in mom's memory

Eventually all loss is washed away. Bliss follows like eyes of a portrait. Grace persists. 

It was December 8 1993

Mom called with a tentativeness she never portrayed. She announced a cancer diagnosis and was given a six month prognosis. I declared I would come home as soon as I could. Did not leave her any room to argue.

Within a week I had the house and all of our excess belongings sold. Bags packed, goodbyes all around and Taelor and I were off. John Henry made plans to drive Kibby and Aja across the country when he could.

Eighteen years ago is a long time to recount this story. Taelor and I were housed with Louise in her vast Frank Lloyd Wright design home in Madison. We visited mom every day though there were numerous times Taelor and the other grandchildren were not allowed in the family house. Taelor was the youngest of the kids at nine months. I expect an acceptable powerlessness of not witnessing these children as grown ups though perhaps she just couldn’t tolerate the accelerated noise level. 

Couch bound, mom vacillated between a grimace and cheerful resignation. When visitors came to call she rallied and presented her old vivacious self. At times I couldn’t believe the transformation and questioned whether she was really ill. Jerry Seinfeld and Phil Donohue were her saving grace, subtle giggles to outright bursts of laughter gave us all relief each night. Her favorite meal was angelhair pasta with olive oil and fresh ground pepper. Until the time she rejected any sustenance.

The third to youngest sister, Angela was mom’s main caregiver and spent the majority of the seven months by her side. Angela, your precious commitment and dedication to mom was incredible. I honor and respect the time you relinquished from your life to be with her. 

She had lapsed into a coma and died on Father’s Day. It was far from a peaceful and graceful Hollywood death. A relief from visible torment nonetheless. Dad insisted it was purposeful so we would all remember the anniversary.

I think about her frequently. Wonder what life would have been like for our clan of 37 if she was still with us. Would she have marched down to Brasil to collect me or badger the surgeon with alternative options? Or would she have mellowed in age and calmly sent me an email of support and encouragement, declaring her love and acceptance of my decisions?