Life was happier when she lived on 503

"I wish I was back on 503," is what my mother recently said to me.

When I was growing up we lived on a farm with my grandparents on Darke and Preble County Line Road just down from 503. Mom married Harvey when I was about 14 and moved into his house on the corner of 503 and Darke and Preble County Line Road.

We always referred to it as the little house. It was originally a toll house so it sat very close to the edge of the road. Subsequent owners added on to it and when we lived there the house had four rooms: two bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room. Oh, and an outhouse.

When Mom and I first moved in we had cold running water in the kitchen and a pump outside. If we wanted hot water we had to heat it up on either the gas cookstove or the little gas heating stove in the kitchen. The wringer washer sat in the corner, the rinse tubs stayed in the tumble-down garage until wash day.

There was a coal stove that took up a good bit of the living room and kept us toasty in the winter even though there was not a bit of insulation anywhere in the house. A year or so after I moved in Harvey installed a water heater and a shower in the cellar. We had to go outside and climb down cobwebby stairs to access the cellar. They didn't get a full indoor bathroom until after I moved out when I graduated from high school.

We had a huge garden but even so, we depended on the food boxes delivered at Christmas by the local churches.

Harvey was a hard worker. He had polio as a child that left him partially paralyzed on one side. He laid field tile for a living. In the winter there wasn't much work and sometimes he cleaned hog pens for his boss. There were no unemployment benefits, vacation days or sick days.

My brothers were born the first couple of years of their marriage. They had no insurance so they paid the hospital bills a few dollars a week. Mom babysat for extra money. I tell you all this so that you will know that life on 503 was no bed of roses.

Now my mom lives alone in a relatively new, well-insulated house. She doesn't have to add coal to the stove in winter; instead she merely cranks up the thermostat. She has indoor plumbing and a modern washer and dryer. She has Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security. She still receives the occasional charity box.

She longs for the days when she lived on 503.

She was healthy then. She often walked down the road to her mother's house with two little boys in tow. Neighbors and family stopped by often. She tended her garden. She planted flowers behind the outhouse. She was happy.

Life went on.

First her mother, then her husband died. We kids grew up and became more involved in our own lives than in hers. Her health has deteriorated. Her hearing, poor at best, has gotten worse with time. She uses a walker or a wheelchair to help her get around. She doesn't trust her neighbors and they leave her alone.

We all leave her alone.

I visit as often as I can but it is never enough. My brothers live closer and see her at least once a week and it is never enough. We can't alleviate the pain of old age. We can't make her happy. We can't put the bounce back in her step or the steadiness in her walk. We cannot give back what time has taken away.

Sometimes we all wish we were back on 503.[[In-content Ad]]