My mother passed away yesterday afternoon. after a long (ninety years) and well-spent life.
She would not expect to be celebrated here. She was a quiet woman, never given to excess, something of a worrier (well, world-class, really), unassuming, gentle. She was a good and doting mother, a superlative daughter, a fond if somewhat baffled grandmother (where did all these boys come from?) and great-grandmother (more boys? Six of them? For goodness’s sake!), a devoted aunt, a long-suffering sister and a kind and caring friend.
Life didn’t always seem fair to her and, indeed, there were trials and tribulations in hers that she certainly never deserved. But she endured, and whatever happened, she kept going. Sometimes she fretted. Sometimes in private she muttered. But she was unfailingly polite and gracious to the world at large.
Few people knew her well. Even I didn’t feel as if I always knew what made her tick. She was a private person. A constant person. She had Expectations.
She didn’t have to tell us. We knew.
And we tried to live up to them (well, except for providing her with more granddaughters and great-granddaughters. But at least she got one of the first and two of the second. And despite her bafflement, she did love those boys. She just never understood them.).
But she was quietly proud of them all, and of all the family accomplishments. One of the last things I did on Sunday was read her an article in the local newspaper celebrating our oldest son’s baseball career. I don’t know if she heard me, but I think she knew.
She had a good ninety years. Undoubtedly, in her estimation, they could have been better. But better, I believe, was reserved for the life she began yesterday. I’m sure she was welcomed with open arms by the family waiting for her, and the joy she had been waiting and hoping for was finally at hand.
I loved her. I’ll miss her. I’ll always carry her in my heart.
