Shrimp Boats

My parents were both diagnosed with Dementia in early 2011. My father passed away not too long after this, in January 2012. The transition from running his own life, to being institutionalized is what killed him, ultimately. His resistance led to medications being administered to keep him calm, which made him bed ridden, and he developed bed sores and then pneumonia, and there’s a family acceptance that it wasn’t actually an overdose of a drug to relax him that caused him to develop the inability to swallow, but that he’d actually suffered a stroke.

My Mum went from a temporary nursing home in our home town of Winnipeg, Manitoba, to one in the same town as my older brother, John, and his wife, Wendy. My finances didn’t allow me to make the 2500 km trip to see her very often, and after growing frustrated with trying to keep in touch with my Mum by phone, I switched to writing letters, which was a great success. Phone calls were characterized by being so in the moment. For instance, shortly into the call she’d interupted me, to say

“I’m watching TV…” or

“I don’t have a pen.” I’d reply, “why do you need a pen, Mum?”

“I wanted to ask you for Diana’s phone number.” she replied, Diana is my little sister.

There’s also the time difference of 2 hours, and my busy life. But life as a bus driver meant I had these spare moments that were all mine, and I used those to write her letters. I committed to writing her a letter a day for a year. I have that first letter, a photo of it anyways, and most of all of the rest of them also.

While visiting Mom in Morden/Winkler, Manitoba I wanted to have a conversation, and somehow figure out more about something she’d said earlier that same day,

“I just want to die” and another time, “I want to go to be with Jesus”

My response was to hug her and ask if she’d mind sticking around for a while longer, and she said she’d probably live another 20 years, with a resigned sort of laugh. But she spent most of her time with us just enjoying our company, not speaking much at all. On our last evening with her we were driving her home. It was her bedtime, 8:30 pm. The highway from our Hotel in Winkler to her home in Morden was dark, and snow lay all around us. If you’ve never driven in such conditions you would not know how quiet it can be. The snow absorbs the ambient sounds, and the car was especially quiet. I simply said, “Mom, I wanna hear your voice”

She was still alive, waiting to die. And I think she easily slipped into the role of Mother. I wasn’t able to handle the idea of her death, just yet, while she was quite happy with it all. A recent book I’ve read, “A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life” by Parker Palmer, makes note of something called “Third Things”. Direct questions about things that are difficult to talk about don’t yield desirable results. We don’t even tend to admit things to ourselves. Repression and suppression are subtopics here. I wrote the rest of this note here, Julia, soon after that trip, and I’m on my way out soon, so I’ll quit editing it to make the voice match the above ‘past tense’. I alude to this story in my last letter to her.

“What? Singing?” She enquired

“Sure Mom…” I replied,

I’ll just sing what’s been going through my mind…

Shrimp boats is a-comin’
Their sails are in sight
Shrimp boats is a-comin’
There’s dancin’ tonight

I was so shocked to hear such a stream of coherent words at length coming from her, and I pulled over and Googled them . . . to find they are from a 1951 hit by Jo Stafford…

The recording by Jo Stafford was made in July, 1951

I found it on Youtube, and was actually able to play it for her over the car’s stereo system through my iPhone… she was pleased.

As I drove back to Winnipeg from Morden the next morning with our sister, Diana, I played the song over and over again, tears streaming down my face, and I think this is why… there’s this line in there:

“…’til once more they ride high out to sea…”

…’ride high’ because the boats are empty. When we’re young and full of hopes and dreams, when we find ourselves at the Alter giving our humble lives to our great and wonderful saviour… our few loaves and fishes placed into his hands… and we spend our lives ever yet abiding in him, and he in us… and we bear fruit… and our ship’s hold becomes laden with the catch… the fruit of our labours.

Mom’s boat is pointed toward shore, and she’s full of the journey’s catch… her children that love the Lord are amoung the many lives she’s touched, the fruitful life of one who’s lived her life committed to honouring her Lord

There was peace in her heart, and satisfaction of having completed what she signed up for!

Shrimp boats is a-comin’
Their sails are in sight
Shrimp boats is a-comin’
There’s dancin’ tonight
Why don’t-cha hurry, hurry, hurry home
Why don’t-cha hurry, hurry, hurry home
Look here! The shrimp boats is a-comin’
There’s dancin’ tonight

(SLOWLY):
They go to sea with the evenin’ tide
And their women folk wave their good-bye
(Ill sant vas… There they go)
While the Louisiana moon floats on high
And they wait for the day they can cry…

(SLOWLY):
Happy the days while they’re mending the nets
‘Til once more they ride high out to sea
(Ill sant vas… There they go)
Then how lonely the long nights will be
‘Til that wonderful day when they see…

Shrimp boats is a-comin’ – tonight!

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