Priceless Estate

Dad loved television and my mother. I wasn’t always sure in what order.

My sister and I completed my dad’s estate sale in about five minutes. I yielded the TV set and my mom’s portrait to my sister and that wrapped it up. Dad, who passed away at 95, had outlasted all his other personal effects of any value, as he down sized his life and then just withered away. These two material possessions were worth only a few hundred bucks. Sadly, there were times when I thought that TV out-rivaled Mom in his life satisfactions.

Dad and I bonded over late ‘50s and early ‘60s TV westerns. We didn’t hunt or shoot in real life because accidental dismemberment insurance was too expensive. But we had avid discussions about who was the quickest draw on the prime time oaters that we habitually viewed. We also were glued to televised sports, New York Giants and later Patriots football games in the fall, and Red Sox games in the spring and summer. Dad would quiz me on the lineups, and I would amaze him with my recall of names and uniform numbers. Even without me riding divan shotgun, TV prime time was Dad’s time, unless it was poker night or he had a civic obligation.

Mom’s portrait was painted sometime around Bonanza’s third or fourth season. It was a formal portrait by Dad’s cousin’s husband, who was a well-known artist. The painting captures Mom in her still beautiful 30s, emphasizing her prominent but alluring straight nose, her lustrous red hair and her famous smile. It was the smile that helped me survive a quirky childhood. The portrait is a formal sitting with Mom in a blue gown. The picture and Dad’s TV viewing crossed paths in a way on March 17 1963. It was the telecast of Bob Cousy’s last game as a Celtic. Dad and I watched fascinated at half-time when the Cooz was presented with gifts of appreciation, one of which was a portrait by Mom’s artist, our cousin-in-law.

From early empty nesthood to early senility — about 20 years — my parents’ townhouse was bisected by spheres of TV influence, Dad’s in the living room and Mom’s upstairs in the master bedroom. On visits, I rarely saw them watch TV together. I spent too much time with Dad watching sports, trying perhaps to recapture my youth, and not giving equal time to Mom. Mom’s picture was in a prominent spot in the living room, but in this parallel-lives period, I wondered if TV was gaining on Mom as a significant other in Dad’s life. To me this dueling TV lifestyle made sense based on some of the marital rancor I remembered. Domestic harmony in my childhood emanated from the black-and-white idiot box sitcoms. But on a visit to my parents in the late 1990s, I was surprised to find both parents in the living room together. That’s when I found out that mom had Alzheimer’s.

Through four memory care facilities and one locked psychiatric ward, Dad, though fully employed, visited Mom almost every day until she died seven years into the diagnosis. Until her condition became terribly severe, Dad would take her out for drives. He threw an 80th birthday party for her, inviting their few living and viable close friends. Sadly, Mom was overcome with apathy by this event, but for me it was a Hallmark moment.

Finally, Dad realized that Mom needed even more hands-on care then he or the memory unit could provide so he hired a companion, whom he checked in with daily. Dad’s devotion surprised me. In reality, it turned out, he was an attentive loving husband and not just a cohabitating couch potato. Maybe his devotion was fueled by contemplation of the warm, pretty woman that he saw hanging above the TV every time he turned it on.

When mom died, Dad was 88. TV helped him survive the last seven years of his life. There were 162 Red Sox games to watch, 80 Celtics games, and football every Sunday. He didn’t miss too many contests. He would start every phone call to me with “Are you watching the game?” But he stopped keeping up with the Sox and didn’t even realize they were the 2013 champs.

In the end, when we divided up their estate, I realized that it wasn’t TV that Dad loved best. It was Mom who had always been there in crisp hi-def.