Journeys can sometimes be very difficult. December 4th was one of those times. I boarded a plane headed to a suburb of Dallas, Texas. I traveled alone with only my thoughts of what this trip would mean to me these next few days.
She was beautiful. She was sixteen years old when she married my father. This was within a few days of her seventeenth birthday. The picture I remember most vividly is my father in his Coast Guard uniform leaning close to my mother who was sitting on a chair, her 40’s hairdo cascading just above her shoulders and her face showing the radiance of someone very much in love. Her life became very challenging through the years.
As the plane taxied down the runway I gathered my thoughts and my belongings to begin the end of another chapter in my life. As I made my way to the baggage claim area I spotted my step-brother waiting for me at the bottom of the escalator. We loaded the car and he explained my mother’s condition as we made our way through the Dallas traffic to pick up my stepfather at the apartment he had shared with my mother these past three years. After hugs and tears we continued our way to the Medical Center where mom was being kept comfortable as her life with us was slipping away.
My mother was very domesticated. She loved keeping a beautiful house. Everything had its proper place, always painting, cleaning and sewing. She was a wonderful cook and was very particular on presentation. She was always the “in charge” person for family gatherings and holiday meals. She loved planting flowers. And then there were the hours of canning the vegetables from her gardening.
As I stood by her bedside I realized she was no longer with us. I was left to be with her for what would be the last time I would speak to her. I wasn’t even sure what to say. We hadn’t been close. We did share memories, though experiencing our pain in different dimensions. I loved her. She loved me. I will miss her. Chapter closed.
