A tale of two ducks

When my mother and her husband moved into assisted living three years ago, my stepfather did exactly what we have helped our clients do so many times: he tried to give things away. He sent out an email with photos and notes about things in their house that they wouldn’t be moving into their new apartment, asking if any of us wanted any of it. He sent this to their combined children and grandchildren (roughly 20 of us).

And he had the same level of success that so many of our clients have had: there wasn’t any interest. The china cabinet that had been in our family for several generations and graced our dining room for as long as I can remember: no interest. The partial set of silver in said cabinet: no interest. The desk my stepfather’s father made when he was a young man: crickets.

His list included a lot of the art hanging in their home but it was missing the only “art” that interested me: a pair of small, arguably tacky, cartoon ducks. One is of a duck wearing a stethoscope. There is a speech bubble of the duck saying, “Trust me, I’m a ducktor.” The other is of a duck wearing a bow tie with the tagline: and there he stood… tall duck and handsome. Both of these ducks were hanging in their guest bathroom.

My mother and I bought these odd cartoon ducks together when I was a teenager. We used to love going to local craft fairs in our small Virginia suburb. And one day we came across these ducks together, along with an assortment of other duck cartoons. We both found them hilarious. I can’t explain why. We just laughed uncontrollably as we rifled through the stack, trying to select the best ones.

My mother was diagnosed with mild cognitive impairment more than eleven years ago. Like most people with dementia, she succumbed to the disease in fits and spurts. Her illness has not followed any linear or logical patterns.

For the first few years, she was painfully aware of what was happening to her. She repeated questions and comments but then would hesitate and ask if she had already asked that very question.  She would sometimes call me in a panic. Once it was because she had been vacuuming the living room and had moved a chair a few feet in order to clean the space behind it, but then couldn’t figure out where it belonged. Another time, she called me in tears because she had almost burned herself in the shower, having forgotten how to control the water temperature.

After gently telling my stepfather that my husband and I couldn’t take any of the furniture, I asked about the ducks. He said he didn’t even bother to include them in the email because he didn’t consider them worth sharing, but that he would ask my mother. At first she said she wanted to bring the ducks with her, which was great with me, of course. I looked forward to seeing them in their new apartment. But when it was close to moving day and things were getting packed up, my mother changed her mind about the ducks. My stepfather told her I was interested in them, so she said she wanted me to have them.

A few weeks before the move, we were out to dinner with my sister and her family talking about the coming move and saying how sad it was that nobody wanted much from the house. By this point my stepfather had arranged a dealer to purchase it all with a clear-out, so there was a good plan for it all.

Out of nowhere, my niece asked about the ducks. She said that she’d like to take them if they were going to be given to the dealer. Her brother chimed in with a comment about how he had always found the ducks hilarious. I couldn’t believe it. I told them the history of the ducks, and that I, too, had asked if the ducks were making the move or not.

My niece felt I deserved the ducks more than she did, but since there are two of them I said we should each take one. We both preferred the duck with the bow tie. I told her she could have the ducktor for now, and then when I die she can have them both. So the ducktor is displayed in her living room, and tall-duck-and-handsome is displayed in my bathroom.

My duck brings me immense joy. I can’t explain why. It may be because he reminds me how fun it was to select him one Saturday afternoon many years ago, when my mother was just my mother and not my mother with dementia. Or it may be because I know my niece has her own cartoon duck displayed in her home, and it makes me feel close to her. Or it may be just because he is hilarious.