Little Brown Boots: Down a Rabbit Hole

By Valerie Schram–Bolen

This is the touching story of a boy, the youngest of twelve, born on a farm in Rural Ontario. It is a story of the harshness of wartime, loves, losses and heartbreak. Finally, it is about his revealing battle with Alzheimer's Disease and how he faced it with courage, ever smiling, not letting it defeat him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Jul 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9780228825234

Valerie Schram–Bolen

Valerie is the second born of 12 children, raised back in the good old days on a farm in Stratton, Ontario. Running wild, free and barefoot throughout the fields. Getting new shoes when school started in the fall. She likes spring, gravel roads, gentle breezes, country music, the smell of lilacs, picking blueberries, the smell of fresh mown hay. She loves reading, gardening, and searching for wildflowers – the first wild flower to peek their head out in the spring. Cherishes good friends, love of family, hugs from grandchildren and her precious memories of Carl.

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DEDICATION AND PREFACE

When thinking of all the special people who are close to my heart who I would be proud to dedicate my work to, my father and sister come to the front of the line.

In most cases, dedications are short and to the point. In reading mine, you will find it to be unusual. I am offering insight into my father’s childhood that I feel compelled to pass on to you, the reader. It will give you a clearer vision as to why I chose him, as well as my sister, to dedicate my work to. This is by no means to take away from my story of Carl. It is to enlighten you to the tragedy suffered by my father at an early age, along with the heartache felt by both Carl and me with the loss of my sister, Diane. My father overcame his challenges through his love of reading, finding a comfort and peace in the books he read.

My father was Sydney Jay Schram. He was born on November 14, 1918, and left us on December 28, 2001. He was an avid reader, taking an empty cardboard box along on his trips to the town library, bringing it home full of books for his enjoyment. It got to the point where, having read all the books in the library, he couldn’t find anything new to read! Often, he would have two books on the go at the same time. When he knew Carl and I were planning a trip to Stratton, he never failed to call to ask if I had any reading material to bring along. I believe he was a self-taught man with beautiful handwriting, excellent math skills and, of course, an addiction to reading.

After losing his mother, Gladys Pauline Foe-Schram, who died at the young age of twenty-seven years old from diphtheria, his life was never the same. He was three years old at the time with a sister, Thelma Gladys, who was five years old, and a little brother, Harry Leslie, who was only fourteen months old. They were sent down east to the Hamilton area to live as their father couldn’t farm and care for three small children. Sydney and Thelma were to live with an aunt, while Harry was sent to another aunt’s house, the aunts being sisters of their mother. Harry passed away at the tender age of two years and nine months old from loneliness, according to my father.

My grandmother, a schoolteacher at the time of her illness, was teaching at Pattullo #8 school. If memory serves me correctly, my father once told me that he only attended school until Grade 4. He certainly would have made his mother proud of his academic skills and love of reading, which was passed down to his children and later to his grandchildren.

To dedicate my writings to him would be a great honour—he would be so proud of my accomplishments. I, along with my siblings, thought of him as our "book of knowledge." He was always there for us with an answer to any question we had.

Along with this dedication to my father, I must also dedicate my writing to my sister, Diane Frances Schram-Nordin. My beautiful, bubbly sister made the sun shine even on cloudy days with her sparkling personality and outstanding smile. Diane lost her life far too early in a tragic automobile/train accident just east of Rainy River on January 19, 1994. January is the month of winter when the weather is cold and the country roads icy. She had just celebrated her 35th birthday on January 10. She left behind her husband, Tim, and their four babies, all girls: Lindsey, Alicia, Kayla, and Carling. She would be so proud of the young women they are today, and is now guiding them from heaven with all the love she showered on them when she was here. As well, she is sending down her love to the grandchildren she now has, and would be so delighted with them, keeping a watchful eye from above. During her years, she was also an avid reader like most of her siblings, gifted with this love from our father.

This one is for you, Daddy and Diane. Enjoy! Love, your girl and sister, Valerie Gladys Schram Bolen.

Daddy and Diane

INTRODUCTION

This is my first attempt at writing, getting this need of mine out of my bucket list. It has been in there for a good many years. As you know, I am no longer the youngest bunny in the coop. My fur is now a winter white rather than the pretty brown it used to be back in the day.

Also, I can’t forget that I was once called Old Lady, a comment that jarred me into taking a second look at myself, a comment that I’m still having trouble with. I can sort of tell from the signs, though, that there may be some truth here: writer’s cramp, writer’s block, and now this new thing—swollen legs from sitting too long while writing.

Enough about me and my signs of aging. My husband, Carl, is my main reason for writing this story. I don’t think he would mind too much what I have shared with you. He was always an easygoing, kind, and gentle man. You will discover this when reading and following his story. During the course of my writing, I was to take a few sharp turns here and there—just like my granddaughter’s pet miniature bunny that I was trying to chase down one day after it got loose outside. I was out of breath after this—much the same as Carl and I were after enjoying a polka.

I pretty much stripped him bare by the time I reached the end of his story. I apologize for that. There is nothing gracious about Alzheimer’s disease. How you handle it makes a difference to the person suffering, crying out for help in the darkness on their journey "down a rabbit hole." Hold their hand, give them your love. I hope you enjoy reading my memories of Carl, the young man who left a mark on my heart those many years ago…who still held my hand until the end.

I won’t forget you, Carl…

This is a favourite poem of ours, taken from a birthday card that I had given to Carl a few years earlier. We both enjoyed sitting on the deck when the lilacs were in full bloom, with butterflies enjoying the flowers as much as Carl and I did.

You will sit on the swing,

I will sit in the chair,

and the fragrance of lilacs

will hang in the air.

I will tell you a story

I’ve told you before.

We will laugh (like the last time)

and tell a few more.

Then perhaps we will say it,

and perhaps we will not,

but both our old hearts

will be thinking this thought—

That it’s good to be known

and it’s good to be there,

where the fragrance of lilacs

hangs in the air.

Carl’s Little Brown Boots. Approximately 70 years old. They were on his feet for all of his journeys as a young boy, the soles completely worn through.

CHAPTER ONE

Seeing the Good

This is the story of a man’s life. It is a story I would like to share with you from beginning to end, if I may. This man was my husband, the light of my life, my partner through good times and sad times, who took care of me and our family the best he could and never stopped smiling in the meantime. With Carl having been struck with Alzheimer’s, I will be referring to a rabbit hole on occasion. This is the familiar path Alzheimer’s takes on its course of destruction of mind and soul.

Carl was rather fond of foxes, having had a pet black fox years back when he worked at Brule Creek in the Huronian area. This fox napped in Carl’s work truck during the day—Carl purposely left the door open for him. The fox was always happy to see him and would run up to him and try to climb up his legs when he arrived at work. A special lunch was packed in the lunch box every night so that they could enjoy their time together with a little picnic, just the two of them alone in the forest. This little fox had a game leg and Carl tried to make its life easier so it wouldn’t have to search for food, giving its leg more time to heal.

This is just one of the ways in which Carl showed his kindness and caring for those less fortunate. In years to come, he never forgot to leave food along the roadside if we were on a trip past Brule Creek. Those beautiful little animals were known to have a den, a place to curl up in and raise their families, a cozy spot to offer them protection from the weather and predators.

Now then, a rabbit hole is underground and goes quite a distance with its twists and turns in the darkness before it comes back out into the daylight at the end of this tunnel which allows the rabbit to escape from foxes hungry for fresh rabbit for lunch. This journey with Carl reminded me of this, making me wonder if we were ever going to see daylight at the end of this particular tunnel. I longed for something to give us hope of getting out, get our feet back on the ground you might say, wipe the dirt off, dry our tears, and heal our battle scars (yes, there were a few of them). My reason for sharing this story is because Carl took me on quite a journey. And truth be told, I wouldn’t have wanted to go on it with anyone else that I can think of right now.

It wasn’t exactly a vacation by any means. There was no stopping on this trip—no pee-pee breaks or Planters peanuts, a favourite of his on a road trip. (Actually, this habit of eating peanuts annoyed me a bit, for you should always have both hands on the wheel and your eyes on the road ahead, and not be focussed on eating peanuts.) It’s strange now that I’m thinking about it that we didn’t have more bumps and bruising than what we had at the end of this journey, not to mention the deep scarring on my heart that I’m convinced isn’t going to heal anytime soon.

Getting back to the beginning, fasten your seat belt for we are going on a road trip. It begins back a few years before they even had seat belts and inventions like that. It may have lessened some of the damage if we would have had back-up cameras back then, for they have proved to be a good thing it doesn’t hurt to have.

Just to clear things up as you may begin to wonder about the condition of my mind or if maybe I should be medicated. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I can quickly jump from one subject to another and change direction much like a rabbit when you least expect it...another good reason for the title of this tale. Anyway, I’m just warning you ahead of time in case I lose you for a minute. Maybe it comes with the old phrase, aging gracefully. If you’re like me and you don’t speak quickly when a thought crosses your mind, you could possibly forget what you were thinking or talking about in the first place. I’ve had this happen on occasion and it can be quite embarrassing and just as disturbing at the same time. It can get you thinking and wondering about your mind and the state it’s in.

Now back to what I was saying about not wanting to go on this journey with anyone else but Carl. This is most likely due to the fact that we were married just shy of fifty-three years, not to mention the three to four years that I call our learning years before the ring came out of the glove box, as they called it back then.

Besides all this, Carl took good care of me during the course of our years together, once sitting up all night with me when I was in severe pain with a frozen shoulder. Also, I have to mention the great care he gave me when I had a severe nosebleed which was only from the right nostril. I couldn’t move without it beginning to pour. After running back and forth to the emergency department for four days and being afraid after this length of time I was going to bleed to death, I rebelled! I refused to leave the hospital after having plugs put in to stop the bleeding because nothing seemed to work. I was beyond being afraid…I was scared senseless! I spent the night in our local hospital and the following day I was sent to Thunder Bay. We drove from Atikokan and our daughter Carla met us on the highway in case something went wrong. I was admitted into the Thunder Bay hospital where I spent the next seven days with a continuing nosebleed. After six plugs were put in and my blood pressure had spiked to 270 over 120, the doctor in charge decided to do exploratory surgery. He went above my teeth through the cheek bone and took a look around. He found the cause of my distress to be a ruptured artery. (The two clips he put on my artery to stop the bleeding are still in place today. These were used to reroute the blood flow.)

The following morning, they discharged me at 7 AM after 10 days of non-stop bleeding. I was so weak I could barely walk without help—and pale as a ghost. (Post-surgery my nose had to be repaired from all the plugs being inserted and removed!)

Carl was with me from morning to night helping me in any way he could. It was one of the most difficult times of my life. He was there for me with his gentle touch and caring ways. Thank you, Carl, for being there for me and for your gentleness and love. I know I have PTSD because there is not a day goes by that I don’t check my nose several times for a bleed.

I am going to change paths again before I get too far ahead. This will be the start of making a rabbit hole come to life. After our fun years of courtship, starting our years together as young sweethearts, we should have had each other figured out, knowing in our hearts that we belonged together for the rest of our days. Growing old together was meant for us. We would take care of each other and still be smiling at the end.

I had my first glimpse of Carl when I may have been eleven or twelve years old, if that. He was at my grandparents’ home and I was instantly struck by the gentle manner and kindness shown in how he treated the little children, cousins of mine who were at the farm visiting from out of town. I’m thinking he was there with his brother who was married to an aunt of mine. He surprised me with the respect that he showed the children. At this time, they were to be seen and not heard, the old-fashioned way of raising families back then. Children were raised to not interrupt adults if they were visiting.

I look back on this encounter and know God had this planned for us for future reference. Returning to having each other figured out, it was a known fact that in our early years when Carl was in full courtship mode, we barely talked to each other. No words were needed. We had this knack of knowing what the other was thinking—telepathy, that’s what it’s known as. We were like two birds sitting on a farm fence, quietly enjoying each other’s company. In our case, one look was all it took, and we knew what thoughts were crossing each other’s mind. We didn’t need lots of chirping and fluffing our feathers in our courtship or dance of love, if you choose to call it that. We danced to the beat of our own drum, pushed forward making our own path. It was special.

People wondered at the time how we could possibly get married, being we didn’t talk much. We just knew in our hearts at that time that we were right for each other. As long as Carl’s hand was holding mine, that’s all I needed. I knew he was the one. He would always be there for me, keeping me safe and protected. I got this feeling just from his hand in mine. Yes, together we could face the world, he and I.

And after nearly fifty-three years of holding hands, we were still the same good friends as we were from the start. What more could a person want or ask for in their lifetime? All of the fun times we shared, the looks from those blue eyes. Oh, yes! I can’t forget the beautiful smile that still got my heart beating a little bit faster whenever I looked his way.

Once much later on a road trip to Thunder Bay, we were stopped at a red light when a young lady crossed the street in front of our car. Jaycelin, our youngest granddaughter, made the comment: Grandma, you’d better keep your eye on Grandpa. He’s looking at that lady with love in his eyes. These were words of wisdom from a young girl which left me thinking, yes, Carl had that look of love on his face and wore it well. Always smiling, always melting my heart you might say. What more could I ask for than this? Starting out as an innocent farm girl, spending her days ahead with this young lad, breaking a path together in this game of life?

Getting back to the ring, I often wondered exactly how long it spent in the glove box. Maybe it would have been a good question to ask him. After all, I had plenty of time over the years. His big question was, Do you want to try on a ring? Of course, I did. And it fit! After this little episode, I