85 and gone

My Mother died on Wednesday, very early in the morning.  She was 85 years old, the mother of seven children born, all still living and a child of the Great Depression.  She died frightened but not alone and in her own house as she wanted.  Death does not often come easy, even when it is slightly desired.  It didn't in this case because it came so fast in the end.  It had been hanging around unrecognized and when it finally struck it was a surprise and it was fearful.  I hope our being there made it easier, but that is all I can do, hope.  It came so fast.

She and her sisters were Catholic ladies of the old days.  They vowed and they meant it.  They were also women of their family.  They all lived for others and they weren't complete unless they were helping their children.  That is what made old age so hard for my Mom, it so often robbed of her ability to help her children in all the ways she had and all the ways she wanted.  It would not let her do the other small things she wanted to do and that hurt her.  But she got away before it took everything and that was good.

I will only tell two stories about her.  The first had to do with her Pop whom she admired above all other men.  He was a milkman in the 30s and one day he took her along on his route with him.  She liked her Pop and he liked her company.  The day was a long one and as it progressed he must have felt she was getting bored, so he started giving her treats along the way, some ice cream at this stop, some chocolate milk at another and something else at a third.  All these things were great for a little girl but as I said it was  a long day with a lot stops, more to come and a young girl has a stomach that is only so big.  But she didn't say "Pop, I've had enough" because he was so attentive and solicitous she was afraid it would hurt her feelings.  So she kept eating ice cream and drinking the chocolate milk stop after stop till the day ended.  No real point to this story beyond a small girl not wanting to hurt her Pop's feelings.

The second story has to do with my time at the police academy and vitamins.  My Mom had been after me for years to take various vitamins and supplements.  I couldn't be bothered.  Her arguments about health benefits didn't sway me until she told me that if I took the right ones, I wouldn't age as fast.  That did it.  Pretty soon I was taking whatever she told me, 8 to 10 a day.  That's a lot and it took some time to open and close the bottles, take the pills and some space to store it all.  When it came time to go to the academy she was worried because she knew I would have neither the time nor the space.  So she asked me how many days, exactly, the academy would last.  I told her and she gathered all the vitamin bottles, some plastic wrap and some rubber bands on her kitchen table.  She then proceeded to measure out each days dose, put it a piece of plastic wrap and close it up with a rubber band.  She did it for every day I would be there, 120 days worth.  I can still see her sitting at the kitchen table counting out the pills and making each little packet.  I remember being in wonder that anybody could do something so nice for me.  I still am.

When I did become an officer I saw a number of dead people and it never bothered me.  They looked as if they were just sleeping and you could wake them or if they were broken up, they looked like stage props.  But my poor Mom looked dead.  It was so sad.

Goodbye Mom.  Goodbye.