IN MY LIFE-MEMORIES OF MOM

Today is the 4th anniversary of my mom's passing. These are some of the memories of my dear mom...

The bond between a mother and a child with special needs is unique and enduring, that's the kind of relationship I had with my mom. She was there for me always, especially when I was sick as a kid. She and my dad sacrificed so much. Most of all, she loved me a great deal, right up until her death four years ago today.

No one had more faith then mom. She went to church every Sunday, but often more than that in a week. She never missed church, no matter what, and often went to Christmas Eve mass, then for good measure, attended Christmas Day services, even though going on Christmas Eve met her obligation. Same around Easter. Holy Thursday, Good Friday, even the long, two-hour ceremony on Holy Saturday, mom was there.

That extraordinary faith is what got her through so many tough times, like when my dad died at age 55. Mom never remarried, saying dad could never be replaced. I know times had to be lonely for her after that, but she was so strong in her faith and in her convictions. She truly was the Rock of the family in so many ways.

Bingo also kept her busy. She didn't drink, didn't smoke , didn't "go to clubs" as she put it. So, Bingo was her fun, her night-out with friends and her passion.

She didn't win much, just enough to keep her going. She and my Aunt Sue ventured to every bingo spot in the Phoenixville area and beyond, even driving down to Philly once or twice a week, to try for big jackpots at Roman Catholic Bingo at Broad and Vine streets.

Mom was so good at the game, she used markers ( or chips) but she would lay out her cards in a precise manner, and she would instantaneously scan 40 cards or so in seconds before the next number was called.

If they had a Professional Bingo league, mom would've been Commissioner.

Mom earned her license as a practical nurse. She had dreams of getting her RN, but that was put on hold when I came along.As fate would have it, her nursing proved to be a valuable tool in my health care. So, she didn't work professionally after I was born, but her skills and compassion paid off with me and the rest of her family.

Food was associated with mom Big family, spaghetti dinners every Sunday. Thanksgivings with the turkey simmering over night. Easters with the ethnic Slovak food, dishes like filled cabbage and homemade cookies, and nut and poppy seed rolls. Mom was an excellent cook, between my dad's Italian heritage and her Eastern European background, we had the best of both worlds when it came to food.

Mom was a kindly, funny, short (barely 5 feet) smiling lady. Most people described her then and now as kind. I never knew a sweeter lady- ok, maybe I'm biased, but when others said the same thing- even before she died, that's good enough for me.

Mom's kindness was never more evident than in the fact she visited so many  sick people in the hospital. If she couldn't get there, she always sent a get well card. Or she would make a tray of cookie or a pot of soup.. Or take them a small bottle of Lourdes holy water. She had to do something to comfort the sick and dying. That was mom.

Mom lived to be 93. One of the things that happens when you live so long is that all your friends die away. She was going to a funeral every week there near the end. It had to be a sad, odd feeling, to see all of your friends, and some family, fade away before you do.

That's how life is, she would say. From generation to generation.

Mom would attend so many funerals over the years, they joked with her that when she dies, the whole town of Phoenixville would show up at her wake. The funeral director know the exact seat she was in during every viewing. She could give you an honest critique of the food at each reception afterwards. (" The beef was all right, but the chicken was over-done...").

She loved her garden too. "Don't forget to water my plants," she would remind me when I visited her each day at the nursing home, where she spent the last few years of her life. I was a social worker there, so I got to spend my lunch with her, as well as pop onto her unit to see her before I went home, or to give her encouragement during their weekly Bingo games in the day room. It had to be ironic- once she played for jackpots of thousands of dollars- now she played to win a banana- but it was good, competitive fun, and the residents, including mom, played to win.

She would be proud of my garden now. After she died, the place was lifeless, brown and dry. I slowly  added flowers and plants to both the inside and outside of the house, a touch of color and life that was sadly needed.

I love sports. Mom didn't (unless you could call Bingo a  "sport"), but she knew how much I enjoyed sports,especially the Phillies, so she would watch too in her favorite chair in the living room, really not understanding who had made a "touchdown" for the Phils, but listening to the ballgame as she crocheted.

She was really good at crocheting, making things over the years like baby booties, to bigger, more complex items such as table clothes and christening blankets. She gave them all away as gifts.

This practice continued even at the nursing home. Once a week she loved to attend the Craft Room, where she would string beads to give away to family, friends, or even her nurses'a ides who helped to take care of her.

She wanted to be home so bad. But at the end she needed care that I couldn't give her. She would visit Sunday afternoons and we would have lunch together. She would slowly walk around her beloved home during her stay with her sturdy walker, making sure everything was in place, readjusting the curtains if they weren't perfectly to her liking.

Then she would go back. She loved our pekingese dog Louie, and it was sad when she had to leave and Louie would say goodbye to her at the car. But no matter how many times she left, even during her frequent hospital stays, I always knew she would be back. Mom would go on.

I felt bad when she would walk me to the elevator every day after our visits. I would go home alone. She would wave to me as the elevator door slowly closed, and I cried as she dabbed her eyes, one hand holding onto the tissue, another holding her walker, rosary beads dangling from her pocket.

Mom came home on a Saturday, unusual, to see Louie because Lou was dying. 13 1/2 years, and now Louie wouldn't eat. She hand-fed Lou that afternoon, and he ate a little for her.  We both didn't want to admit it may be the last time she would see Lou. We didn't want to think about it.

Then Sunday night I got a call from the nursing home, saying that Mom was sick. She was slumped over after dinner, and they got her into bed and had called 911. They were sending her to the ER to be evaluated, could I meet her there.

She was in a coma from a massive stroke for several days. Since the doctors said there was no hope of a recovery we agreed to have her spend her last days in the Hospice unit of the hospital. It was a great decision as everyone was so nice there and made mom comfortable.

Still, I hoped for a miracle. If anyone deserved a miracle, it was mom.

I came home that night, really not believing it. Here she had come home to see Louie the day before. Who would've thought that she would have a surprise stroke the very next day.

I was glad she had come home that day. Glad I had a chance to see her, to say "See you Monday" as so many weekends before, glad  we gave each other a soft kiss on the cheek when she left.

Three days after her stroke I visited mom after work. I couldn't sit home and worry and cry. I would've been a wreck all day at the hospital so I decided to work, even though my mind was with her.I knew mom would've wanted that.

After I got there, the family left for showers and dinner, to return soon. So, it was just me and mom.

\Her eyes were closed. She was hooked up to countless noisy machines, tubes everywhere. I don't know why I did it, but something told me to talk to her. Working with residents in comas, I w can hear you." So i talked.

I talked about tings we would talk about everyday when I visited her. The weather, family news...Then something inside me said, be real.

So I told mom I loved her. I knew she  worried about me all the time, worried what would happen to me when she was gone. Always hoping I would "find a  nice girl" to look after me. I knew this may be holding her back now,. She wasn't suffering, thank God. She was just there, and could linger for a week, so said the doctors.

She never wanted a feeding tube or any life-sustaining measures. She was ready to go when it was her time to go.

So I held her hand, which was warm, and talked to her.

I told her that it was ok to let go. She would see dad again,my Aunt Sue and the four brothers who had passed before her. She wouldn't be sick anymore. She would see Jesus and the Blessed Mother, who was her favorite.

lastly, I told her that I loved her once more, and thanked her for taking care of me.

With all the rosaries she had said over the years, all the faith she had for 93 years, her saint-like life she had lived, if mom didn't go to heaven, no one would.

After I told her that Louie was better,) a little white lie), that everything would be fine, that I would be ok, that it was ok to let go...she did.

Amazing. Nurses had told me at work, people in comas can hear you, but I never believed it until then.

She made three quick sighs, the first sounds I heard form her since the stroke, but very peacefully she continued to sleep, until the nurse came in  to check on her.

That's when the nurse took her vital signs and said she had died.

I waited for the family to come back. I looked at mom, without the tubes machines, laying in peace, like she was sleeping, and I thought of everything we went through together, good times and bad,and at that moment, how it had all come down to this, and that it really wasn't the end for her- it was only the beginning. She was in Heaven.

So, it's true, almost all of Phoenixville did turn out to her funeral.

I trialed her casket down the aisle of Sacred Heart Church, not afraid to cry,. I felt like I had lost my best friend, as well as my mom,and  life would never be the same again.

But as she showed, life goes on. You make the best of it and keep fighting. And you don't give up.

The day after my mom's funeral, Louie died on my bedroom floor.

I still can't believe that mom is gone. I saw her everywhere after she had passed. At work, I saw her sitting in the line of wheelchairs, waiting to be seen at Clinics. i could hear that familiar "Yo!" as I  wheeled back and noticed her little self in the tiny wheelchair, smiling at me

. I saw her in the house, in the kitchen, making her coffee in the morning. I heard her coming home from Bingo late at night, peeking her head in my bedroom, asking me if I was all right, saying "Nothing' when I would ask her if she had won that evening. "It's awful. My luck is awful.I'm gonna give it up." But she never did. And I'm glad she didn't.

I visited her grave yesterday morning. A beautiful, cool summer morning. I took a little plant to her , something I knew she would love. There was my dad, her brother Andy in the next lot, my Aunt Sue and Uncle Henry not far, and I remembered all the good times we had together and here they are, are their final resting place, in peace.

And life goes on for me until I see them  all again.someday in Heaven. And I smile.

Mom would be happy to know that I did find the nice girl she had hoped for me to find. She had to be pleased to know there was life at  home again with my beautiful garden. And she must be looking down at me and smiling when she knows that, even on a gloomy, rainy day such as today- her anniversary- I am still smiling when I think about her too.