My Mother turns 80 this month. In all candor I, along with other members of her family, didn't think she would see her 80th birthday, so tied was she to my father and his well being up until the day he passed away little less than a year and a half ago. Yet she has shown a resiliency of spirit that grows stronger with each passing day. Still, I am beginning to see more telling signs that she is beginning to embrace the inevitable day of her approaching demise...
First I received a package from Mom that contained articles of clothing that my father had worn and she had determined were "too good to donate to charity." "Perhaps you could make better use of them," she implored. "Sure Mom," was my half-hearted reply, knowing in my heart-of-hearts that none of the clothing items would ever find their way into my wardrobe. Going through each piece did serve to invoke melancholy memories of remembering Dad in his final days, consumed in the unassuming world of Alzheimer's, sitting in his favorite chair reading the newspaper that never turned from the front page. Among the items was a small felt covered box containing several sets of cuff links and tie claps, favorites of my Father, but again jewelry accessories that will never become personal adornments. For now they will remain secure in their container, to serve as yet additional signature mementos of my Father.
Next came a phone call this past Tuesday evening wherein Mom announced, with some self-assuring pride, that she had taken care of all her "funeral arrangements, so I and my brother don't have to worry." "I didn't know that was something I was losing sleep over, Mom. Have you set a date for this event? Is it something I should put on my calendar?" "Don't be a smart ass!!" was her tangy reply. (She's still feisty at 80!) She went on to provide full details on how her funeral was to be identical to that of my Father's, right down to where the flowers would be placed and in what type of vases they would be displayed. "It's all bought and paid for so that when I go all you and your brother have to do is show up." "Don't you think you're making a rather large assumption that I'll show up?" "You are an ass...you know that?" We both laughed.
My Mom is no more ready to cash in her chips than is a new born infant. If she had a choice she'd go kicking and screaming, so much does she embrace life in spite of her many physical ailments that are slowly and steadily robbing her of her vitality. Making final funeral preparations for Mom is no different than making out her grocery list of her favorite stables; bread, mike, bananas and cantaloupe, "if they are in season." Judi's Mom, on the other hand at 87, has already given up any desire to live another day. She called last night at 12:30 p.m. to inform Judi that she was to "immediately cancel her appointment with the doctor...that she was not going to any more doctor's appointments, not going to take her medications...that her neighbors would take care of her...that we don't care about her...and she just wants to die!" She previously wrote a note to that effect. Judi is taking it to show the psychiatrist, with whom her Mother was to meet with today, just so we get it on the record that this woman is totally and completely without the desire or will to live another day. What a contrast. My Mom is fighting for every day of life and losing the physical capibilities to do so. Judi's Mom suffers from no debilitating physical ailments and had decided selfishly to just give up. There is no justice in old age.
I will miss my Mom when she goe on to be with my Father. She is a fighter. I honor that type of life. I will no doubt be asked to present an eulogy to her, as I did my Father. I will be honored to do so. I will stand proudly before the assembled friends and family and laud my Mother's life...wearing a set of my Father's cuff links and one of his favorite tie clasp. That I promise.
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