Reflections

Carol was one of the poorest students in a rich Southern university; getting a scholarship at the age of 17.  Her mother, my grandmother, Anne, was a sibling to 9 who had immigrated from Finland.  They had very little.  Grammy pushed mom to get an education.  Even when Grammy passed away, mom spoke to her spirit every morning in gratitude and love (which is what I do daily with my mom, holding the folds of her robe or touching the last birthday card I have from her hanging on my wall). 

Mom became an award-winning journalist and was the only person I know who could make you smell something just by her vivid descriptions; weather it be food on the table at a restaurant review or the spray of the ocean on her cheek standing on a beach or breakwater.  She wrote for the Providence Journal in Rhode Island for almost 40 years and various magazines and newspapers as a travel writer.  Before that, she had a pretty fabulous journalism career where she worked in Washington DC, and interviewed Presidents, politicians and Hollywood stars (and was herself often likened to the beautiful actress,  Kim Novak).   I’m secretly thankful that mom never learned to drive because I got to travel with her as her driver to many of the world’s most romantic places (like Australia and Ireland and Tahiti and beautiful small islands, Isles de la Madeline in Canada where she loved the sunlight on the cliffs).  Beautiful, strange and amazing romantic places -  with my MOTHER.   It has been a blessing.

Mom was one of those unique people who could make a friend wherever she went; frequently embarrassing her daughters as teenagers as she would always compliment or have a nice word to say -often to the people who appeared to need it the most.  (“Mom!  Why do you have to talk to everybody?!”)   She taught us to look around the room and tip the busboys in restaurants as they were the lowest paid.  She sent money to people she met along her travel writing journeys who she thought needed help.  Like on the Navajo reservations and in the South on her “Hunger in America” series.   She was always kind that way. 

Because of mom, Cait and I both have “ears like dogs.”  As part of mom’s restaurant reviews, she listened to (ok, eves dropped) other patron’s conversations about the food.  She would shush us and turn an ear to listen.  Cait and I can now hear a conversation across a crowded room while never letting you know that you don’t have our full attention.

Mom always taught us to be independent – sometimes/mostly fiercely independent.  She never relied on any man and she instilled the same in Cait and I.  I remember once receiving an expensive gift from a male friend as a teenager.  She was very upset because she said, “I don’t have much money right now and we have to go buy him a gift of equal value.  You should never owe anyone anything.”  I loved that silk dress!   But I’ve never owed anyone anything.  And neither has my sister.

To those she left behind:  Mom was super proud of her businesswoman daughter, Cait, and loved to hear Cait talk about her work adventures (often humorously).  She was proud of me and my adventurous spirit leading me to work in the Middle East.  She was equally proud of her grandson, Alex, who has inherited the writing gene in the family (whether he chooses to use it or not, she knew that he has it because of several eloquent stories and letters he has written) and of the man and father he has become.  She was happy to have known her great-granddaughter, Avery who brought her so much joy in the later part of her life; and admired Kelsey for being such a wonderful mother to Avery.  She loved the fortitude and support of Cait’s husband, Wayne, and his calming presence in all of our lives.  Mom loved the bond that cousin, Margaret, had with her and our Finish side of the family; a reminder of who she was and where her side of the family was from.

And she loved the friendship and support of her neighbors, Liz, Trish, Gary, and Amy who orchestrated the little things that meant so much to her daily life;  like visits,  baked goods deliveries, taking out the trash for her and making sure her newspaper was delivered close to her door.  Little things that make a big difference to an elderly person who was once so much more independent.

Mom often said that even though your body is aging, you are still the same person inside.  People who knew her knew that – she had a sharp sense of humor and fascinating perspective of life right to the end. 

 

Mom - The Departure

One of the major reasons I moved back to the US from Kuwait was to help take care of my mother in her elder years.  I had 4 great years with her.  She might not think they were so great, as she was declining in health and couldn't get around, but I still had time with her and I'm so grateful I was able to be there with her.  She has been my best friend for as long as I can remember.

I haven't been able to write about her death in November.  It is too fresh and I get too sad.  Still having sobbing fits every night.  It feels like it was yesterday; it feels like it was 10 years ago.  I'm waiting for signs.  I've had a few; my sister has had a lot more.

I talked her her 5 times a day.  She lived only 15 minutes from me, but we were always in touch.  The most difficult thing about my days is the drive to work when I would always call her and hear her perkly little voice in the morning - telling me how great a day I was about to have, and asking where on the road I was.  "Where are you now?"  I heard her on my drive the other day, and I responded, "No, where are YOU now?" and we both had an imaginary giggle.  I play her voicemails sometimes on my way to work now just to hear her voice and pretend that she's still here.

Mom had lived in a beautiful condo next to a lake for the past twenty-something years.  She spent her days looking out at the water and the people on or near the water.  The geese, the foxes, little boats.  My sister and I moved her into assisted living after some bad falls.  She really missed the lake and was sad because she was no longer mobile and had to be helped to do most things.

So, I'm going to write about her transition and departure and then backtrack a little when I can push myself to write more.  I have a terrible memory and blogging helps me keep the details in mind.

Mom had had several falls at her condo and mom agreed that it was time to move into assisted living.  Mom moved close by to my sister and me in June.   The home looked like the Ritz Carlton and I think mom was reluctantly happy there.  Mom had lost a lot of mobility during 2020/Covid when she basically stayed at home much of the time and wasn’t walking (which she loved).  Mom was no longer able to get up the stairs (2 inside the condo and 10 to get up to street level).  At the AL home, she was helped 24/7 by some very loving caregivers (most attended her funeral).  She had a walker and had started using a wheelchair to get around.  My sister got her the Cadillac of all motorized wheelchairs and although mom never learned/wanted to drive (and had to learn the basics of “driving” her chair), she got around pretty well.  All of the other residents were envious.  

Mom was taken to the ER several times for unstable blood pressure.  She had a very bad geriatrician/GP (in my opinion) who didn’t’ listen to her symptoms (swollen ankles, loss of voice, difficulty breathing, BP spikes and lows).  We found her another GP and about 10 days before her final admission to the hospital.  The new GP had ordered oxygen and the appropriate tests (blood/echo).  It was, at that point, too late.  I’m not a doctor, but I feel very bad/guilty that I didn’t understand her symptoms better and that they were classic of congestive heart disease.  Had we known, we may have had more time with her.  However, mom was 89 and by her own accounts, ready to let go.

She was admitted to the hospital on November 14, and it wasn’t looking good. Mom was in/out of consciousness and coherency (kept telling me to take care of the sandwich mom had left on the table and to get her blue sweater from the cleaners) and her color was bad.  She spoke to the nurses and told them what a wonderful life she had lived (I think she knew it was bad). 

The next day, her best friends and us/immediate family gathered around her.  Mom regained consciousness for about 45 minutes (“rally”) and made us all laugh, thanked us for loving her, and told us mom loved all of us.  Some of her last words were, “This is weird.  I’ve never done anything like this before.  Have you?  You’re all here!  I guess it is true what they say that you are surrounded by ‘your friends and family.’  Are these going to be my famous last words?”  She also advised her grandson, my nephew, to trim his beard.  Mom asked if we could sneak in a bottle of her favorite wine (Meursault) the next day; we were planning it.   She then went to sleep again. 

We admitted her into hospice that afternoon, and at 4am the next morning, mom passed away.  True to form – with humor, grace and dignity.

It was the best transition any of us could have hoped for.  She didn’t want to have a prolonged death or be in hospice for any long amount of time (I believe that less than 12 hours was sufficient for her!)  Her best friend, Liz, suggested that we play Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” at her funeral. 

Mom left VERY specific instructions on what mom wanted at her funeral and we followed them pretty precisely.  (She left a file folder for everything.)  She was cremated and has a beautiful blue hand-blown glass urn (which is in my living room); eventually I will make the trip to the UK to her favorite islands (Channel Islands) to scatter her ashes  (“on a beach, somewhere sunny”).   We were asked NOT to have “one of those online obituary things” but these days, it is the best way to get the information out there, so it is out there.

Her celebration of life was the best funeral that I’ve ever been to (and better than any wedding I’ve attended).  We laughed, we cried, we had great food and music surrounded by loving, interesting people.  Mom would have loved it.   We expected maybe 65 people and over 140 showed up; many who had just known her briefly or who mom had touched lives with like check out clerks at the grocery store, people who she had met on the trail with their dogs, handymen, her hair stylist (MY hair stylist), contractors, etc. She had a posse of close friends who mom had found late in life and they were all there for her.   The service was held here in Virginia at a venue on a lake with vaulted ceilings.  Mom had asked for a song to be played (“Ascent of the Lark” by Vaughn Williams) which is usually played by a violinist or cellist, so we had a string quartet that played and it was amazing.  A few of the guests said that they saw a heron take flight from the lake right after the song; befitting.  We had asked for yellow roses and peonies and the woman who coordinated the celebration did a stellar job of finding them – in bloom – in the winter.  Everything was beautiful and perfect and happy and sad.