An anniversary

A year ago yesterday, my mother died.  January 4, 2013.

After moving her to Albuquerque to be with my brother, she spent a few months in their house. In time, it became too difficult to care for her there, and she was moved into a care center.  One morning, after a typical breakfast of her 'being Roberta' with some complaints, she went back to her room, sat down in her chair, and died.

When my sister in law arrived that morning, Mom's body was still warm because the pacemaker kept her heart going.  True to my mother's obsessive concerns (and in spite of my continued reassurances) the pacemaker did not keep her alive.  She did not wish it to keep her alive, and it didn't, once her body was ready to die.

I was back home in Guatemala when the call came.  I picked up the phone, and my brother Bob blurted quickly, "Mom died".  It took my breath away.  I got on the phone next to my sister Marilyn, who had heard just before I did.

Marilyn had just gotten confirmation that morning of a cancer diagnosis of lymphoma.  She was considering calling Mom to let her know, when Bob called with his news. What a relief that she didn't tell Mom, since otherwise she might imagine that it was her cancer news that killed Mom.  In this past year, Marilyn has had cancer treatment and now has a clean scan.

In March the family got together for a sendoff of Mom.  We had a last big dinner, paid for by her, and the kids, grandkids and great-grandkids had a nice time.  Sometime after that, Marilyn and Bob (and spouses) took Mom's ashes down to be next to our Dad, and I assume she finally got the "Onward Christian Soldiers" hymn that she had so wanted.

In the year since, I have thought of her … not necessarily often, but at times. I have worn a necklace I made for her, and think of her. Some news, and I think of her.  Talk of elder-care, and I think of her. When I see my fine white hair, or paint my nails. Just sometimes, I think of her, with fondness now. With sadness, and with love.

Farewell, Roberta. Bye, Mom.