Adventures in Alzheimer's: Home Sweet? Home

Mom (Bernie) the bathing beauty in the 1950's

Bernadine Trepanier Berthiaume (known as Bernie), Grampy's late wife, was a 4' 10", red-headed spitfire of a woman who could cuss like a soldier, cook Italian food like there was no tomorrow, and throw a mean left hook—all at the same time. She was also a charter member of the "Function Over Form" home decorating movement. She was proud of her mismatched J.C Penneys furniture and dime store knick knacks, and because she and Grampy were both chain smokers, she attempted to protect her belongings from the constant yellow tar residue that would eventually settle on them.  Both of her orange glass living room lamps possessed, we assume, perfectly lovely lamp shades. But she fiercely preserved each shade by wrapping it in copious amounts of paper towel, then finishing it off with layers of Saran Wrap...to protect the paper towels of course. Eventually the Saran Wrap/Paper towel combo would yellow and crack, and she'd have to replace it. But by golly, 40 years later that lampshade underneath was still brand new and spanking clean...albeit never ever to be seen. Her avocado green sofa and orange/brown flowered love seat were the cats pajamas when she purchased them in 1950, and still looked fantastic in 1995 underneath the tattered, old multi-colored afghans and bath towels that permanently covered them up. I thought her decor was hilarious and laughed at her the first time she showed me around her home, only to be met with an icy scowl. She really thought she was normal.

Bernie and Tex 1969, Lancaster, CA

I will never forget her large maple knick knack shelf that always held a prominent place on the living room wall wherever she lived. Like all her living room furniture, it was Early American design, the only style she thought existed. On this three-shelfed spindle-edged wonder she displayed her treasures; a chipped ceramic bulldog, a small vase of dusty, plastic red roses, a photo of my husband at 19 in his Navy uniform, and other inexpensive tchotskes. But front and center on the middle shelf was her most prized objet d'art, her little fat brown ceramic Buddah. She soberly told me when she showed it to me that if you rub the Buddha's belly, good luck would surely come your way. I noticed that over the years she'd rubbed the paint right off that Buddah's belly. I started to chuckle at this, forgetting who I was talking to, only to once again be on the receiving end of her scornful stare. 

Bernie holding her first grandchild, Kevin 1970

Yes, Bernie was devoutly Superstitious with just enough Catholic in her to justify her playing Bingo at the local parish on Saturday nights. As odd as she was, I quickly learned to stifle any laughter aimed at her eccentricities for fear she'd cast some bad mojo on me. So I was careful to always mock her BEHIND her back. Don't rock an empty rocking chair, don't leave a hairbrush on the kitchen table, don't walk under a ladder or open an umbrella in the house and "for Gawds sake don't break a mirror". You remember the age-old adage, "Find a pin, pick it up and all the day you'll have good luck" Bernie translated that into "Find a penny, pick it up" and she left no found penny unturned. After she passed away we were packing up her belongings and I picked up her purse. It must have weighed 15 pounds. "Geez Louise!" I laughed,  "If the cancer hadn't killed her, the weight of this dang purse she carried everywhere would have," there were at least 500 pennies in a small bag inside that purse. Her entire life's findings, no doubt.  

She actually WAS lucky in at least one aspect of her life...gambling. It was her greatest passion, and moving to Laughlin, Nevada in her golden years was the fulfillment of her life's dream. She treated gambling like a full time job. She drove herself into town every morning, straight to her favorite casino, Sam's Town, where she played the quarter slots, Keno and Bingo. By 5pm she'd clock out and drive herself on home. She was a favorite of the management and staff at Sam's Town, who knew her by name and comped her all her meals and ever-present cups of coffee. Tex laughed at her and told her when they moved to the desert that they could NOT afford for her to gamble their retirement savings away and that there would be NO money from him for her addiction. She snapped her nicotine-stained fingers at that and never asked him for a dime.

She won enough on her own to keep going, but we never really knew how lucky she was till after she died. On her deathbed, weak as a bowl of hospital jello, she motioned for Mike to come near to her as she whispered into his ear, "Money. Money". We had no idea what she meant but would soon find out. As we were going through her closet after her death, Tex was gobsmacked to find a crumpled paper bag with more than $60,000 in cash inside. She was trying to tell Mike to take the money—her rainy day gambling winnings. God love her. Well Tex kept the money, but how like her that even from the grave she got the last laugh.