Imagine being the kid of a woman who was born 102 years ago today! Mom stopped getting any older, though, 14 years ago. Happy Birthday, Mom. Thanks, Mom! So much for me ever having an excuse to go shopping again. She always sent me home with big bags of stuff I didn’t want, including gadgets I’d never use and treats I didn’t like. But as soon as she died, everything in her apartment became sacred.
Very nice. Reminds me of a poem by Edna Vincent St Millay that I had quoted from at the celebration of life for my own mother -- Gawd rest her soul, died some 15 years ago today if I'm not mistaken.
My mother was the definition of "complex personality." She was a relentless natural archivist, too, and occasionally, even after nearly a decade and a half later, I still find her little handwritten notes on things. She even annotated a now-parchment-like receipt for an ironing board cover.
She had a beautiful handwriting and her signature was so elegant that we had it laser-copied onto her headstone to mark her name. One of the saddest things I saw after she died was the deterioration of her writing in her checkbook in the last few months of her life. It was purely the physical deterioration the doctors had inflicted on her.
👍🙂 Brought a tear to my eyes, a smile to my lips, and a memory or two to mind. 🙂
I remember my own mother, a pharmacist by trade -- one of the first to graduate from the University of Alberta -- had worn a baseball hat at her 65th birthday party that said, "Drugs saved my life" 😉🙂.
And she was something of a similar archivist -- my ex, who I've remained good friends with over some 40 years, was amused how mother had annotated virtually every day in the calendar. And I'm grateful that part of her legacy was a collection of letters, curated I'm sure, to my father and from others in the family.
My mother had to choose a commercial program in HS though she had the intelligence for an academic path; her family really needed her to begin earning as soon as possible. For that matter, her mother had attended gymnasia in Ukraine, even as a Jewish girl, because her religiously-observant father was modern enough to support a secular education for women. Pogroms cut that short.
On both sides of my family the thwarting of the capacities of the female line, by fate or otherwise, was a familiar misfortune.
Thank you for sharing such a wonderful story. I am the daughter of a 102 y.o. mom as well, she passed in 2010. She came from another age and taught me things like this; never wear white after Labor Day. I'm 69 y.o. and still can't wear white after Labor Day even though not many people know that any more.
My mother's great-grandfather had ten children and most of them immigrated to America, so the section of the cemetery my mom is buried in is full of our own family history, and it was startling to realize that the woman for whom I was named was born in the 1860s. And there's no one related to my mother now who lives in NY, so she shall be the last of us to be there. At least I know she's with her mom and stepfather and uncle and a bunch of cousins, and imagine how much I regret I didn't ask them, when it was possible to get answers, everything I wish I knew now.
What a lovely tribute to your dear mother! I can relate with your feelings. I took a leave of absence from my job and stayed with my Father and Mother for five weeks after she was ready to be on Hospice. She wanted to die in the privacy of her home. I slept on the floor next to her bedside some nights when she was not doing well. She was a trooper and told me that she had lived long enough even though she was 64 years old she was tired and ready to leave and go into eternity. I do have a piece of furniture from her life. She has six children so we each picked items that were precious memories.
Because of Medicare rules, we couldn't let Mom go home because even a brief detour between the hospital and the rehab institution would've invalidated further coverage. We'd've been glad to pay out of pocket from her resources for round-the-clock care but we had no way of knowing how long that might be needed, and neither my brother nor I had sufficient resources of our own to pay for extended care directly.
She wasn't dying of an illness but of medical idiocies and failures, and up until the very end they were suggesting she might not actually die. We did everything we could to save her; her health insurance that was part of her retirement benefits included access to a health advocate who worked with us very sincerely, but between the three of us it was a futile struggle against modern medical stupidity.
My mother and I had a very difficult relationship but (or maybe because of), the worst year of my life was the 12 months after she died.
Modern medical stupidity is the truth. My mother had cancer and she suffered more from the chemicals in the so called cure. She knew the drill as she had been a microbiologist and worked with the Pathologist in her local hospital. She told us many times that most of the MDs were ignorant about many things and knew which ones to avoid due to their malpractices. You are so right about the months after a mothers death. I tried antidepressants but discovered they were worth less and just made the grieving process more difficult with the side effects. She's been gone now for several decades and I still miss her as I know you still miss your beloved mother as well.
I am so sorry for the suffering both of you endured.
That year afterwards was one strange journey. I woke in pain and went to bed in pain every day, and kept asking "why?" endlessly because the degree of suffering had been so appalling. Sometimes my mother would show up in my dreams, wearing a shabby old bathrobe and looking at me extremely accusingly.
And then one day I woke up and started going through my day and eventually realized that what was different was that the pain had stopped. And then I remembered the dream I'd had that night. Mom was a cheery receptionist in a sort of fancy hotel of the type you might encounter in the Swiss Alps.
And I realized she'd gotten over being mad that she was dead and was finally ready to move on. This was the May following her death the previous May.
In the last few years of her life before when the doctors starting killing her, we had few safe topics of conversation so we mostly talked about neutral subjects like soap operas.
So when Jeanne Cooper died, it felt so wrong I couldn't call Mom and talk about Katherine Chancellor and how she and Jill had that final scene together filmed only a couple of weeks before Jeanne Cooper died.
I had no choice. I had to discuss it with my son, who spent many early days at Grandma's and knew all of these characters.
And I never watch those shows anymore. There ain't no point, really.
It's amazing what we remember and the dreams that we have. My father remarried quickly afer my mother's death and I was in a state of shock when I went to visit him a few months later. His woman friend that I didn't know about was there and they announced that they were getting married. I was shocked but glad for them. That night my mother visited me even though I didn't see her she she woke me up and telepathically told me she was ok about my fathers remarriage as he had been blind for years and he needed a companion. They spent 20 years together and died within months of each other. Life is a constant surprise, I'm thinking.
I'm one of those people who dream even during a brief nap, but over these many decades I've had enough "true dreams" to recognize the difference in mood, and I'd say you had one of those.
Even sticking to the laws of physics we know energy can't be destroyed so that electrical energy that animates our bodies and makes us alive and not dead has to go somewhere. I think some of us have better calibration of that radio receiver in our heads, or maybe just pay more attention to it.
It's good to know that it worked out well for everyone and that you were able to be comforted and reassured by your mom during what must have been a very painful time and period of adjustment.
I cared for my parents for the past 10 years. Mom went to Heaven in 2016, Dad joined her this past June (2023)
It was a treasured time indeed. My house looks like a... storage facility.
I have thought about wrapping some things up and giving them as gifts. I am sure my son in law would love a hanging tile from Tripoli, just a painting of three or four natives. When packing up the things, we "renamed" some of the treasures. This was one we called The Drug Deal"
I do not think it will be appreciated. Maybe I will give him a copper engraved plate to hang in his office.
After I moved up here in 2013, I got Mom's stuff out of storage and now my place looks like The Museum of Mrs. Levine. Fortunately most of the furniture is both tasteful and of the quality you can't buy anywhere these days. I've had to add some padding and a stretch-to-fit cover to the un-comfy club chair which obviously I can never get rid of. It is so much a part of my childhood, and I've now improved the sitting experience.
We really don't get used to being parentless kids, do we? No matter how we felt about the parents.
SCA, I’m sorry I didn’t see this earlier! This is so lovely and tender and so reminiscent of my last few moths with my Mother. She died in May 2000 after heralding in the Millennium as only she could with her vivacious charm! I went through the same elimination process as you, but have two sisters, my daughter and nieces to share her many probably never to see the light of day treasures. I kept the last Lanz flannel nightgown I gifted her. It’s been hermetically sealed in a plastic bin with a few scarves and Swiss handkerchiefs she collected... I dragged it out recently for a video skit and was sad to find it no longer smelled like her. Thanks for such a lovely reminder.
I was never gonna wear those nightgowns and dressing gowns and bathrobes myself, but just in time I realized I could use them as garment covers in my closets. The shorty housecoats too.
Those were great for jackets. What a relief! I didn't have to dump them!
I have the 1940s elegant boy-leg swimsuit too. I think I put extra hangers in it so it's got its purpose hanging there on the rack.
Very nice. Reminds me of a poem by Edna Vincent St Millay that I had quoted from at the celebration of life for my own mother -- Gawd rest her soul, died some 15 years ago today if I'm not mistaken.
Millay: "Stranger pause and look
From the dust of ages,
Lift this little book
Turn its battered pages;
Read me, do not let me die;
Search the fading letters, finding
Steadfast in the broken binding
All that once was I!"
I'm glad you enjoyed this.
My mother was the definition of "complex personality." She was a relentless natural archivist, too, and occasionally, even after nearly a decade and a half later, I still find her little handwritten notes on things. She even annotated a now-parchment-like receipt for an ironing board cover.
She had a beautiful handwriting and her signature was so elegant that we had it laser-copied onto her headstone to mark her name. One of the saddest things I saw after she died was the deterioration of her writing in her checkbook in the last few months of her life. It was purely the physical deterioration the doctors had inflicted on her.
👍🙂 Brought a tear to my eyes, a smile to my lips, and a memory or two to mind. 🙂
I remember my own mother, a pharmacist by trade -- one of the first to graduate from the University of Alberta -- had worn a baseball hat at her 65th birthday party that said, "Drugs saved my life" 😉🙂.
And she was something of a similar archivist -- my ex, who I've remained good friends with over some 40 years, was amused how mother had annotated virtually every day in the calendar. And I'm grateful that part of her legacy was a collection of letters, curated I'm sure, to my father and from others in the family.
My mother had to choose a commercial program in HS though she had the intelligence for an academic path; her family really needed her to begin earning as soon as possible. For that matter, her mother had attended gymnasia in Ukraine, even as a Jewish girl, because her religiously-observant father was modern enough to support a secular education for women. Pogroms cut that short.
On both sides of my family the thwarting of the capacities of the female line, by fate or otherwise, was a familiar misfortune.
What a beautiful memory to share.
Thank you, Bill.
Thank you for sharing such a wonderful story. I am the daughter of a 102 y.o. mom as well, she passed in 2010. She came from another age and taught me things like this; never wear white after Labor Day. I'm 69 y.o. and still can't wear white after Labor Day even though not many people know that any more.
Really glad you enjoyed it.
My mother's great-grandfather had ten children and most of them immigrated to America, so the section of the cemetery my mom is buried in is full of our own family history, and it was startling to realize that the woman for whom I was named was born in the 1860s. And there's no one related to my mother now who lives in NY, so she shall be the last of us to be there. At least I know she's with her mom and stepfather and uncle and a bunch of cousins, and imagine how much I regret I didn't ask them, when it was possible to get answers, everything I wish I knew now.
What a lovely tribute to your dear mother! I can relate with your feelings. I took a leave of absence from my job and stayed with my Father and Mother for five weeks after she was ready to be on Hospice. She wanted to die in the privacy of her home. I slept on the floor next to her bedside some nights when she was not doing well. She was a trooper and told me that she had lived long enough even though she was 64 years old she was tired and ready to leave and go into eternity. I do have a piece of furniture from her life. She has six children so we each picked items that were precious memories.
I'm glad you liked this.
Because of Medicare rules, we couldn't let Mom go home because even a brief detour between the hospital and the rehab institution would've invalidated further coverage. We'd've been glad to pay out of pocket from her resources for round-the-clock care but we had no way of knowing how long that might be needed, and neither my brother nor I had sufficient resources of our own to pay for extended care directly.
She wasn't dying of an illness but of medical idiocies and failures, and up until the very end they were suggesting she might not actually die. We did everything we could to save her; her health insurance that was part of her retirement benefits included access to a health advocate who worked with us very sincerely, but between the three of us it was a futile struggle against modern medical stupidity.
My mother and I had a very difficult relationship but (or maybe because of), the worst year of my life was the 12 months after she died.
Modern medical stupidity is the truth. My mother had cancer and she suffered more from the chemicals in the so called cure. She knew the drill as she had been a microbiologist and worked with the Pathologist in her local hospital. She told us many times that most of the MDs were ignorant about many things and knew which ones to avoid due to their malpractices. You are so right about the months after a mothers death. I tried antidepressants but discovered they were worth less and just made the grieving process more difficult with the side effects. She's been gone now for several decades and I still miss her as I know you still miss your beloved mother as well.
I am so sorry for the suffering both of you endured.
That year afterwards was one strange journey. I woke in pain and went to bed in pain every day, and kept asking "why?" endlessly because the degree of suffering had been so appalling. Sometimes my mother would show up in my dreams, wearing a shabby old bathrobe and looking at me extremely accusingly.
And then one day I woke up and started going through my day and eventually realized that what was different was that the pain had stopped. And then I remembered the dream I'd had that night. Mom was a cheery receptionist in a sort of fancy hotel of the type you might encounter in the Swiss Alps.
And I realized she'd gotten over being mad that she was dead and was finally ready to move on. This was the May following her death the previous May.
In the last few years of her life before when the doctors starting killing her, we had few safe topics of conversation so we mostly talked about neutral subjects like soap operas.
So when Jeanne Cooper died, it felt so wrong I couldn't call Mom and talk about Katherine Chancellor and how she and Jill had that final scene together filmed only a couple of weeks before Jeanne Cooper died.
I had no choice. I had to discuss it with my son, who spent many early days at Grandma's and knew all of these characters.
And I never watch those shows anymore. There ain't no point, really.
It's amazing what we remember and the dreams that we have. My father remarried quickly afer my mother's death and I was in a state of shock when I went to visit him a few months later. His woman friend that I didn't know about was there and they announced that they were getting married. I was shocked but glad for them. That night my mother visited me even though I didn't see her she she woke me up and telepathically told me she was ok about my fathers remarriage as he had been blind for years and he needed a companion. They spent 20 years together and died within months of each other. Life is a constant surprise, I'm thinking.
I'm one of those people who dream even during a brief nap, but over these many decades I've had enough "true dreams" to recognize the difference in mood, and I'd say you had one of those.
Even sticking to the laws of physics we know energy can't be destroyed so that electrical energy that animates our bodies and makes us alive and not dead has to go somewhere. I think some of us have better calibration of that radio receiver in our heads, or maybe just pay more attention to it.
It's good to know that it worked out well for everyone and that you were able to be comforted and reassured by your mom during what must have been a very painful time and period of adjustment.
Thanks for a nice chat about life's tribulations and the survival of our souls in spite of it all.
Oh, and my parents traveled the world all of my life, mostly for my dad's job.
For Christmas I usually received broken things. A very nice cuckoo clock that needs something
and several souveniers from around the world that needed gluing
Beautiful story.
I cared for my parents for the past 10 years. Mom went to Heaven in 2016, Dad joined her this past June (2023)
It was a treasured time indeed. My house looks like a... storage facility.
I have thought about wrapping some things up and giving them as gifts. I am sure my son in law would love a hanging tile from Tripoli, just a painting of three or four natives. When packing up the things, we "renamed" some of the treasures. This was one we called The Drug Deal"
I do not think it will be appreciated. Maybe I will give him a copper engraved plate to hang in his office.
I'm glad you liked this.
After I moved up here in 2013, I got Mom's stuff out of storage and now my place looks like The Museum of Mrs. Levine. Fortunately most of the furniture is both tasteful and of the quality you can't buy anywhere these days. I've had to add some padding and a stretch-to-fit cover to the un-comfy club chair which obviously I can never get rid of. It is so much a part of my childhood, and I've now improved the sitting experience.
We really don't get used to being parentless kids, do we? No matter how we felt about the parents.
Beautiful
Thank you.
Beautiful piece.
Thank you.
SCA, I’m sorry I didn’t see this earlier! This is so lovely and tender and so reminiscent of my last few moths with my Mother. She died in May 2000 after heralding in the Millennium as only she could with her vivacious charm! I went through the same elimination process as you, but have two sisters, my daughter and nieces to share her many probably never to see the light of day treasures. I kept the last Lanz flannel nightgown I gifted her. It’s been hermetically sealed in a plastic bin with a few scarves and Swiss handkerchiefs she collected... I dragged it out recently for a video skit and was sad to find it no longer smelled like her. Thanks for such a lovely reminder.
So glad you liked this.
I was never gonna wear those nightgowns and dressing gowns and bathrobes myself, but just in time I realized I could use them as garment covers in my closets. The shorty housecoats too.
Those were great for jackets. What a relief! I didn't have to dump them!
I have the 1940s elegant boy-leg swimsuit too. I think I put extra hangers in it so it's got its purpose hanging there on the rack.