Cleaning

I have big day of cleaning ahead of me. It causes me to think back to a piece of writing I did a few years back:



"Cleaning" by Mark Rogers
written Oct 3, 2004

Part 1 Cleanest House In Elwood

With our anniversary coming up, I've been recalling the early days with Annie. Like most newly-weds, Annie and I had our share of disagreements. Whenever we got angry back then, we had the same response: we'd start cleaning the house. We'd scream & scrub, swear & sweep, damn & dust, and pout & pick-up. Well, during the first few months of our marriage, we had the cleanest house in Elwood!

Whenever family or friends would enter our oh-so-clean house, many would laugh and ask, "Did you two have another argument?" And of course by that time, Annie and I would be so proud of our oh-so-clean house that we'd hug in celebration of our joint work. As the years passed, our house was never quite as clean as during those first few months. Annie and I just didn't argue enough. LOL We traded a clean house for a comfortable home.

Part 2 The Dolly Touch

During our dating days, I started calling Annie "Dolly." And the name stuck. Annie liked being called Dolly. Like I thought, she too thought that she was as cute as a doll. LOL

She signed all of her notes and cards to me with "Love, Dolly." And some of you may recall that Annie's email address was marksdolly@hotmail.com (Mark's Dolly). Indeed, she was my Dolly. (That's why the yellow ribbons on her funeral spray said "Mom" and "Dolly.")

For many years, Annie was a stay-at-home Mom. Whenever I would come home from work, the house would look and smell wonderful. I would remark, "Oh, it's the Dolly touch!" And Annie would giggle at my comment. But there was truth to my words. There was something magical that Annie did with our home. I never could figure it out.

Whenever Annie was away--either shopping, visiting, or having a baby, I would clean the house, and it would look nice, but not as nice as when Annie did it. I just didn't have the Dolly touch. I still don't.

Family and friends visit these days and say, "Oh, Mark, you're doing a wonderful job keeping up with the house!" I smile and thank them and am truly glad that they see that I'm trying to do right by the boys. But at the same time, when I look around, I don't see the Dolly touch. I miss the Dolly touch.

Part 3 "The bustle in a house"

For many of my teaching years, I've taught American Literature. After Annie died, a particular poem (by Emily Dickinson) kept popping into my mind, "The bustle in a house:"

The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth,--

The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.

After a person dies, there is work to do. And it indeed "is solemnest of industries." The night Annie died, after everyone had left her hospital room, I had the sad job of gathering up her belongings: her clothes, sandals, and purse, and her flowers, newspaper, word-search book, gum, and more. Next came the sad job of answering a lot of questions from the hospital staff. Of course, the
next morning, I had the tasks of making arrangements with the funeral home and with the cemetery. Thank heavens, I was not alone! My sis was right by my side, step by step.

Meanwhile, my sister's wonderful children looked after my boys. They took them shopping for clothes, and they treated them to lunch and a Spider-Man movie. Cameron commented not long ago, "The day Mommy died was one of my saddest days. But it was also one of my happiest days. I got to have so much fun with my cousins."

A few days after the funeral, the boys and I sat down together to talk. "Please don't get rid of any of Mom's things," requested Jonathan.

"Jonathan, some things have to go. The house is going to change. But I promise I will go slowly. You guys probably won't notice most changes." I've kept my promise. Bit by bit, room by room, I've made changes--slowly.

Almost all of Annie's closet is gone. (I've kept a couple of outfits.) All of her bathroom articles are gone--except her perfume. (I like to get a little whiff of her once in a while.) For several weeks, I kept Annie's bathrobe hanging on the hook on the bathroom door. I told the boys, "If you're ever really missing Mommy, put on her robe. It'll be like getting a hug from her." A few weeks ago,
I finally gave the robe to Annie's mom. I told her the same thing I had told the boys. She was very grateful to get Annie's robe. Her eyes filled with tears, and she hugged the robe close to her.

I've given a lot of Annie's Boyd's Bears away to family and friends. (I want to share Annie, not hoard her away.) I have more of Annie's belongings to give away--but it will happen slowly, as I promised the boys.

Last week, Benjamin told me that his friend Aaron commented to him that our house had changed a lot in the last few weeks. "I hadn't really noticed," Benny said, "until Aaron started pointing things out. Dad, you've done a really good job of not being obvious."

Slowly, Benny, slowly.


Part 4 "She Works Hard for the Money"

Annie's job at the Elwood Middle School was cleaning. When she would come home late at night, tired and aching, I would sometimes rub her shoulders and say, "She Works Hard for the Money!" (Title of a favorite Donna Summer song)

"Yes, I do," Annie would reply. And she was telling the truth! One teacher said that the women's restroom was never shiny until Annie arrived on the scene. And after Annie had to go on sick leave, the teacher sighed, "Well, the restroom is back the way it used to be before Annie." Besides restrooms and classrooms, Annie was responsible for the school gym. Both the school's principal and athletic director agreed that the gym was at its finest during Annie's tenure.

Bless her. She gave 'em the Dolly touch!


Part 5 "A Mother's Work Is Never Done"

I always considered myself a modern man, one who empathizes with women and listens to what they are saying. I also always considered myself a modern husband, one who helps his wife with household duties--even when Annie was a stay-at-home Mom, I helped with the cooking,cleaning, shopping, and laundry--always careful not to over-step the boundaries and invade her space, not always an easy task.

I also always considered myself a modern father, one who is active in caring for the children--after all, I changed dirty diapers, got up for early feedings, gave baths, wiped away tears, carved pumpkins, pulled teeth, helped with homework, signed report cards, and was present at school functions. I always felt that I was an all-round modern guy, one who understands women and their world.

I was wrong.

My world was always next to Annie's world, but it was never the same world. Now that Annie is gone, I've inherited her world. I now step between two worlds. There is comfort in stepping into Annie's shoes and walking her mile. When I'm cooking supper, or washing the dishes, or folding laundry, I feel close to her. I feel like I'm taking care of her interests, her boys and her home. I feel like I
am loving her. And a certain amount of joy comes from that.

But something else happens when I'm walking Annie's mile: I feel what she felt. It's bittersweet. Yes, there's the satisfaction of taking care of one's family, but there is the sadness of being alone in the enormity of it all. A mother understands that her work is never done. And she worries. When I'm taking the boys' shirts out of the dryer and straightening them onto hangers, I worry about the boys. Are they safe? Are they happy? Am I doing right by them? Do I matter? Am I making a difference for them?

Deep within a mother's heart, there is a lonely pain.

I never understood why Annie would quietly pick up after the boys. I would always bark orders and make the boys clean up their messes. I still bark orders. But now, I also quietly clean up after my guys. I'm alone in my worry for them. And I hug their dirty shirts while sorting the laundry for the washer.

Deep within a mother's heart, there is a lonely pain.