The Will to Love
a memoir of being raised
by saints
by
Therese Patrick
It’s a love story
INTRODUCTION
Weddings are awesome, I attend quite a few and I always grin at the vows “better or worse, in sickness and health, through rich or poor, as long as you both shall live.” Brides and Grooms really are not thinking that all of those vows may happen sometime, and possibly more than one at a time. In that moment, they are feeling the love.
As The Happy Couple look deeply into the beautiful eyes of the other, stating these vows, I’m sure many of them really feel the power in that moment. It’s breath-taking! Celebrate that warm and fuzzy, happily ever after feeling of love every day.
My parents nurtured their love for eleven years then all those vows listed above were faced. This memoir is to show how my parents, through the daily details of living life and raising children, truly achieved the two-become-one promise of marriage.
The event in their life that was the big pivot point between what was to what is, began in 1959 when my mom, Mary Lou Kramer was paralyzed from polio and became a sittin’ mommy. She was 31, a mother of five children; the oldest ten and I was six months old. Her life as my mom began in 1961, when I was a toddler. A pretty woman, fine boned, with blue eyes, Mom wore oversized round glasses and her hair was dark and wavy. After polio, she only regained partial use of one arm and she told me it took six years to emotionally adjust, and enjoy her life using a wheelchair. Mom was glad she learned inner peace from prayer, and knew time moves forward every minute.
Mom also learned to use the power of her voice carefully around her young children. One time while watching Sharon and me play in the back yard, Mom gasped and said, "There's a bee on my arm!"
Five-year-old Sharon, already aware of the importance to help Mom when asked, quickly stopped playing and ran off saying,
"Don't worry Mommy, I'll get it for you!" Sharon's weapon of choice, to protect Mom from the bee, was a baseball bat.
Mom lost all concern at being stung by the bee. She switched her purpose and tone of voice, to a fascination of this gentlest of God’s creatures, as it wandered around the paralyzed hand on her lap. As the bee flew off on its own without stinging, and Sharon dragged the bat back to the garage, Mom’s prayer of thanksgiving was heartfelt.
Dad was 36 when he added Mom’s daily care to his life. A handsome electrical engineer on the rise, with a family he adored, Mom’s polio was severe enough she almost died that December in 1959. Relieved when she began improving, Dad made a vow to attend daily mass for the rest of his life in thanksgiving for her recovery. He kept his vow, attending 6:00 am mass on weekdays before getting Mom dressed and in her wheelchair. He set breakfast and coffee on the table for her, kissed her goodbye, and left for work. After retirement, he went to a later mass on weekdays and continued as the cantor for the 9:00 mass am on Sundays.
Raised by a widow with six children, Dad had learned to do his best, then let the Good Lord do the rest. After I was a wife and mother, I questioned Dad about the daily burden of Mom’s care. He refused to admit any issue or restriction on his time.
“It’s not a burden, or if it is, a joyful one,” he stated. “All I have to do is take care of your mom, she takes care of everything else in my life.” Then Dad got a twinkle in his eye and added, “I’m a lucky man, because no matter how mad she gets at me, I still get to undress my wife every night.”
My dad, Richard Kramer, was one of those newsboys often portrayed in movies set in the 1930’s. He sold newspapers on the street corners of Cleveland, Ohio by calling out the headlines. As more people joined the unemployment lines during the Depression, being a newsboy became hazardous because desperate men wanted Dad’s job for the few pennies it paid. As a teen, he saw things begin to shift with President Roosevelt’s “New Deal” and the country returned to work.
In 1928, when Dad was five-years-old, his daddy died, and his widowed mother transformed her six children into a strong and supportive family unit. Grandma began her career as a confectioner, and the three oldest found jobs to support the family. Personal responsibility and dedication to each other were the laws of Dad’s family. They were also very involved with their church community; Grandma and all the children were choir members.
Dad remembered his fatherless childhood during the Depression, as a magical time overflowing with music, religious majesty, and chocolate. Then he followed his two older brothers into military service. I found one letter saved from his Navy duty in the Pacific Theater. The war was won but a lot of work still needed to be done and he had no idea when he’d return home. From the letter, I assume his military duty was probably where Dad developed his determination to do the job that needed to be done, while having strong opinions that those in charge didn’t see the big picture. One of Dad’s favorite sayings was, “Put your money where your mouth is,” meaning, if you want to complain, get involved and make a difference. Dad’s opinions during the 1960s were that the labor unions were damaging the rights of workers. He often voiced his views for change during the twelve years he served as Treasurer for his local steelworkers union.
But that was later. When he arrived home from WWII in 1945, Dad handed out gifts from Japan and Hawaii then put that part of his life away.
As his first step in reclaiming civilian life, Dad joined the Christi Regis youth group at Christ the King Church and was entranced with my mom, the lovely Mary Lou Lennon. Mom was delicately built, five-foot-four with big blue eyes and thick wavy brown hair. Dad was slightly taller, with broad shoulders, straight black hair and blue eyes. Both Mom and Dad were masters on roller skates and they were soon ballroom dancing together around the roller rink.
Early in her life, Mary Lou, was surrounded by wealth and servants. She was a toddler when the stock market crashed in 1929. Her father was a speculator. Wealth became a maintained illusion; when the last maid departed from their lives and was never spoken of again. This was a primary rule, no talking about loss or unpleasantness. Mom’s childhood was adventurous in that she remembers being in a new school every year until high school. Sometimes at dinner, the children were told, “Have all your things packed up before you go to bed.” They were carried to the car during the night, to wake up the next morning in a whole new house and neighborhood. Mom felt these middle of the night moves were exciting adventures into a new world. History suggests, since these moves occurred before the days of social security numbers, that maybe the family was escaping evictions and debts.
After graduating from high school, Mom learned how to add color hues to black and white photographs using wooden sticks and tiny bits of cotton. Photo coloring became a freelance job she worked for many years as a young mother.
Through high school, Mom loved all the activities of the young adult Christi Regis group and had no plan to get married, until Richard arrived. Dad thought some of Mom’s friends were a little wild and she should date him exclusively. Since Mom was 19 and Dad a mature gentleman of 24, she believed him and within the year, they were married.
Their wedding was early in the morning on May 1, 1948 at Christ the King Church, followed by a champagne brunch. Mary Lou and Richard lived in a cozy apartment and the first months as a wife were a challenge, because there were so many things to learn, like washing floors, baking potatoes and ironing her husband’s shirts. Dad’s sisters were domestic goddesses by that time, and Mom became determined to equal or surpass their skills someday, and silence their teasing.
In 1949, Mary Lou and Richard’s first child, Rick missed being born on April Fool’s day by a few hours. Rose arrived next, during a horrible blizzard in late November 1950, and the often told story was how Mom rode a sled from the apartment to the waiting car, on a cleared main road. She arrived at the hospital before giving birth.
By the time Mike arrived in 1953, Dad had begun working as an electrician at Republic Steel, and a year later Mom and Dad bought their home in Lyndhurst, Ohio. This charming Cape Cod style home was within a mile of the new St. Pascal Baylon Parish, and its new school, with Notre Dame nuns as teachers. It was the perfect spot for Richard and Mary Lou to build their family life. Becoming very active in their new parish and neighborhood, their social circle quickly included a large group of young families. Mom developed close relationships with six other young mothers. They called themselves “The Jewels” and their husbands, “The Mules” and used each other’s homes and every holiday as cause for a party.
These couples were active in the parish groups and populated the school with their children. Rick was a good student and a darling blond who sang like an angel, so the nuns quickly had him in the choir. Rose’s thick, wavy black hair always had clips and bows in her curls. She didn’t sing well, and had trouble with reading and math but tried hard. Mike had wild, red curls, sang well enough and treated teachers with a Cheshire grin that some of the nuns adored, others mistrusted.
Sharon was born in January of 1956 and baptized twice, once in her bassinette two weeks after coming home from the hospital and again a few weeks later when it looked like she’d live and a party could celebrate the event. A tiny, frail blond, Sharon had numerous ear infections and throat issues during her childhood. Eventually she was the tallest of us girls, sang well, excelled in school but forever griped about the straightness of her hair that became a dark brown by the time she was ten.
I was born in May, 1959, with a mop of red curls just like Mike.
Christmas of that year, this normal family life changed.
I’m thrilled I have Mom’s own words to tell the tale. The following essay was written during her writing classes, after seven years of daily mediation to accept God’s will, and her life as a quadriplegic.
According to my siblings, Mom’s absence was not the focus that Christmas. The two oldest did hide in shadows to listen while the adults talked, but Mom had been in the hospital in May with another baby (me) and again in November for vascular surgery on her legs. It was simply Christmas to the children.
Excerpt from: “Just a Sittin’ Mommy” by Mary Lou.
In 1959, when Senator John F. Kennedy’s name was being introduced frequently in the daily papers, my name also appeared inconspicuously on an inside page. I was considered news in the month of December. “A Thirty-one year old Mother of Five Children contracts Polio.” All of Cleveland knew what I didn’t. I had polio.
Mom was news in 1959 because:
1. She got polio at 31, though it was “infantile paralysis” and most of the iron lungs were too small for adults.
2. Mom had three doses of the Salk vaccines.
3. Polio was a summer virus and she got it in December.
I had major vascular surgery on both legs so my Christmas shopping was done by catalog. I was discharged from the hospital on Thanksgiving Day, also Rose’s ninth birthday. Grandma prepared a delicious turkey dinner and the table was carried to the living room couch so I could join the celebration. It was wonderful to be home.
Rose and ten year old Rick had helped Grandma take care of six-year-old Mike and three-year-old Sharon while I was in the hospital. My sister was delighted to have my six-month-old baby Therese, because they had five boys and enjoyed having a little girl in their home.
The doctor’s orders were to stay off my feet but I missed our baby so much, Richard surprised me and brought her home on Monday morning. My hair was in hideous curlers, and I was so anxious to hold her, I frightened her. Our reunion was pitiful. With tear-filled eyes, she clung to her father.
After Therese had a bottle and a comforting nap, we renewed our friendship. I enjoyed holding her, feeding her and even changing her on my lap. I was happy to be home with my family but disappointed to be “grounded” at such a busy time of year.
Many customs accompany our national holidays. At Christmas time, shopping is one of them. There are few who do not conform to these demands of society. There are many answers to why we give presents at Christmas because there are many reasons. What do you say when your little one looks deep in your eyes and asks, “Why do we give presents at Christmas?”
My sincere answer is, “Because it is Jesus’ birthday. Through love, He gave Himself to us. Therefore, on this special day, to express this love, we give presents.”
This concept is difficult to maintain when you are caught in the hubbub of a busy department store, the crush of people and long lines. It is not surprising many people remark, “I don’t have the Christmas spirit this year.” Some need the delectable smell of cookies baking or plenty of fluffy snow to make them tingle with the excitement that Christmas is coming. Others keep waiting for the bright and shiny decorations with a blend of Carols in the background to inspire them. I didn’t have any of that while confined to the couch. There was so much I wanted to do.
Richard bought Christmas cards and I addressed, stamped and put them back in their boxes, ready for when it was time to go in the mail. As I addressed a card to my cousin in the Navy, stationed in Europe, I realized it was his first time away from home for the holidays. In an effort to cheer him, I wrote a few lines. In closing I said, “Regardless of where you are on Christmas, it is Christ’s birthday and a day to rejoice.”
With that thought in mind, I studied the Christmas catalogs and ordered gifts for our family. As the packages arrived, they were hidden unopened for there was always a curious little one around. Late one night when all the children were asleep, I suggested Richard and I check the packages to make certain the orders were correct. We were both tired and decided to put it off until another night. Little did we realize I would never see those gifts opened on Christmas morning.
I seemed to be recovering well from surgery and was on my feet a little longer each day. Faithfully I tried not to tire myself. The past month in the hospital had taught me the value of my health.
Richard had born the strain of the operations, hospital visits and household responsibilities. We were both happy to have our family together again. I can vividly remember bathing my baby in the kitchen sink, as I was unable to kneel down at the bathtub. She playfully splashed the water and squeezed the bubbles. Little Sharon was a great help getting the towels and picking up dropped safety pins. The older children seemed to come in from school with more enthusiasm each day, as children do anticipating holiday vacation. When I look back, it seems I was absorbing every minute of precious time with my family.
What we thought was the common cold began to infect the family. Mike was in bed getting aspirin, fruit juice and plenty of rest. The pediatrician came and administered penicillin to Mike, Sharon and Rick. He left a prescription for baby Therese whose fever was very high. If I were not allergic to penicillin, I think I would have requested a shot for myself. That night I went to bed with a sore throat, chills and a headache. My doctor came and left medicine for the flu. My fever continued but the children seemed to be getting better.
The third day my arms and hands became numb and prickly as if asleep. The doctor returned and left more medicine, this time for a virus. On the fourth day, Richard called a diagnostician. He examined me and gave two very long names for the disease I might have. Rubbing his chin he added I also had all the symptoms of Polio but it wasn’t very probable for this time of year. Besides, I had received three of the Polio immunization shots. As he stood to leave, he commented, if it were Polio I would be short of breath. He told Richard to call him at once if I should develop a shortness of breath during the night. As alarming as this must have been for Richard, I felt no alarm. My senses must have been dulled. I was certain I would feel better the next day.
I awoke early in the morning and realized I could not get a deep breath. I seemed to be gasping. I tried to convince myself it was just my imagination, because the doctor had mentioned it. It was not. When Richard left for early Mass, I asked him to bring Father back with Communion for me. This he did. I knew I was very sick and must return to the hospital. As we waited for the ambulance, I held in my right hand a rosary that had been blessed in Lourdes. Even though I could no longer move my fingers over the beads, it gave me great comfort to hold them.
When the ambulance arrived, I heard loud voices on the front steps. The driver told Richard, if I had anything contagious, they could not take me. We live in a suburb with only one ambulance. After transporting a contagious victim, the ambulance must be isolated for forty-eight hours. The driver did not want to contaminate the ambulance by taking me to the hospital but Richard would not take no for an answer.
Being a suburban ambulance, the drivers were not familiar with the directions to City Hospital, where my doctor was stationed. I had covered those roads many times in the past months since Therese was born and the following surgery. I can still remember my amusement at their confusion over which way to turn. If I weren’t struggling to breathe I am sure I would have chided, “And you talk about women drivers.” Richard was anxiously waiting for us at the hospital. Even though we had used a siren and gone through red lights, Richard was there ten minutes before us.
With great efficiency the nurses and doctors enclosed me in an iron lung. At first I felt like I was smothering but the nurse patiently taught me how to breathe with the lung.
Richard and my mother were asked many questions for the hospital’s records, then sent home. The priest soon came, anointed me with the Last Rites of the Catholic Church and asked if there was anything bothering me. I told him I feared I might have exposed Richard and children to my disease and asked him to pray for them. He said he would and then left.
The un-measurable time of sickness began. Day could not be distinguished from night. There were no meals or regulated routines because all in the ward were too ill. Special nurses were stationed at four of the six iron lungs and the lights were bright twenty-four hours a day.
I had been admitted just nine days before Christmas. The night before Christmas Eve, student nurses came through the halls carrying lighted candles and singing Christmas Carols. A special tribute should be made to all who endeavor to cheer others with their gifted voices. It was beautiful.
The next day my renewed interest in the world around me was a sign of hope to my family. I began telling Richard about each present I had purchased and where I had hidden it. He must have still been in a state of shock for when he left the hospital he could not remember a thing. Richard hadn’t told me he’d been in an ice induced fender bender accident on the way to see me that day. There were no injuries but it still must have shaken him. He went to the store and bought each of the children Christmas presents.
Santa Claus had dropped a tree off his sleigh because Richard found one leaning against our back door one evening. To the delight of the children, their uncle put it in the living room and trimmed it. Children are sometimes unaware of the worries of the elders and what a blessing this is!
By the time Richard put under the tree the gifts he had purchased, and found the ones I had tucked away, some would say Santa had spoiled the children. In his search for the packages, Richard also found the boxes of stamped Christmas cards and mailed our sincere, if belated wishes.
Christmas Eve in the isolation ward could be distinguished from other evenings only by the clothes visitors wore, visible under gowns and masks. Many of them carried packages, which then had to be taken home after they were unwrapped and shown.
By Christmas Eve, I was paralyzed from the neck down. Every muscle in my body in pain. I couldn’t remember when I last slept and wondered how long it would be until I would fall asleep. There was a large clock on the wall. It seemed the only pastime was to watch the thin minute hand complete its journey around only to begin again. I knew I was very sick but optimistically thought I would be better in a few weeks.
The dedicated attitude of the nurses made a lasting impression. There were six iron lungs in the ward with patients suffering with various contagious respiratory infections. I often wondered how these young girls could be in this room with apparently no fear of being contaminated. Thank God for people like these.
There was an air of excitement among the aides and nurses as their shift came to an end. The nurse who so tenderly cared for me, stopped at my lung as she went off duty. She brushed the hair from my forehead and pointed to the steeple of St. Michael’s church I could see from my window.
“I’m going to midnight Mass right over there,” she said, “And I am going to offer my Communion for you.”
What a comfort it was to know a comparative stranger was praying for me. My own prayers seemed inadequate. It seemed I could not complete a prayer without my mind wandering into nothingness having only made brief statements as if in ordinary conversation.
About three o’clock an aide tiptoed through the ward. She was hanging little red and green stockings with a Santa sticking out, on top of each lung. I pretended to be asleep in order not to spoil her fun.
At five o’clock, Father Joseph came and brought me Communion. As I received I remembered my note to my cousin. “Regardless of where you are on Christmas, it is Christ’s birthday and you should rejoice.” I realized God’s blessings in the Holy Eucharist and I had no tears.
As I began to feel I was getting better, Richard related the many holiday experiences at home. A few days after Christmas, he brought me a beautiful color snapshot of our children around the Christmas tree with their many, many presents. I’m sure they missed me as I did them but their faces were radiantly happy. What more could a mother desire? If the photograph had been larger, it would have shown the gifts of thoughtful and sympathetic neighbors. Our home was filled with more Christmas goodies than our family could eat.
One of the most touching experiences my mother-in-law had while living with my children, concerned a group of carolers. After serenading at our door, they gave her an envelope with money they had collected caroling, for me. On hearing this, I remembered the sweet voices of the student nurses singing, “Silent Night” at my request.
That was when I knew the Christmas Spirit had engulfed us. It was not through the gifts and tinsel but through the love and thoughtfulness in everyone’s heart. So maybe those who think we need to put Christ back into Christmas to feel the Spirit, fail to see Christ in the tinseled disguise He wears.
Beds were rising and falling in an uneven swing. These were rocking beds, a type of respirator that makes the diaphragm rise and fall in a rhythmic motion, like a see-saw to aid breathing.
The balding schoolteacher at the far end of the room was about six feet tall. The foot of his bed came within inches of the floor only to reverse its sweeping arc and rise to four feet from the floor. The beds of smaller, shorter patients had a shorter swing because of their smaller breathing capacity. As some beds went up, others went down - - no two beds had the same momentum. The undercurrent hum of motors and all this movement added to the busy feeling in the ward.
An interesting fact about the recovery ward, both men and women were in the same room. A simple curtain partition separated the beds. We “inhabitants” never thought about this as being unusual until a few visitors showed surprise.
I learned originally the male and female patients were in separate wards and it was a dreary place. Everyone seemed to feel sorry for himself. The men didn’t want to shave and were hard to get along with. The women didn’t fix their hair and were depressed most of the time. Then someone got the rejuvenating idea of mixing them up. Personalities blossomed! The nurses once again enjoyed their work. The invalids took an interest in fixing themselves up, getting dressed and doing their best. Romantic situations never kindled because each patient was simply too overwhelmed and absorbed in his own rehabilitation to think further than a mutual morale uplifting.
** The following story stands out in my memories from Mom’s months at City Hospital. It haunted me when I was 31 and a mother of four. Instead of just telling – the children came to visit and Mom sat up in a chair - I’ve created a narrative from Mom’s point of view.**
Mary Lou’s bed was rocking, the foot tipping down, so she saw Richard walk into the large room. He looked good but his thick black hair needed a trim. It was too like the pompadour style he’d worn when they were dating. His clothes were clean, ironed and the assurance Mary Lou needed to know their children were also clean and well dressed. Thank you, God, that Mom Kramer is willing and able to help us.
Richard’s smile was broad and his eyes again had the sparkle she adored. He paused next to the side of the bed and waited until her head rose up, enough so he could lean in, and give her a kiss hello. “Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.”
“Oh, it is. Look what my mother brought me.” She still felt thrilled to have personal items around her now. “Isn’t it wonderful? It was specially made by one of her friends.”
She watched Richard pick up a pretty six-inch high ceramic statue of the Blessed Mother with her arms outstretched. Between the hands sat five little ceramic representations of children singing. “See, two boys and three girls. Just like ours. I can look at it and know Mother Mary is protecting them for me while I’m not there.”
“She certainly is,” Richard said and set the statue back on the table where she could see it. He turned to check the far doorway of the room and saw one of the nurses and an orderly coming toward them. “And I have proof for you,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Happy Birthday, Mary Lou.” The orderly stopped the motion of the bed so her head was elevated a little. “I hear you’re 32 today,” the nurse said.
“What’s going on?”
No one answered as the orderly unplugged the power cord and stationed himself at the head of the bed. Richard and the nurse faced each other in the middle and looked to be holding back silent laughter. What was happening? Mary Lou felt anticipation spiral through her. Her bed was pushed into the open area of the floor and over to the big window.
“What am I going to see?” her voice squeaked. Positioned so she could look out the window and down to the parking lot three floors below, the sun was bright on the white snow covering the ground, but there, it was their car! Mom Kramer’s white hair glowed like a beacon and she was surrounded, Praise God and Thank you for Richard’s mother! They were all there, Mary Lou’s two sons, Mike already six and ten year old Rick, her precious girls, Rose at nine, four-year-old Sharon and baby Therese. Dressed in Sunday best, they all waved in excitement and danced around.
The view blurred through her tears and she blinked to see as clearly as possible, through the smudges on the window, to the faces of her children, three floors below. Richard removed her glasses and wiped her eyes then set her glasses back in place - to stare as long as she could. She could never watch them enough. They were so far away but children could not come into the hospital and she wouldn’t want them exposed to anything, but to be able to have them in the same room would be such a blessing! Hear their voices, feel their hands.
Eventually the dancing children were more in motion to keep themselves warm in the cold air, she had to let them get inside. Richard stepped over to the window and waved, the signal it was over and Grandma directed them back into the car.
Mary Lou relaxed as she felt her bed being pushed back to her spot. “That was the best Birthday present I could get. I want to be home by Easter.”
“It’s only part of your surprise,” Richard said. “I’ll go take the children home and come back later. These two have stuff to do.”
Mary Lou looked at the grinning faces of the nurse and orderly. “Stuff?”
“We’re going to get you sitting up today.”
In little over an hour Richard was back at the hospital. Mary Lou’s bed was empty and she was loosely strapped into a chair, huge smile on her face, both hands resting on her lap. “I’m up! I’m sitting up!”
“And a little easier to hug now.” Richard followed his words with the action.
Mary Lou felt his arms encircle her gently. His shoulder pressed against hers, his cheek touching her own, surrounded with the warmth of his arms and scent of his skin. The urge to raise her arms and put them around him was so overwhelming it was amazing they didn’t move. She’d been touched constantly every day now, on every inch of her body, since that night, when the ambulance had brought her here and she was so sure it would just be a day or two.
Richard always kissed her when he arrived and as he was leaving. His greeting kiss now, with the feel of his arms around her, flowed with potent memories of being able to participate in the touching, hugging. Her body followed the urge to press into his hug, lean against him. Sliding a little to the side, caught by his arms and the straps holding her to the chair.
“I moved!” she gasped.
He pulled back, watched her face and kept his hands gently on her shoulders.
“Can you do it again?”
She concentrated and felt her body tip forward against his hands but that was it, she couldn’t lean back. It may be months before she recovered and, possibly a year or two of dedicated therapy to bring all available muscles back into use. It was too early to know the full damage to the nerves communicating with the voluntary muscle movements. Everyone knew Polio left no guarantees; some patients recovered quickly and regained most of their abilities, others had issues persist forever. President Franklin D. Roosevelt being the example her father considered proof that walking challenges would not hold Mary Lou back from returning to her busy life. FDR went on to be president after his polio.
The best sign of a good recovery: her involuntary muscles were operating fine now. Mary Lou was able to breathe on her own and eat soft solid foods, even if she still needed to be fed.
That thought bloomed in her head. “I’ll be able to eat like a civilized person now, sitting up again.”
Richard grinned at her, the smile reaching his eyes. She couldn’t smooth the worry lines from his handsome face but instead traced them with her gaze. These two months were certainly long for him as well. Thank God his mom had retired and moved in to their home for the duration. Richard had a lot of work ahead of him, but Mary Lou would recover.
“We’ve got you on the list for Warm Springs,” he said.
Mary Lou nodded, sorry he had to stop the electronics classes so important to him, his career. But it wouldn’t be for long. Soon he’d be able to go back again and she’d be able to hold her baby, hug her children. They’d warned her to keep her goals simple so those were her first ones. Hold her baby, hug her children. Then she’d worry about feeding and washing herself. She’d surprise them all and get her strength back faster than most.
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