Three days before Mother’s Day, Becky’s 92 year old Mom died peacefully. Right til the end she lived in her own home. No nursing home, no extended stay in the hospital, no pain. She lived the dream.
Our sister-in-law Becky had moved to Maine some year and a half ago to be near her, living in the condo just above her mom in Portland. They had plays, concerts, meals, and Sundays together.
Today in Portland the family and many friends gather to celebrate her life.
Of course, Gamma’s passing got me thinking of our mom. (Using my mom feels too personally possessive and proprietary, like I am claiming someone that I rightfully share with my brother Richard and sister Patty.) Mom turned 92 early this month. She, too, lives independently, in a complex for 2000 seniors. At any one time, she may be enrolled in 20 Elder Hostel courses or having friends to her apartment. Each evening, she has dinner with friends and a movie out if she wants. She’s just so upbeat and interested in others that people love to be around her. And Mamoo loves time with her great grandson.
She has had her physical challenges. Who hasn’t?
Two questions guide me as I think about Mom and any medical issues that lie ahead.
What does Mom want?
What would her doctor do if she were her 92 year old mother?
She decides her final act. Our job is to listen.
I’m in your corner, and I can’t say it too much, I love you Mom.