The Death of Parents

So much that's so critical, so instant in our lives, fades to insignificance over the generations. I wasn't close to either of my grandmothers and rarely think about them. My paternal grandfather died before I was born, and my Mom's Dad is a very vague memory to me. So maybe we have to keep the memories of our own parents fresh, at least for the first generation. What is a person who doesn't understand where he came from? Mom died two years ago today. My Dad's death, 31 years before, was so much more dramatic and tragic for me. Mom slipped away gradually, and peacefully, starting 2 weeks before, at her 93rd birthday party. She was out of it -- raising a cup and wishing all a "Happy Anniversary." I had a strong sense the end was coming. Mirta, the sister sent from another mother to our family, grew to love Sunny so. She learned so much about life from her. I went home to rest after a long day at Mom's bedside, where I had given the go ahead for hospice. They were to start the morphine to ease her suffering, and, I knew, hasten the end. Mirta stood vigil through that last night -- making sure the less than dedicated staff of Haitian and Jamaican nurses did what they were supposed to do. Mom got her morphine. Mirta slept a little at a chair by her bedside. Mirta called me very early, and made sure I was coming in. Of course I was, and so Mirta left. As I was getting gas at the station next to MJH, I got a call from the staff. Mom had passed. I was over there in minutes, and she was so peaceful. They had hastily cleaned up as quickly as they could, but the room still stank, even through the heavy spray disinfectants they liberally used. I called Mirta first, and she cried over the phone. Coincidentally, Dr. Barry was coming to visit, and he called from the parking lot. I think I made a black humor joke -- NOW he was visiting??? Wifey and her friend Edna were coincidentally there, too, and Wifey fetched her Dad and was walking him to see my Mom. As usual, Wifey ignored her cell phone, as I tried to warn her away. Instead, I jumped to the hall and started waving, lest my father in law be shocked. Barry arrived, and we all stood vigil until the man from the funeral home came, wrapped Mom up in a blue velvet shroud, and wheeled her away. Last Friday, Wifey, D1, and I paid a shiva call -- D1's friend's grandmother had died, at 90. I spoke to her oldest son Frank, who lived with her, and extended condolences. I told him my mom had died two years earlier, and I felt for him. Frank, who never married, and has no kids, asked me how I dealt with the loss. I explained that the death was coming, Mom was 93, etc...And then he looked over at Wifey, and D1, and said "Oh -- that's right -- you have a whole family, a whole life." It was one of the saddest things I had heard. This poor fellow had lost his Mom, who was all to him... So I figure I have to keep the story fresh, and the memories of Mom bright. I'll head over to Matheson Hammock later, on my way home from the office, and look out upon the Bay and ocean, and talk to Dad and Mom, and thank them for who they were, and all they gave to their family. The new cliche is that it's all about the dash, as in 1920-2013 -- what filled the years between birth and death. In Sunny'c case, it was laughter, and love, and giving. I'm so thankful for that.