Wednesday, January 18, 2006

 

...on Mothers

Last eve, during American Idol, I received a phone call. Within a few minutes I was out the door and on my way to another town an hour away. My good friend's mother had had a heart attack and was most likely not going to survive. She did not.

Pat was a mother and a wife. You know, the old-fashioned kind that worked in the home. She raised a tightly-knit family. She worked at her son's store when it was necessary, she worked on many different projects as needed. But she was a homemaker. She made that home. What higher praise could there be? My last visit with her was this last Sunday night after a family dinner (in which I was always welcome). She kissed me goodnight and told me to drive safely. I like that being the last moment with her. It suits her and her life and all she stood for.

Pat had died thirty years ago. Heart attack and death, shocked back to life. They shocked her poor heart far beyond what was considered normal. Her doctor refused to let her go. She was shocked so much her chest was burned. But she came back. She wasn't supposed to live out the year. She lived thirty more years. She lived on 2/3 rds or less of her damaged heart and battled congestive heart failure the entire time. Her family watched her like hawks and treasured her. Pat, for her part, refused to be coddled and cooked, cleaned, worried, worked, raised two children and ran the household, finally getting to hold her first (and thus far) only grandchild.

She passed last evening and everyone she knew mourns her loss. But perhaps even more special, they celebrate the miracle of thirty years. That's 10,950 more days that were cherished by her family.

I personally only knew her for the past 9 years. And am grateful for every last one of them.

Perhaps that should be the lesson. My mother irritates me. She nags and loves and nags some more. Perhaps since I have not had that close brush with losing her I have not treasured her as I ought. I love my mother and am grateful for each and every day that she is around to bug me about being unmarried. Really.

Pat, you were and are ... loved.

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