On January 3,2010, my beloved mother passed away. In her passing, my family lamented, “she’s going straight up to heaven”, “she was a Saint”. She really was. I agree with them all. I’m very saddened by her passing but I’m even more saddened by her own personal loss which had diminished her spirit over the last 5 or 6 years. I’m speaking of “her loss” of her physical abilities and more importantly her mental acuteness.
Mom always could hold up a good front for the family. She loved us so much, she would do anything not to worry us with her feelings. She never complained when rheumotoid arthritis relinquished her to a wheelchair. She never complained when she was unable to write in her perfect handwriting or when she could no longer able to enjoy the daily crossword puzzle that she always loved. The boxes were too small to fill out and the print was hard to read.
So she went on. As she sat there unable to sweep her kitchen or do the dishes, she reluntantly allowed others to try. I say try because I know we didn’t do up to her standards. She watched and held her head down. She’d lift up her chin and smile, never criticizing the ones who tried. These little things were hard on my Mother. I knew it and wanted to hold her, cry with her but she’d have none of that.
I watched her eyes lose their twinkle when her home dwindled to chaos. “I know Momma” I’d always want to say, but she would never let on to that. That would be complaining. Momma didn’t complain. She never asked for much. I often wonder if she would have asked, would she have received more? Maybe, but nothing was worth discord in the family. She went through life achieving her own personal goals. She loved to bowl. She knew the technicalities of the game. She knew what board to approach on, stand on and which one to release the kind of ball she threw. She could teach this as well. She taught me.
She loved to trim her hedges and do her own gardening. She loved the garden and mowed the lawn when she had to. The things my Mother could control, she controlled well. When given the opportunity to advise, she was truthful but soft. When given the opportunity to lead, she led well. Her voice was soft and low. She was never one to yell and scream in disagreements. She had a way of getting her point across without hurt feelings or discouragement. My Mother was a Saint of a person.
She had a penchant for the truth, no matter what it may be. She researched criminal cases with the mind of a sharp investigator. She looked at every slant and view. Often her opinion was not that of the masses, but still she stood her ground with the facts and what is logical.
I often try to emulate my Mother. It’s a hard task. I would have to be smart, logical, soft spoken, objective, beautiful, loving, calm and humble. I can’t deliver Mom, but I know you loved me anyway because that’s the way you are. You accepted people for who they were and always found something good about everyone you met.
You were nonjudgemental and kind. You were compassionate and empathetic towards everyone. I’m not alone in my opinion. You were loved because you gave love.
This is what she said in her last moments on Earth:
If you are pure in your heart,
Then you’ll be pure in your soul,
Then you are ready to meet your Maker,
Then you’ll be able to raise your hands in VICTORY.
As usual, you’ve left us with another profound tenet for us to follow. Thank you Mom.
I could never be the saint you were, but I am a free thinker and seeker of the truth. For this Mom, I know
you’d be proud.

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