Well… Here we are at a day that literally makes me half sick.  July 26th.  I received the call from Dad around 7:30 am, that Mom had slipped off in her sleep.  His actual words were “She’s gone..”  I rushed out the door and up to their house.  Mom was peacefully still in Dad’s chair.  I don’t know how long it had been from the time he found her to the time he called me.  I’ve always assumed he didn’t call me right away… That he took a little time to come to terms with it.

I won’t forget that call or the ambulance crew and police officers who were very kind even though there were questions that had to be asked and tasks that needed to be performed.  I remember clearly as they stepped aside to give us a few final moments with her after they put her on the gurney in the living room.  The Pastor showed up within minutes of her being taken out of the house.  I have always assumed that Smith’s Funeral Home contacted him as soon as they heard.

Left to Right: Me, Mom, Grandpa, Grandma At Greenfield Village now part of The Henry Ford (museum)

I think I held it together as I made phone calls to let people know.  I’m not sure.  There are periods of the next few days that are very clear… Others are a blur.  Picking out the casket, the cemetery lot and a few other things that concerned me, as Mom and Dad never talked about what they wanted… even though we knew Mom’s outcome was inevitable.  It all fell in place.  I remember bits and pieces of the Calling Hours.  Seeing my coworkers in the line… something I didn’t expect.  Judy Miller… A family friend who’d we’d known since I was fairly young.  A few other folks vaguely come to mind.  I was glad Ron came home.  It wasn’t the best situation but had he not been there, I would have had way too much time to think.  I have had more than enough time since then to dwell.

I fought with depression and anger.  Was there something I could have done had I continued to go to the appointments with her?  A question I could have asked? Something in those last days to make her more comfortable?  I felt like such a terrible son.  There came a point where I prayed that God would take her home… Take her suffering away.  It was hard to look at her in that chair over the last 3 weeks of her life… Living, but barely alive.  I still have times where I feel bad that I even thought that way.  It was so hard.  I felt so helpless… even guilty that I hadn’t helped Dad enough.  I got to go home at night.  He had to be there all day and night.  There wasn’t much that could be done… or was there.

Left to Right: Grandma, Me, Dad, Mom

I still have days where my heart aches and I miss her so much.  I’m glad that I was invited to spend the day, Saturday, riding with the gang.  It took my mind off things until I got home.  Its terribly difficult for me to go to the cemetery.  I don’t go as often as I should.  Sometimes, I think Dad goes up too often.  I won’t say anything to him because they spent 43+ years together.  It has to be hard for him.  He rarely says much about it other than telling me he planted some flowers or someone weed whacked the flowers we put up there.

I don’t think I’ll be doing much today (Sunday, July 26th.)  I may run up to the cemetery and pay my respects.  I may hide in bed, closed off from the outside world.  It will just depend how I feel.  I wasn’t really sleepy.  These things were on my mind as I get ready to sleep after a long day.  I know I’ve said them before (at least 4 or 5 times now) but no matter how hard I try to fill the hole that she left, I know I won’t… Nor do I really want to.

I keep our memories that we made.  The good and the bad.

Mom. This was taken on one of her last trips with Dad. This was during her battle with Breast Cancer. She kept going until her body wouldn’t let her go anymore.

I love you Mom.

~Curtis