My mother passed away yesterday. She was in her late nineties. She stood about five four, the granddaughter of western pioneers: she was born in an Oklahoma farmhouse just after statehood, and didn’t have a birth certificate until it began to matter. She grew up on an Oklahoma farm, rode to a one room schoolhouse on a horse, and was so tiny they had to put books under her feet so she could use a regular desk. Around the time of the Oklahoma dustbowl, she was introduced to my father, who worked at the local icehouse, by the nephew of Cole Younger, who rode with Jesse James. She and my father worked in Washington, DC, my mom in the US Bureau of Engraving, where she helped handle the huge wet sheets of special paper, under presses that could take a hand off, working with no mask, in a constant aerosol of inks.
By the time I came along they were living in St Louis, and they found their way back to Oklahoma, close to their parents, by the time my brother was born.
My mother loved taking care of kids. She worked in the church nursery for years and years. She and my dad loved camping, and they did a lot of it, finally building a lake cabin with their own hands. Her health began to go, slowly at first. But she survived five bouts of cancer, radiation, chemotherapy, you name it, and remained active. In her mid nineties she began to lose her sight, which was her greatest trial. She loved housekeeping, and insisted on doing it herself. Which pretty much describes her attitude toward life. She viewed horses as transportation and saw men walk on the moon. She died of just plain old age, refusing a hospital, which is a pretty good life.
My sympathies. She sounds like an amazing woman.
And ours with you…all of you in this singular stage of life, which seems to be no few.
It seems to be common today. People are living longer, old and young, and the splintering of extended families mean that one or two offspring take care of their parents. I am by no means the only one of my friends to do this and believe me, the role reversal can be trying at times. I am, however, despite the difficulties-and I left a high paying career to do this-glad that I did.
Phil Brown
Transatlantic cross-continent condolences.
All my love and empathy for you, Carolyn. I hope you feel our arms around you buoying you up. And I hope that by sharing your grief with you that yours lessens. Know that you’re not alone. All your readers feel your loss, too.
CJ, I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. For consolation, I still remember my mother, her support, encouragement and endless patience, 30 years after losing her in 1977. We always miss them, but remember the joy.
Condolences and sympathy.
I never know what to say when these things happen. “Condolences” sounds so cold and detached, and hugs don’t transmit well over the Intarwebs.
Nevertheless, I offer both condolences and ehugs.
And a felicitous arrangement of eflowers.
I’m sorry to hear of your loss. She sounds like she was an amazing woman.
I’m so so sorry, my condolences
I’m sorry to hear this. She sounded like an adventurous woman. Sending a hug your way.
Stacy
“She viewed horses as transportation and saw men walk on the moon.” Your mother was evidently just the age of mine, and sounds very like her. I believe that generation may have coped with qualitatively more change in their lives than any other, before or since. From first grade in a one-room country school to writing her memoirs about it on a computer!
Her passing at her own time, at home, without years of dreadful incapability, is a great gift, as I am sure you know. Yet we still always wish for just a bit more time, a few more things said. My best wishes to you, and all in like case.
Some thirty years ago, on the death of my grandmother, who was born in 1881, my aunt Emily Miller Ladner wrote this poem. I have found it very valuable to me (even if I actually am not a mother myself — my daughters, and theirs, being virtual concepts).
http://www.fileden.com/files/2007/3/10/871458/WOMEN%20WHOSE-Emily.pdf
Take care of yourself.
I’ve known my share of loss, but not like this. God bless and eHugs abound
I am sorry for your loss.Thoughts and prayers are with you.
CJ, readyGuy and I are so sorry for your loss. **holds out a hand to squeeze and offers shoulders to grieve on**
I am so sorry for your loss. My best friend lost her remaining and closest grandmother Friday while we were at Comic-Con. I was just coming out of talking to her about funeral arrangements and how she felt when I saw your post.
CJ, sorry to hear about your mother. It’s been almost two years now that my father’s been gone and it’s still not easy when I come across something we both shared not to think how he would like this or that. For a moment I forget… I wish it were longer…
I have no doubt you will cherish her memory just as much. She must have been proud of you and your brother. Sounds like she had a full and interesting life, Something we all aspire to. Ehugs to both you and your brother and his family.
My heart reaches out to you. I am blessed to have my mother still around at 94, still living on her own, almost as obstinate about that as yours was. I love her but she’s OLD and it scares me a lot. I can’t quite imagine what it will be like if she isn’t there. But since we have no rejuv yet I know there can’t be too many more years, even if I do tell her she has to make it to 110 because that’s the age she always claimed when I asked her as a child.
Remember the good times. Thank you for sharing your thoughts about her with all of us.
Sorry about your loss.
So aorry for your loss CJ, she sounds like one in a million.
So sorry to hear about your mother. Hugs all around.