar surroundings and from that day on, magnetic acrylic picture frames held the beautiful faces of our children and grandchildren and graced the old fridge door of our makeshift home. A resin angel which had hung on the outside wall of our front balcony had survived the fire and it now stood propped up on our nightstand; filled with a representation of what the future would be for us… hope and courage to have faith that one day, we would build a home of memories once more.

We moved into our new home on October 28, 2003.We had rebuilt on the ground where our children and grandchildren had once played. Nothing looked familiar about this new home but I held the conviction in my heart that new memories were waiting to be made there. I just had to try hard to make it happen. New furniture now replaced the old; new memories would now be added to old ones.

Our home would need time to hold memories within its walls. No longer was there a playroom downstairs; a large family room with multiple shelves of toys became the new play area; the small room that had been a playroom now became my office where I would write; a small bed on one side of the room and my desk covered with small mementos I had retrieved from the fire and pictures of my family.

 I would always be surrounded by “what was left” and write my stories from my heart. A cross-stitch of a rainbow, made by my cousin Donna for me, was now replaced by a bigger cross-stitch of a rainbow which hung on the wall beside me. A tiny plate on a stand with the painted picture of Jesus on it sat on one of the tiny shelves held by my desk. A tiny once white, now ivory, looking little angel stands reminding me of my sister Maxine and how cherished it had been for the many years since she had given it to me for Christmas.

 Christmas of 2003 brought Mom to our home to share our Christmas together; a new great grandchild had been born to her, a brother to Keaton born on October 18, 2003. Our little Brady represented new life within our family. From all of the despair and hopelessness had come a new little being; Darren and Kerry had another son for Mom to hold! She once again expressed the importance of holding Brady so that she could bond with him, as a mother does with a child. And so began Keaton’s visits to Becky’s new room with Brady lying cuddled in her arms. Her leaving for home proved even more difficult for me after that time.

But, as the days again passed, Keaton would repeatedly come into our home and go straight to Becky’s room calling for her, but she was not there. It was difficult to try to explain to this child about distance and how people sometimes have to leave. What grew from within my heart from that time on were the “treats” in Becky’s room. I began to place fruit snacks and treats in one of the chest of drawers in Becky’s room. When Keaton next arrived, “Becky” as he called her, had left a treat for all of the little ones! And so began the stream of grandchildren to Becky’s room.

My cousin Donna and her husband Raymond came to spend a week with Art and me in February. Just as Keaton entered the house, Donna walked by the front entry. Keaton scrambled up the stairs as fast as he could calling…” Becky, Becky”. In his beautiful little two year old youth and innocence, he had thought that this person with the light hair and glasses and about the same height as Mom was indeed, Mom. He was over joyed. For the entire visit, Keaton laughed and played with her and was determined that Becky had come for a visit! Donna answered to Becky the entire time she was here; Keaton could not be convinced that this was Donna.

Easter soon approached… a big event in our home. We celebrated Family Day in February (a statutory holiday in Alberta), Easter, and Thanksgiving with treasure hunts; inside or outside depending on the time of year and the weather. Mothers carried the little ones who could not walk and each of our now seven grandchildren were part of the treasure hunt, each mother reading out the child’s clue to the others.

 Of course, the Easter treasure hunt led to Becky’s room where a huge decorated basket and chocolate Easter Bunnies covered the middle of the bed! Nested amidst the chocolate eggs in the basket was a note that I had written and read to the little ones of my “Mother’s Message” to all of the children. The Easter Bunny had come to Becky’s Room! The next Easter, the Easter Bunny had brought coloring books and crayons with the chocolate bunnies to Becky’s room; always with a little note of Grandma Becky’s words attached...

As the months passed, Mom would walk to the mailbox in her home town (a difficult feat for a Grandma with emphysema) to send me a “small cheque” and a note with instructions to go shopping for the treats that were to be placed in Becky’s room; on the visits to our home, she took pride in selecting just the right treats to be hidden in the drawers in her room for the days she was here and for the days after she had left.

One day my grandson Austin who was six asked, “Grandma, does Becky put the treats in the room?” ”Sometimes”, I replied, “when she is here and when she can’t be here she makes sure that I have treats to put in the drawers for her”. He appeared satisfied with the answer; and the trips to Becky’s room continued.

Two years have passed and Brady and Keaton call Mom “Grandma Becky,” as they now can pronounce it and talk to her as they play. Little two-year-old Brady runs to grab the toy phone while Keaton talks to Mom on the “grown up phone” and he, too, carries on a conversation until it is his turn to talk. On any given visit to our home, if Keaton and Brady are having a Grandpa/Grandma Day with us, you will find the phone on a table or sofa with the speaker on, while Keaton and Brady talk to Mom as they play. My grandchildren do not need a picture anymore to remember who Mom is; they carry her in their hearts every day.

There have been times when the grandchildren have arrived for a visit to find “Becky” in her room waiting to give out her little treats. On those days, I am filled with love for my mother and my grandchildren as I watch Mom interact with them. It was on one such precious day that I came to the realization that it was not my Mother who had changed as she grew older; it was me. My mothers way of loving had never changed with age; she loved as the young woman I remember as a child, from deep within her heart. My love grew stronger for her each day, just as her love had grown stronger for me as her child.

Christmas of 2005 brought with it my mother to share our special days with the family. She brought with her coloring books, crayons, little stuffed teddy bears and hot wheel cars as her gifts from Becky’s Room! All “eight” of our grandchildren sat near her as my 78-year-old mother asked, “Whose birthday is it today?” Tears came to my eyes as the little ones looked on and the older children replied, “Jesus”.

I do not need a memory box to claim that picture for my memory. And now, in my moments and in my silence, I sit here and miss her once again and I thank God for… Becky’s Room!

                                                                         Millie P. Lorenz