A Year Ago Today

A Year Ago Today I presented your Living Will to the Social Worker at the hospital and signed the papers to remove you from Life Support.

A Year Ago Today I had to explain over and over again to the nursing staff at the hospital that it really was your wishes to have a Living Will.

That you had signed that Living Will almost 25 years ago following the premature death of your husband. That you were passionate about it.

And that I, (who worked hospice and geriatrics for years) would ensure that your wishes were followed to the letter.

No respirator. No surgery that would further incapacitate you.

Rather, a gentle easing into the night with the help of Morphine.

A Year Ago Today your family gathered at your bedside for their last goodbyes.

I explained again to your children, your grandchildren exactly what that entailed. Exactly what you wanted.

A Year Ago Today would have been Dad's 70th Birthday. If he had lived to raise the children he adored.

Instead we said goodbye to another parent and vowed that we would do everything in our power so that our children would not have to say goodbye to us so young.

Rest in Peace Mom

Bittersweet

This pic is of my daughter Lauren holding her cousin Olivia, Angie's daughter.

It was taken at the forest preserve that Mom loved. She played there as a child and returned years later when she sought peace.

On this Saturday following Thanksgiving we were scattering half of her ashes, per her wishes. The other half was placed on Dad's grave. Also, per her wishes.

You see, since Dad was such a popular guy his wake was a very public affair. We had Union Reps, Irish Clowns and Airport Commisioners. Politicians and Gang Bangers. Family and Friends.

It was a zoo.

And very, very upsetting for the widow.

She made me promise that there would be no wake for her.

No funeral.

No casket.

Ashes scattered at the two most meaningful places by her children and grandchildren.

We weren't able to do this in June as she was an organ donor and Angie had to return home to her newborn daughter before her body was released.

I dreaded this day. I'm not comfortable displaying emotions in front of others.

I am The Strong One. The Big Sister. The Mom.

And now, the Matriarch.

But, as we walked through the forest to the bridge that crossed a little stream, it seemed so right, so destined.

Rest in peace, Mom. You'll be missed.