Mom’s Page

Mom was proud of George’s Emmy. At her 91st birthday, here’s her explanation of that event:
Vi Explains George’s Emmy

Mom’s Last Story Re-visited (7/27/12)

When Mom was sick she decided she wanted to make a video, privately. I had to promise not to watch it before she died. I promised. I set everything up for her. All she had to do was sit in her recliner and press the record button on the camcorder remote. She assured me that she understood how to do it, even making a demo. I put in a fresh tape and all was set. She decided she needed a script, and set to writing one by hand, as it took too much energy to use the computer. I left her alone to “do her thing.” She told me the video would be “Short and sweet,” as she had only written three pages. When she died, and I gathered enough strength, I turned on the camcorder. To my great dismay, yet not really shocked, the tape was blank. In a daze, I began searching for her “script.” I did find a numbered page 3, but had no success finding pages 1 and 2. As we had joked about how she could start her tape, I improvised, adding one sentence to her page 3, and used it as her eulogy.(the final paragraph in this revised story) Today, 7/27/12, her birthday, as I was throwing out some of her old papers, I unexpectedly found pages 1 and 2. My added sentence was close, in thought, to her original. Now her last story is complete.

Hi,
Thought you were rid of me- didn’t you. Well, I’m not quite ready to let go – yet.

First I want to thank all of you for coming here today. While I know that you are sad, I also know that you will gather strength and love from each other and really know that life goes on for each and every one of you, and you will, each of you, live it to the fullest.

Let me tell you a story. In March of 2010 I was taken to Sunrise Hospital because I was having difficulty breathing. The first thing I heard when I got there was a voice asking if I wanted a feeding tube. “No.” I responded, “I want a breathing tube.” Three times they asked. Three times I responded. And, finally, they asked whether I knew that if I lived I might be on a respirator for the rest of my life. I responded, “Yes.”

What they didn’t know was that when the breathing tube question was first asked, my daughter’s face flashed in front of me. And, I knew I couldn’t leave. Her Larry was very ill and I needed to help my Suzi as much as I could. Larry died in June, 2010, and I was there for Sue. For the year that followed I saw Sue fight through her fear, her pain, her loneliness. I saw Jeff, my wonderful grandson, step up to the plate, take a big swing at life and grow up to become a pillar of strength and support for his mom. When the “yahrtzeit” came, I said nothing to Sue – but didn’t need to – “I’m O.K. now, Mom,” she said. The year had passed and now life could go on.

My illness was diagnosed on July 29th – two days after my 91st birthday. Sue and I listened to the doctor describe my illness as terminal. We sat together as Dr. Allen left the room quietly. Finally we stood up to leave and I said to Sue – “You’re going to take me gambling.” We burst into laughter and left. The nurse and doctor heard the laughter – thought we were becoming hysterical and were coming to calm us – as we left, we explained – we hugged and kissed and left.

(Suzi, you thought you were rid of me, but I’m baaack.) I have talked about how lucky we were that we had a “heads up” and time to talk and plan and just be together. While none of us really want to die – at least I knew that my death would not be a terrible one. I was reassured that all steps would be taken to keep me comfortable until I fell asleep. What else could I want. God gave me the time to be with my Suzi when she needed me – now it is my time to go because I leave behind a healed daughter – with her wonderful grandchildren and her most incredible son. What more can I ask. I’ve led a good, long life. I’ve had the blessing of a great family and unbelievably good friends. Now I’m going to be with those who left me behind: my mother, father, brother, sister, husband and son. Bye-bye. I love you all and I want you to know – “I’ve got your back!” Hey – sometime ask Suzi about the Little Red Truck.

Before passing away, Mom got her wish. Her family, my cousins, her friends, sent cards, called, skyped, and came to visit her at home. Her friends, from Las Vegas, too old and sickly to visit, called and wished her well, as did her New York friends. so far away. There were many wonderful conversations about her friendships and adventures. There were lots of stories, laughs and even a few tears. While nearing the end of her life’s journey, the warmth, the love, the compassion shared was unbelievably heart-warming. For that reason, it was a wonderful time in her life. She was happy.

At her funeral, again, her family surrounded her. I tried to give a fitting eulogy. I had written things I’d wanted to say.  I had written a poem I wanted to read. But, I only managed to cry my way through “her” last written words. I was too heartbroken to speak my own words. I left the rest up to Jeff, who did a wonderful job, and was able to speak from the heart. When the service and the burial were completed, amongst other things, I was presented with a candle. What a trade – a candle for a mother!

 The Trade: A Candle for A Mother

 The tall, blue, candle, brought home after the funeral service, stood alone in the center of my kitchen counter. It’s flickering, illuminated the darkened kitchen, dining room and nearby hallway, while acting as a guiding light in the dark of night. Although a reminder that Mom was no longer physically alive, it showed her love, her warmth, and glowing spirit were still here.  I’d enter the room, and view the dancing light, smile and say, “Hi, Mom,” and talk about my day… all the things I so wanted to share with her. I’d grasp that glass, feel it’s warmth, and think about how she comforted me and lit up my life. I felt content. Though forced to face reality, and deal with all its issues, and forests worth of paperwork, at the end of the day, that flickering, glowing candle was a comfort. To me, the candle was just a symbol of my mother’s unending love, devotion, and warmth. It was as vivacious, strong-willed, and had a love of life. as did she. Today, a week after its lighting, a week after Mom’s burial, a week after missing hearing my mother’s voice, the candle slowly stopped burning. The light was gone! I grabbed that now darkened glass, and held it so tightly to my chest, still clinging to the warmth of its final flame, not wanting it to cool. But, cool it did, and soon was cold. As with her life, that was beyond my control. Although she shall always be a part of me, and forever in my heart, her spirit, like the flickering candle, is now just a memory. My brain can rationalize, but my heart is broken. Once again I feel that unbelievable loss, that awful pain, so deep and so final. Once again I cry…for my mother.

My Poem to My Mother – written for her and shared with her, so many years ago, yet still so true.

The Sunflower

When the sun is shining,
you see its glow,
enjoy its warmth,
and feel its nurturing.

The sunflower brings beauty into the world,
as it stands proud and tall,
soaring high above the others,
unselfishly offering, for all to share,
its many seeds, hopes and promises,
of new things to come,
yet still unrealized.
When finally it fades away,
the seeds sprout anew,
and the cycle continues.

You are my sunflower.
I see your glow,
enjoy your warmth,
feel your nurturing,
as you stand tall before me,
striving to attain greater heights,
offering seeds of encouragement,
for the future.
Although sometimes rained upon,
and sometimes stepped upon,
and feeling wilted,
your seeds will continue to live on,
sprouting new hopes and dreams.

The world would be a more beautiful place,
if there were more sunflowers.

Thank you for being mine!

Your loving daughter, Suzi

Mom’s last story.  This was supposed to be part of a video Mom wanted to create, but her time and energy ran out. Instead, I used it as her eulogy. What an incredible and inspirational woman she was.

Suzi, you thought you were rid of me, but I’m baaack.  I have talked about how lucky we were that we had a “heads up” and time to talk and plan and just be together. While none of us really want to die – at least I knew that my death would not be a terrible one. I was reassured that all steps would be taken to keep me comfortable until I fell asleep. What else could I want. God gave me the time to be with my Suzi when she needed me – now it is my time to go because I leave behind a healed daughter – with her wonderful grandchildren and her most incredible son. What more can I ask. I’ve led a good, long life. I’ve had the blessing of a great family and unbelievably good friends. Now I’m going to be with those who left me behind: my mother, father, brother, sister, husband and son. Bye-bye. I love you all and I want you to know – “I’ve got your back!” Hey – sometime ask Suzi about the Little Red Truck.