“Oh, those Jasper boys.”
I remember stories my mom told of the Jasper boys. I never met one, but I think I would have liked to, based on her reaction to memories of them.
They had spirit. Just like my mom. Just like me, so I’m told.
In this case, spirit might mean ‘youthful exuberance yielding experiences not appropriate for parental consumption’. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that definition in a dictionary somewhere.
I heard only snippets of Jasper stories from my mom, of that I’m sure.
Every summer, Mom and I made the yearly pilgrimage to her childhood home where her mother still lived. We’d visit for a week and drive around, checking out the old and the new.
It was a corner of the world where, while new did occasionally appear, the ‘same old’ was a welcome and comforting norm.
The current crop of corn might have been new for that year, but the cornfield itself was repeated for generations. Same corn, different year.
As we tooled around the country roads, mom would get a sly grin on her face and glance at me out of the corner of her eye.
Soon, we’d be zipping and zig zagging all over the road, crazily. No rhyme, no reason. No traffic.
Much laughter.
I could see a girlish glint in her eye. She looked decades younger. Instant facelift. Gone were her responsibilities – and maturity.
This wasn’t my mom. This was someone who would have been a good, rules-are-made-to-be-broken kind of friend.
The mileage sign to Jasper appeared. She smiled. No, she downright beamed. And glowed.
“In high school, my sister and our cousin and I would drive over to Jasper on Saturday nights. That’s where the big dance was every week.
We’d get all dolled up, and go see who was there that week. There were always guys from the surrounding towns. But oh, those Jasper boys.”
“So what about those Jasper boys, Mom? Hmmm??”
The only answer she shared was in the form of a schoolgirl giggle.
It’s been a quarter century since that conversation took place. Yet I can see Mom’s smile and spirit now as clearly as I did then.
It was that spirit that carried her through a year of cancer treatments some 20 years ago. It was that spirit that got me through it, too.
Mom’s joy of living and appreciation of it extended to the nurses who took care of her in her last year. I still remember her exclaiming about the care she received from her oncology nurses, her chemo nurses, and the nurses who took care of her in her last days in the hospital. They made her comfortable and they made her laugh.
That was over two decades ago. Yet I still remember. Especially on this date when new memories of her ended forever.
And someone somewhere, two decades from now, will be remembering what – or who – made a loved one’s day, back when.
Oh, those Jasper boys.
Stickability Specialist Kris Harty helps healthcare teams persevere through Compassion Fatigue. Kris is Chief Inspiration Officer of Strong Spirit Unlimited. By sharing Stickabilities, or tools, she learned from her own medically challenging life requiring a Walking Stick, Kris encourages healthcare professionals to Stick to it – no matter what! Diagnosed at age seven with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, she draws on 40 years of insight, research and stories as a healthcare recipient. She is the patient who now returns to say “You make a difference. Thank you.” Her message is content-rich, practical, engaging and inspiring – and sporadically funny. Kris reduces burnout, turnover, and Compassion Fatigue by re-engaging healthcare professionals, particularly nurses. Kris Harty is an inspirational keynote speaker, author and small group facilitator who helps people overcome challenges by creating unstoppable momentum in life and work. Clients say her message is life changing. Call 877.711.STICK, e-mail StrongSpirit@StrongSpiritUnlimited.com, or visit www.StrongSpiritUnlimited.com.
