Mom, well most people called her Jean, was very thoughtful, she loved to learn, she loved to teach
and loved to shop at Kohls.
She recharged in silence in the backyard garden with the flowers, butterflies and birds.
Jean loved to read and was a voracious reader.
Her home was filled with enough books to start a small used book store!
From the outside, it looks like she saved everything, but on closer investigation you’ll see she saved things for others that would make a difference in their lives.
I’m Elisabeth, Jeannie’s daughter.
This was a favorite poem of my mom’s by Karle Baker.
Let me grow lovely, growing old.
So many fine things do.
Laces, and ivory and gold.
And silks, need not be new.
And there is healing in old trees,
Old streets- a glamour hold;
Why may not I , as well as these
Grow lovely growing old.
Everyone who knew my mom knows this is exactly what she did -
she grew more lovely- growing old.
My Mom passed away on July 7th. It's been hard.
I was with her the last 7 days of her life...
the first 3 she was walking, moving around, eating...
then on the 4th of July it was as if she got on a slide...
and slid out of life.
It's strange being in this time space, walking towards the exit door of life,
not my life, but my moms.
It's sad and it is beautiful. I feel blessed that her spirits are high and she's facing this as a big adventure into after-life.
Now that she has gotten on oxygen, her world has improved drastically.
She can walk farther than the front door, before needing to rest.
She actually went shopping!
She has told hospice her goal is beachweek, which is family get together time every July in North Redington, Beach.
I was worried at first if she'd actually make it.
My mom. September 23, 2016
I remember how I loved to hold her hand. I have this one memory which returns to me often.
We are sitting in the back seat of my grandpas big black car on our way to dinner. The whole family is together... Grandma and Grandpa in the front seat with Phillip in the middle, me on the far left by the window in the back seat, mom next to me, then Mike and then dad by the window on the right. My mom use to wear these white gloves. She was always so pretty and wore nice dresses. I loved admiring her, she was so beautiful. I especially loved her hands.
She was a young mother, I was born when she was just 21, my older brother was born when she was 19 and my younger brother was born when she was 23.
She was busy.
I loved when we’d go to Grandmas and go out to dinner. I got to sit by her in the backseat of the car.
I'd take her white glove off looking at each finger while holding her hand in mine. I'd admire the ring she wore and how pretty her nails were.
This comforted me so much and is one of the few memories I have of my mom as a child.
The oncologist's office is sterile and cold. I feel fortunate I've never had to go there for myself.
For my mom, this office has been a weekly destination for the last 9 months. Today, June 13th 2017, the hopes of overcoming and living past the lung cancer wane, as the oncologist reads a list of new organs the cancer has invaded, the thyroid, pancreas, abdomen, pelvis, liver, bones...
I felt a cold numbness overcome me after the 3rd new organ. The room was silent, though the doctors mouth was moving speaking of other lesions found in more areas of the body.
I felt a tear run down my face, I couldn't breath, I was frozen. The oncologist handed me the kleenex.
How do they stay so poised, the cancer doctors, as they read the sentence of death to someone.
There was no emotion, no concern. A dry delivery of the information that
her time alive is limited. The horrific 9 months of chemo and radiation hadn't worked to stop the cancer.
I looked over at mom. She sat back in her seat with a big exhale. Michael her long time partner and me, an emotional wreck. Mom, poised and collected, as usual for her, asked: So what does this mean? How long do I have?
3907 Medical Parkway #102