Several of you know what we were doing the past few months, with my mom's 11th-hour diagnosis and short stay in hospice. I wanted to let some time pass before opening up. Today is one month.

Mom's death was an immense loss, but there was no tragedy to it. Tragedy is my niece's father's freak accident at home where he went through a second-story window to the ground below, after which he rallied like a trooper to come back before ultimately succumbing to his many massive injuries. THAT is tragic at its very base.

Mom simply moved on to another place or phase.

Mom was young by modern standards, 81. But she loved life as it loved here, to the very end. She went out on her own terms, with all of us there by her side throughout her short, several-week hospice. We played her music -- show tunes, folk -- she LOL'd when we read her her obituary that I'd written, she saw all her grandkids.

She made us promise to take care of dad even as she knew what a pain in the ass he could be at times. She made sure we told everyone the charity to which she wanted remembrances and donations made. She had us assure her over and over that we would be OK. To the end, it was about others.

And it was about that wicked sense of humor, as with her last hospital admission, when she toyed with the admitting nurse, who asked her the usual questions, and when the nurse turned away to enter in the computer that mom drank "lightly, two glasses of wine," mom flashed a smile and then three, then five, then eight, then 10 figures to my sister and me. NPO for weeks, her "diet" consisted of piles of chipped ice, to which she had us add a wee drop of coffee some morns, or an eyedropper of Chardonnay some evenings.

And she chose to leave us when my sister and I had made brief returns home after weeks away; she did not want us having to say goodbye again. Her sister was there, and the angel, her hospice nurse. I am not remotely religious but god bless hospice nurses.

Mom made sure of the time ... it ALWAYS was about everyone else.

Mom, you're a keeper. You made us all, and not simply better: You made us us.

We hit the lottery of life with you. I love you.

 

My deepest sympathy for your loss. She
sounds like she was a wonderful person.

 

Much of this – both your mom's personality and circumstances at the end – sound remarkably similar to my mom, who passed three and a half years ago (at 67). So I know what you're going through. You have many days and years ahead of little reminders of the myriad ways she touched your life, and with those, she will be with you always. Thanks for sharing this.

 

Terri's dad was in his early 60s. That just sucked.

 

My deepest condolences, Ken.

 

So very sorry, Ken. Cherish the memories.

 

Ken, that's a nice remembrance. I lost my Mom as well in 2010 at the age of 73. She was very sick at the end, and just chose not to be sick anymore. we still miss her as well, 6 years later

 

Ken, very sorry for your loss.

 

My deepest sympathies to you and your family. My mom passed away 18 months ago after 3 months in hospice care. Prior to mom's hospice experience I did not realize many hospices offer grief counseling and other related services for families.

 

With no slights to dads anywhere -- I love my pop -- but mom is mom.

Thanks, gang.

Mom taught us to embrace every day we have here, say I love you every day, so no one needed a second chance to make amends when the obvious was happening, and for that we are lucky. There is loss, but no grief. There is pain, but no suffering. We received a priceless gift, and it remains with us.