Debbie Croft: Expanding my vocabulary – one life experience at a time

I remember being little and asking my mom about words I hadn’t heard before. Immunization. Conjunctivitis.

Flying at the age of 5, from American shores across the Atlantic, brought more new words to my limited vocabulary: passport, descending, Trans World Airlines.

High school introduced algebraic and geometric formulas, dramatic improvisation and student council. And college plunged me into semesters and syllabuses. (Or is it syllabi?)

Moving to the desert acquainted me with salsa, avocados, saguaro, mesquite, monsoons, scorpions and chaparral.

Balancing the checkbook was a phrase I thought I knew. Until I received three bank notices in one week.

What do you mean we have insufficient funds? I just put money in the account yesterday!

As the years passed, my vocabulary increased even more: nuptials, gestation, placenta, colostrum, pastorate, insurance, mortgage, Internal Revenue Service.

I started home schooling in the mid-1980s in California. It was illegal then. While educating our firstborn, I got an education, too. Terms like regulation, jurisprudence and truancy weren’t a daily part of my vocabulary, but I learned them. With my new vocabulary I defended our radical decision to neighbors who were concerned about our child’s socialization.

When our daughter started piano lessons, I remembered music theory from college: accidentals, cadence, dissonance, prelude and staccato.

A few years later our son joined the Marine Corps. The head took on new meaning, along with other terms. Windows are portholes, a door is a hatch, the floor is the deck, and stairs are a ladder well. When a soldier’s stuff is scattered all over the deck, it’s gear adrift. And pogey bait is candy and snacks. (For an explanation of that one, ask a Marine.)

In writing for the newspaper, I’ve learned about filing, column inches, deadlines, headlines, bylines and copy. And that dreaded word: plagiarism.

Of course, moving to the country brought new meaning to words I’d rarely heard. Septic system. Leeching field. Compost pile.

And clutter.

If you’ve raised a modern teenager, you already know how a parent’s vocabulary increases, with words like drama, meltdown, texting, snap-chatting, tweeting and chill.

And that ever present word: need. “Mom,” she’d say, “I need new jeans.” And “I need a fedora.” And “I need more hair color.” And hair accessories. And a backpack. And a new dress and shoes and tiara (and a date) for the prom.

More years have passed, bringing continual changes to my dialogue. When my mom had mitral valve prolapse and went through surgery, new words were introduced I had never needed before.

Recently, our current life experience has brought another set of words to family conversations: metastasize and congestive heart failure, systemic, prognosis, hospice. If you’ve had any dealings with cancer, you know what these mean.

And now, so do I.

Terminal is where I once sat waiting for our flights to Germany with my new box of crayons and coloring books.

Or it’s the beginning of the end for a close relative.

This week in addition to writing my column, I’m writing my mother-in-law’s obituary and working on the eulogy.

Suddenly, my vocabulary has expanded.

Again.

But I’m not alone.

A soldier is shipped overseas. Away from home, family, everyone and everything he values. To defend freedom for people he’s never met. To distant terrain with foreign names: Kyrgyzstan and Turkmenistan and Qatar.

Young couples give birth – to a baby who’s less than healthy. And they don’t get to bring her home right away. These bleary-eyed parents are overwhelmed with new words they hadn’t read in the childbirth and parenting books, with strange concepts they weren’t prepared for.

A 60-year-old widow sits in the funeral home, only partially listening as a soft-spoken stranger explains the options. She wasn’t ready to bury her husband. He had just retired, and they had plans.

For those of us still living, not only does our lexicon expand with each new experience, by handling these situations with a measure of grace, we are richer. In acceptance and growth, we can choose to help others who struggle.

And knowing where Mom is now gives new meaning to the words resurrection and eternity.

This story was originally published March 23, 2016 at 2:58 PM with the headline "Debbie Croft: Expanding my vocabulary – one life experience at a time."