Connie McGorry, St. James, NY
Guest Writer: Constance McGorry, my mother, 90 this January.
Connie and my father, Gerard, were married for 61 years, prior to his death in 2002. They parented eight children, and my mother is now grandmother to 19 and great-grandmother to 17. Recently, we sat together at her home in St. James, and, rubbing her hands together, she said: My hands hurt everyday. While we were growing up in Bayside, Queens, she worked, at times, evenings at St. Mary’s Children’s Hospital and at Bayside Gardens Nursing Home. Later, when we were all out working ourselves, she was a salesperson and then a benefits’ clerk at Gertz Department Store in Flushing.
The pieces below are some of her thoughts about those hands that now hurt everyday.
Day
I always thought that no matter what your hands might have to do, where your hands might have to go, you could always wash them.
In the hospital, when they first bring your baby to you, you’re always curious to see if everything is okay. You open the blanket to look and touch but they shiver. So you wrap them back up, hold them, and then they quiet down.
One winter, four of our children came down with whooping cough at the same time. They would have to eat between spasms to get some nourishment as they would otherwise choke while coughing. I had to keep food at hand to give it to each one between coughing fits. It was a four-ring circus that lasted for six weeks. I was lucky to have four bunk beds to keep them in one bedroom, just off the kitchen, and these two hands to carry the chore out.
One day, on a trip to Rego Park with Mary holding onto the carriage, Carol in the carriage and Gerard on a seat across the carriage, we crossed 63rd Drive when Mary let go of the carriage to run ahead just as a truck was racing around the corner. I was able to grab her arm just in time to keep her from getting run over. Read more »
