Sunday was the first Mother’s Day without my being able to see, call, or send flowers to my mother. It was strange but I can’t say it was sad, because I know she’s not suffering.
Mama had debilitating osteoarthritis, pulmonary fibrosis, and a faulty aortic valve. The latter could have been repaired easily, the doctors told her, but she was incredibly stubborn — and a nurse for more than 40 years — and she had her mind made up that she wasn’t having any procedures.
She was in constant pain and had lost more than 100 pounds by the end. Many on my mother’s side of the family were/are built like linebackers, and Mama was no exception, but she had become a shell of her former self. She was tired and told me so a few hours before she passed. The last words we said to each other were “I love you.”
Monday, May 1, we were packed to travel to St. Joseph Regional Health System in Bryan, Texas, when my brother called at 7:15 that morning to tell me that Mama had passed away at 4:15 a.m. I had had a feeling the night before that it might happen.
Son Miller and his wife Shae had jumped in their car and made the two-hour drive to Bryan on Sunday afternoon when I called to tell them that Mamaw’s failing health had taken a sharp turn for the worse. They were able to spend about three hours with her that evening, which meant a great deal to me. Miller and his Mamaw were definitely peas in a pod, partners in crime. They adored each other with full knowledge of the quirks and imperfections on both sides.
When Miller and Shae left the critical care unit at St. Joe’s, he called me to say, “Mom, she won’t make it through the night.” I asked if he felt that really strongly. He said, “I told her I had to work Monday but that I’d be back on Tuesday. She said, ‘Honey, I won’t be here.’” She knew.
We got the call that Mama’s condition had worsened a little after 1 p.m. on the Sunday afternoon before she passed. It’s a six-hour trip from here to there on any given day, and it’s not an easy thing to pack for two adults and a small child on short notice while also dealing with a dog and two cats. We have fantastic neighbors who quickly agreed to see to our pets, but Scott and I had to square away some things at work first thing Monday morning. Or so we thought.
If we had managed to leave late Sunday afternoon, we would have made much of the trip in the dark. Neither Scott nor I do very well driving at night, which would have made such a trip somewhat unsafe. If only we had known sooner. I’ll always want that one last visit.
My mother and I didn’t always get along because we were near polar opposites in our interests, our opinions, our views on life in general. I try my best to be upbeat, while she saw and often pointed out the negative in every situation. Our relationship was sometimes difficult for both of us, but the love was always there.
When Mama moved to College Station in 1999, it was to stay. She intended to be in her little house for the rest of her life, and she almost made it. She loved her house and yard. She loved her neighbors. She loved the grocery stores. She loved the restaurants. She loved her doctors. She tried to like the assisted living facility where she spent most of her last year, but it wasn’t home.
Before we moved back to Magnolia, Mama and I spent nearly every Saturday — when I wasn’t working or tied up with the kids’ activities — roaming the aisles of T.J. Maxx, Hobby Lobby, Tuesday Morning, World Market, Pier 1. Knowing how I loved to decorate, she was always on the lookout for something to add to my collection. She often tried to buy things for me, and sometimes I let her. I spent a lot of time making/taking food to her and great-Aunt Marie (before she passed in 2006) and that was her way of trying to pay me back, as if there were any need for that.
The graveside service for Mama was a week ago Saturday in El Dorado, when her surviving brother, nieces, nephews, cousins, and the rest of us said our goodbyes. Several of her former co-workers and friends were in attendance. Quite a few of my relatives from Daddy’s side of the family were there, even though she and Daddy had been divorced since 1967. Everyone spoke fondly of her and there was far more laughter than there were tears. She would have loved that.
I rest assured now that Mama is pain-free and sees things in a positive, heavenly light. If heaven is anything like I imagine, she is having a party with the multitude of cherished family members and friends who went before her. I can almost hear the merriment from that crew. That’s a comfort.