Anniversary of Mother's Death

Today marks the 17th anniversary of my mother's death. Of course, I think about the date each February 15, but I believe this is the first year since that day that her anniversary, like her death, falls on a Monday. The details of that weekend are still so clear to me....

Jack, Eric, and I were already awake and just about to leave the house for a swim meet in Emporia when my sister Jan called me before 6 a.m. on Saturday morning to let me know that Mother had slipped into a coma. Certainly, I was prepared to give total responsibility to Jack for getting Eric to Emporia, but Jan said not to bother--that there was no way I would make it in time. So off to Emporia I went, calling every hour to check on things. With each call, I learned that Mother was still hanging in there so on the way home I told Jack that if Mother were still alive when we got back home to Ottawa, I was packing and going. In his usual controlling way, Jack laid a guilt trip on me and came very close to demanding I not make the trip--after all, the next day was Valentine's Day and I should be home to celebrate. For once, my priorities took hold so I packed and was off to Bartlesville.

When I arrived, Mother was still comatose, but miraculously when I said loudly, "Mother, I'm here," for the briefest moment she opened her eyes. She knew, and regardless of what else happened, I knew in my heart and soul that I had made the right decision to make the trip.

My brother also arrived from Colorado so the rest of the weekend Pat, Jan, and I sat at Mother's bedside and talked to her and talked to each other. I'm sure we were like all other children in this situation as we reminisced, bringing laughter and tears, but Mother kept hanging on, and my mindset was that she could probably hear everything we said.

The minister came on Sunday to counsel us, at which point he suggested that we each take a turn alone with her to tell her goodbye and give her permission to go. I can't imagine a more private ceremony. I have no idea what Jan and Pat said to her, but when it was my turn, I held her hand and told her how much I loved her and what a great mom she had been. After all, she had had me when she was 47, so her gift of my life was beyond most blessings. I told her I didn't want her to suffer and that she would soon be so happy seeing Daddy, her parents, and all her siblings.

Sunday night the nurse suggested that we go to Jan's and get some sleep--that she would call us if/when Mother's death was immanent. The call awakened us early on Monday morning so we readied ourselves for the inevitable. As we left for the hospital, it began to snow--not just a dusting but huge amounts of wet, heavy snow that beautifully blanketed the trees and grounds soon making it difficult for any type of travel. Symbolically, the day was perfect. When we arrived at Mother's bedside, I even tried to describe the snow-ladened scene to Mother, again giving her permission to slip into her afterlife.

Mother passed away at 2:20 p.m. Upon her last gasping breath, I was holding her hand, a painful yet beautiful memory that I wouldn't have missed for the world. Unlike her own mother, she didn't live to be 100 but left us at the age of 88, again, very symbolic for a college piano major.

Today, I celebrate the 41 years that she and I spent together--not enough--but she continues to be a part of me each day.

I love you and miss you, Mother!