We are pleased to host this guest post from Blair Hodges. He is host, producer, and editor of the podcast Family Proclamations, as well as Fireside with Blair Hodges. He earned a bachelor’s degree in communications (journalism) at the University of Utah and a master’s degree in religious studies at Georgetown University. Hodges is former host of the Maxwell Institute Podcast. He loves reading, family time, weekend napping, hiking, camping, the Utah Jazz, and spending time with his partner and two kids at home in Salt Lake City.
This guest post contains a link (below) to the related podcast episode and transcript.
I often think about how mundane physical objects have the potential to hold so much meaning for people. Like the blue coat my dad put on my bed in the months before he died. The acorn and little bracelet from my kids I carried in my pocket when I faced the most difficult day of my professional life. The crystal orb I stole out of my friend Steve Peck’s office as a prank, intending to this very day to return it in some spectacular fashion, but which is now weighted with the memories of dear friendships I don’t experience as fully anymore. (Sorry Steve. It’ll come home soon.)
It was almost easy to choose a title for the latest episode of my new Family Proclamations podcast. I say “almost” because I changed the title three times. First I called it “Packing the Red Suitcase.” I published it that way, but soon changed it to “That Red Suitcase.” It still felt off, so I landed on “The Red Suitcase” because it was the suitcase mentioned in the episode itself that carried all the meaning. The most simple modifier seemed best suited.
My guest Deborah J. Cohan joined me to talk about the memoir she wrote about her father. He happened to be the advertising creative genius who came up with the catchphrase, “How about a nice Hawaiian Punch?” He was also verbally, emotionally, and financially abusive to Deborah throughout her life. He wasn’t a simplistic villain or one-dimensional caricature, though. Her book portrays an imperfect person who she still loves, and tries to do so with integrity and without minimizing abuse. After all, she has worked professionally with people who’ve abused others.
Deborah’s memoir focuses on what it’s like to care for a parent in their final years when the preceding years were so weighted with abuse. Her father owned a red suitcase and it seemed to embody so much of the promise and pain of their relationship. It was there when he fell down at the airport, eager to take Deborah and her then-husband on a wonderful vacation that wouldn’t come to fruition because this was the beginning of his decline into physical decay, dementia, and ultimately, death. Deborah would see that red suitcase each time she visited him in nursing homes. The bag carried much more than mere personal belongings.
I’m 42, so a lot of people my age are about a decade away from making hard decisions about eldercare and our parents in a country that doesn’t make it easy. This episode has a lot to offer this cohort, and it’s especially noteworthy because Deborah doesn’t whitewash abusive dynamics. Most parents scar their kids in some way, so the lucky people who make it far enough to even have to worry about eldercare will likely be reckoning with a complicated stew of love, anger, and grief.
At root, it’s a human story about how forgiveness and redemption aren’t necessarily the same thing. As with all my episodes, I think everybody could learn a lot from this one, even if their parents are already gone, or not even in their life. And if you have an emotional connection to a physical object for any reason, I want to hear about it in the comments.
Wheat & Tares 
My dad died recently. I have an emotional connection to the tiny knives with foldable scissors in them he bought for me all my life. I have always had one in my pocket, and when I can’t find one I feel lost. After he died we went through the house and tried to get it in better order (it was a long difficult good bye for my parents). I found a few of these knives and took them home. My mother gifted one to me with a story.
It was broken and the cover had melted off. She put it in my hand and reminded me of the time my dad had installed a cast iron stove into the dining room. She had put this knife on the stove and the cover had melted off. She said how after he had done all the work of the installation and burned wood a couple times she had trouble breathing in the house because it made the air a bit smokey and made her cough. She told him it wouldn’t work for her to burn wood in the house. A couple days later he uninstalled it, no further discussion. My mom’s needs always mattered to my dad and his to her.
I was raised in Wyoming and I also took home several coats from his closet that fit me perfectly (but I won’t need so much in Nevada). Still they represent my dad. Always preparing his family to face cold weather. The stability he brought to my life can never be taken away.
My grandmothers live right next door to our family home on our farm. One across the driveway and one behind our patio in a single wide trailer. I was married with children as my mother cared for these women. I loved my grandmothers but I was angry at the toll it was taking on my mother. They both passed away 3 months apart. One at 96 and one at 85. As I attended their funerals I realized they were valiant and strong women who had faced really hard adversities in their lives. I had only seen them as old women who needed care. The memory of their younger lives and goodness to me had faded with the care required in their old age.
I have several small pitchers that might have been for gravy or just for looks. I keep them in my kitchen window. I was able to take them from each of their homes. Now at 69 they remind me that peoples lives are complex, full and different at each stage. I am grateful for the lives they lived and for the wonderful service my mother gave to them. Such a great example.
I’ve really enjoyed Blair’s Family Proclamations podcast interviews. He’s one of my favorite interviewers out there, hands down, always having read the material, and always asking great questions and knowing how to let the author say what needs to be said.
My own parents are 98 and 97, and my mom has a DNR and is on in-home hospice, so this year has included a lot of thinking about her end of life. When her parents died, one of the things she got that she still has is a little table & chair, made for a child, that she used to sit at in the restaurant they owned in the 1920s and 1930s. When meat got too expensive, they converted from restaurant to ice cream parlor, and when the Depression got even worse and people couldn’t afford ice cream either, they finally went out of business. Because they couldn’t afford a car, my grandfather delivered mail using a horse & buggy, and he would bring my 6 year old mother along to help him spot, kill, and retrieve game on his mail route that they could eat for dinner. My grandfather had fought in WW1, so going from that to the prosperous 20s, then into the disastrous 30s and into another world war wasn’t great for them or their marriage. He drank and had a mistress; they may have had a child together, but this is speculative. My grandparents were estranged, sleeping in separate rooms, but they never divorced because my grandmother couldn’t have supported herself alone. I think of my mother as that sad little girl, sitting at that little table (that became my nightstand in my teen bedroom and is now in their guest room), while her parents’ lives and all they had worked for fell apart around them. She still holds a lot of negative feelings about her childhood, and it’s hard for her to let go. Maybe to her the table is a memory of before the Depression destroyed her parents’ dreams, before things went from bad to worse.
I’m not sure what will happen to that little table & chair when she dies. I’d love to inherit it, but with 6 siblings, I’m not sure that will happen.
My dad died 42 years ago, due to a heart attack at age 67. He loved to garden, and when he wasn’t selling real estate and insurance he would build a house just about every year. That provided me employment through high school and summers during college. Two things I inherited from him were his long-handled shovel and wheelbarrow. A few years ago that shovel’s handle split. I should have replaced it, I suppose, the blade was well worn, too, but instead I got out wood glue and duct tape. The old, very heavy metal wheelbarrow has a couple holes in its bed. But it holds Mulch and dirt.
Right now in my yard “his” peonies and irises are blooming. A couple weeks ago I planted descendants of his cannas. I never developed enough patience for orchids, but the sight of them reminds me of his greenhouse.
Like many men of his generation he was not much for deep, extended conversations. My older brother told me just last year he can’t ever remember having a conversation with Dad longer than a few words. I remember attempting one regarding fatherhood shortly after my son was born. It didn’t amount to much and felt awkward. Sadly, he died just a couple weeks later.
Thanks for the guest post, Blair.
You are right that eldercare for aging parents doesn’t even come up on most people’s radars until their forties or fifties — just about the time the last child graduates from college and gets out on their own. And almost all cases are, in different ways, challenging for all parties.
Let me add an LDS angle to the conversation. Many aging older folks have lost touch with their last group of friends: some of them have retired and move away, some pass away at a young old age, and others simply don’t get around anymore and lose touch with even local friends. An LDS congregation at least provides some contact and support, and sometimes considerable contact and assistance, especially when the aging older person or couple can continue to attend church on Sunday. When it comes down to the last few months, the social contacts of a declining older person shrink to medical personnel, family members, and (for an LDS person) ward members/friends who come to visit. I know of cases where those endgame visits from LDS ward members made all the difference those last few months.
It’s when an older person or couple can no longer physically attend church that it gets tricky. We forget how transient most LDS wards are over the course of two or three years, even in what seems to be fairly stable and settled wards. In fairly short order, many or most of those in the ward don’t know or don’t remember that older person or couple — out of sight, out of mind isn’t just for little kids. But most wards try their best.
One more thought: My son has quite the green thumb. In fact, he and his wife have their own grow shop focused on helping people grow their own cannabis.
I’m 42. My father, step-mother (of 30+ years) and in-laws are all in their 70s. They’re all in good health for now, but with increasing age things can turn quickly. We know that we could loose several parents in the next few years, or they might all make it another 20. We will just have to see what comes.
Next month will be 39 years since my mother died. While I have some of her possessions, I don’t have any memories of her, so the objects don’t mean that much to me. I know she sewed, and I know it’s her sewing machine, but because I can’t remember her sewing, to me it just feels like an old sewing machine. (I’m also not very sentimental when it comes to stuff.) I have a photograph of the two of us that has been at my bedside literally longer than I can remember.
My mother was the child of a multigenerational abusive family. She broke the cycle, though she had huge emotional scars. I have immense love and respect for her, but don’t want any connection to her broader family. That family frequently requests help with family history or extends invites to family reunions. I finally got very blunt: I do not celebrate my mother’s heritage. I celebrate her strength to leave her family and her heritage. It has not gone well.
My mother died relatively young, I think in large part due to the stress from that family. It has been long enough that the things she made for me are wearing out and needing to be discarded. Another layer of loss.
As to Dave B.’s point about the role of wards, my parents’ experience was very different. They lived several hundred miles away from any of their children, and refused to leave their family home. They had good LDS friends and neighbors, but it was their Baptist neighbors who served them in their later years. My very LDS Dad always said it was because those neighbors weren’t as busy going to meetings and actually had time to love and serve their neighbors.
lws329, thank you for your comment. I’m glad you have those pieces from your dad’s life. It’s interesting to me because I am not really into pocket knives and stuff, but I know if my dad had something like what you describe I would definitely want to have it.
Janna, I love that you keep them where you can see them regularly. Your comment also reminded me of a part of the interview with Deborah where people in the Nursing Home tend to put photographs of the residents up on the doors to remind everyone that these elderly folks were young, that they had a whole life outside that place.
Hawkgrrrl, wow yeah, some objects carry a lot of pain, but a reminder of better times too perhaps. I can’t believe your folks are that old! And wow, what ups and downs they went through economically. We have had it so much better in some ways than that, not so much in others.
Rich, I like that you didn’t think that tool was so precious that you would avoid using it for its intended purpose. I bet your father would have loved that.
Dave W., the ambiguous loss of a parent like that is worth thinking about. I have some episodes planned that discuss similar things.
Dave B: my neighbor is bed-ridden, he was in the Bishopric only a few years ago. I need to visit him again soon.
PWS: boundaries can be really hard to set. Thanks for sharing that.
I have a few things from my grandparents. I’m the oldest grandchild on both sides and have now reached the age they were when I started to get the know them. I have some china and silverware but the thing I cherish most is a box of tapes my mother’s father made of himself and my grandmother with some of their children, including my mother. He made them from the mid 60’s until the late 80’s. They are of my grandmother and grandfather singing together, her poetry, them singing at church, recitals of my uncle who majored in music, and my mother singing with them all in quartets, each taking a part. I had never heard the tapes growing up but I had heard them sing many times. As I listened to them and transferred them to digital files to put on my computer to share with my children and my mother and her siblings and their children, I was struck by how I loved hearing their voices and how I never forgot how they sounded even though it had been 30 years since they had passed. Many tears where shed as I transferred these tapes into digital files and many more as I shared them. I was also lucky to find a tape of an interview I had with my dad’s parents talking about some pictures that I ended up copying on film. It was about 2 hours for stories from my grandparents talking about Norway and their early life in American. Again, I never forgot their voices and felt such love to hear them 30-40 years later. Seeing a china bowl on the shelf is nice to remember them but hearing their voices has been overwhelming.
That experience has taught me two things. The importance of recording things and the importance of sharing. So in that spirit my sister playing piano and I made a Christmas CD (it was actually 2 CDs) of my children, siblings, and mother singing Christmas songs this year. 40 years ago we made a tape with my siblings and parents that we’ve played every Christmas since. So on the CDs we even put some of the older songs, including ones from my grandparents, with the newer ones we recorded. My Uncle singing Ave Maria in 1968 was breathtaking in spite of all cassette hiss/noise we couldn’t get rid of. My granddaughter was so excited about doing this project that she said she was going to write a Christmas Song (she’s 3) and she did.