Mother was a fixture in my life. She had been there through thick and thin. Her grasp on life was getting to be more and more tenuous and I wanted to have as much time with her as I could. My scheduled vacation was for a week. It seemed to be too little but at the end of the calendar year, I couldn’t justify being off more days.

It wasn’t long after I let her know my plans that Mother took a turn for the worse and had to be hospitalized. She was in the hospital long enough to qualify for skilled nursing. Once in skilled nursing, the only thing that would justify that level of care was physical therapy. She refused to cooperate so the only thing to do was to put her in the nursing home close to my sister. Making such a decision is never easy but I was confident she would bounce back and be home in no time. Mother was resilient, to say the least.

There was a phone in her room so I would call her and we would talk and laugh. Before we’d hang up, I would always tell her, “Mother, if you need anything, be sure to ring for the nurse. Just push the button and someone will come.” Once, she didn’t quite get the receiver back on the hook and I could hear her. She was talking to herself and, one time, broke into song. “The Old Grey Mare” was what she was singing. There was nothing wrong with her lungs. Then she started yelling for help. I yelled into the phone, trying to get her attention, but it did no good. Finally, one of the aides came and, seeing the phone off the hook, she put it back and I heard no more. All I could do was pray that she was getting the care she needed. I began to wonder if my optimistic outlook was realistic. I’d reserve judgment until I was able to see for myself what was happening.

The days crawled by until it was time for me to head east. I packed up the car and left.

I would be staying with my sister and her husband during the time I would be in North Carolina. They lived very close to the nursing home and it was possible to be out the door and in Mother’s room in a matter of minutes. The first evening, we went together but I wanted to stay longer than they could so, after that, I would drive my car and they would come in theirs.

Mother seemed to be in her element. She was enjoying the Christmas season and had big plans for putting on a program the next year. An aide had taken her into the day room where there was a piano and she had played for all the “old people” even though she was probably the oldest one there. She was glorying in her ability to entertain.

Her room faced west. She was in the bed next to the wall and her roommate who was able to get up in a wheelchair was next to the window. In the evening, the sun would flood the room with light and I seemed to be the target. Once, I was sitting with the sun in my eyes when Mother looked at me and said, “Your hair looks like gold. It’s beautiful!” I had been thinking of my own comfort but Mother was enjoying the view. I couldn’t help but think that she was adding in her mind, “But I do wish you would lose weight.”

Mother had her favorites among the staff but I guess that’s true of anyone anywhere in that situation. There was one aide, especially, that Mother doted on and she doted on Mother. When she was on duty, I knew there was nothing to worry about.

The days slipped by. Mother was getting good care but I wanted to spend time with her, anyway. I’d go over in the early afternoon and stay with her until dark. There were times I would feed her her supper but other times, she would refuse to eat. “I don’t know why the Lord won’t just let me go.” That was something she would tell me at least once whenever I’d visit. Then she’d say, “Don’t ever get old.”

She’d get restless. One of the aides gave me some lotion so I could rub it on her arms and legs. That seemed to calm her. One afternoon, I was putting it on her legs and felt something wet. Thinking she had drenched herself, I pushed the call button. No, she was dry. It was a blister on her leg that had popped.

Her condition continued to deteriorate and the doctor was called in. The preliminary diagnosis was pneumonia. The doctor took my sister, my brother-in-law, and me out into the corridor to ask what we wanted to do. My brother-in-law asked what would happen if she were taken to the hospital. The doctor said there would be lab work, x-rays and more tests. She said pneumonia is also known as “The Old Man’s Friend”. It is relatively painless and eases a person on to death. She advised keeping her there, giving her an injection of antibiotics, making her comfortable and letting nature take its course. We agreed. There was no use prolonging the inevitable when there was no hope for recovery.

Christmas came and I prayed that God would give her the ultimate gift of her heart’s desire. Then I found that my sister was praying that He wouldn’t take her on Christmas. He honored my sister’s wish and not mine.

Mother was always concerned about giving gifts and this time was no exception. My sister asked what I would suggest so I said a Walmart gift card. She got a $10 card and put it in a little wooden box with shredded filling, wrapping it nicely. I still have it. I’ve never spent it. It might not even be any good any more.

The day after Christmas, I was with Mother, as usual. She was talking about an aunt that everyone, including her, had made fun of. She sounded remorseful about her part in all the jeering. “Her boys were so hard to handle. They were mean. I guess she wore her husband’s little hat because she couldn’t afford anything else.”

She’d calmed down and dropped off to sleep so I left.

Early the next morning, I was roused out of a deep sleep by a knock on the guest room door. It was my brother-in-law. “Someone just called from the nursing home.” I jumped up, pulled on my clothes, ran a comb through my hair and was out the door.

When I got to her room, there she lay in her pink nightgown. I went in and put my hand on her chest. She was warm. Then I noticed she was still. Too still. I rang for the aide. The person who came was Mother’s favorite. I said, “She isn’t breathing!” She said, “Yes, I know, honey. She was gone when I called. I put her teeth in because I knew that’s what she would have wanted.”

Mother had gotten her wish.

Since they weren’t married yet, I consigned merm to the storage room where he slept on a futon they’d brought with them. DD slept in her room. During the day, merm enjoyed relaxing on the futon in front of the fireplace where the gas logs merrily burned.

The primary purpose for the visit (besides seeing me) was to introduce the two brothers to the prospective bridegroom. The first place we went was DS1′s. He and merm got along like a house afire. They shared similar interests in computers and, in fact, anything electronic. There was no lag in the conversation.

Where could that clue be?

This was during DS1′s avid interest in geocaching. He and DIL1 had set up a geocache in honor of my mother and it was decided that DD and merm should find it. DS1 printed off the clues and we set out. The hardest one to find was around a historical monument. DD and merm spent a long time locating it. DS1 and my granddaughter patiently waited.

We enjoyed watching them inspect every nook and cranny of the area within a few feet of the coordinates on the list.

It turned out this one was on a plastic encased paper taped to the bottom of one of the rails of the fence. They had to go through all sorts of contortions to read it.

Finally, the clues took us to the community building that’s also DS1′s polling place. They roamed all over the field and ended up at a telephone pole where there was a bird house. And that’s where the cache was! DD signed the log and merm donated a Metro card to the cache since the finder takes something and leaves something. It had been a successful trip.

After we left DS1 and my granddaughter at home, we continued on to DS2′s house. DS2 wasn’t too impressed. He later described merm as a “girly-man”. Anyone who doesn’t share his love for fishing and guns is automatically put into that category. However, merm made a hit with my DIL. She had recently subscribed to cable Internet and had been sent the equipment to install it. She didn’t have a clue where to start. That was when merm stepped in and took over. He had it hooked up and running in no time.

As it usually happens, the younger generation is more comfortable with computers than the older. My littler granddaughter had to demonstrate her expertise with the mouse.

We piled back into the rental car and made our way home. Within a couple of days, DD and merm headed back to New York. It had been so nice to have them around. The house seemed empty without them. I didn’t know what might keep me occupied now. It’s definitely a blessing not to be able to see into the future.

The birthday itself fell on Sabbath and for any little celebrant in Sabbath School, it was a landmark occasion. She was dressed in her finest.

Children who could repeat their memory verse had their hands stamped as a reward. Her birthday warranted lots of stamping and she was thrilled.

When all was said and done, she was a little pensive because it was over.

Well, that part was but the next day, we were all set up again in the wind tunnel aka the picnic shelter at the Imagination Station. This year, the theme was “My Little Pony” complete with a cake with my granddaughter’s picture.

Before it was cut, Mom and daughter posed for a picture.

She looked like, “Enough, already!”

My other daughter-in-law and granddaughter were there for the festivities.

After the picnic, cake-slaughtering and present opening, there was the real fun. She was getting old enough that she could run and climb with the best of them.

She was really pleased with herself because she could slide all alone this year.

As for me, it was fortunate that I didn’t care a whole lot for cake. I had enough sinful food favorites to make up for it. I wasn’t one to get up in the middle of the night to snack but watching TV wasn’t watching TV unless I had something to munch on and it showed.

Halloween had rolled around once again and it was time to do the dress up gig. I decided I would show my true self and went as an old hag.

You could see that, while I might have a lot of problems, a lack of appetite wasn’t one of them.

A big deal was the pumpkin carving. Below are a few of the ones done that year. The first one is sort of poking fun at the people who insist on smoking even though they have breathing problems.

I thought this one was particularly creative:

The next big deal was Homecoming. My granddaughter was dressed in a new outfit and was glad to pose so I could take pictures.

What made this Homecoming even more special than usual was the Reunion Concert by all the members of the singing group my son had sung with for several years. The pipe organ was the backdrop.

This is about half of the group that was on the platform. DS1 is wearing a black suit and standing to the left of the podium.

There was a get-together meal afterward with quite a spread of food. As luck would have it, we sat with another of the singers and his wife. It was during the stuffing of my face that I found out she was an old flame’s daughter. She insisted on taking a picture of me to show her father. I wasn’t too happy with that turn of events and glared into the camera. The picture was probably on a par with my Halloween one. There was one thing that was sure—I wouldn’t hear from him as a result.

I’d discovered Niedlov’s baked goods. Their Wholely Whole Wheat bread, toasted, smeared with mashed up avocado was wonderful. Then there was the bread from the bakery at (who knew?) Wally World. It was a sourdough-type with whole cloves of roasted garlic all through it. It was especially good fried in coconut oil.

One afternoon when I got home from work, I was sitting at my computer checking my email. It was aggravating how long it took since I was on dialup and that added to the stress I already felt. Suddenly, there was pain in my chest that went into my neck and then radiated into my jaws. I started breathing deeply and stretched as tall as I could while still sitting down. I willed myself through it and gradually it subsided. No way was I going to go to the ER. If I’d just had a “heart episode” it wouldn’t show up on an EKG, anyway, since it was already over.

Since I had dialup, I also had Callwave. When I was online, if there was a call coming in, Callwave would answer it. I could call the person back or ignore it if I chose. It worked out wonderfully well for Mother because she could leave a message and I’d call her on my dime. Her messages were quite entertaining. Talking to her was an adventure because she couldn’t hear well and I’d have to repeat things over and over. She had hearing aids but she’d take the one out of her “phone ear” because it would whistle if anything got too close.

Mother did so want to go back to her home on the mountain. She started having flights of fancy and tell me she was going to buy the house. There was no use arguing with her so I went along with the plan. She’d say, “Oh, if only Tom hadn’t died!” (Tom was my father.) She was 100 so he would have been 111 had he lived. She chose to ignore it when I’d point out that fact. Occasionally, I’d get a letter from her and the handwriting that had once been so firm showed her age. Her eyesight was failing in spite of her lens implants so my brother-in-law gave her a pen with a broad tip so she could see what she was writing.

She was still living alone with considerable support from family members. My sister who lived just down the driveway from her would make sure she had her daily medications (which were numerous). My other NC sister and her husband would go see her as often as they could and my brother-in-law would do minor repairs. Grandchildren and great-grandchildren would drop in, too. There was little time for her to feel lonely or ignored. It couldn’t be denied though, that Mother’s health was failing. She had enough to be concerned about without knowing what I was going through so I never mentioned it. Lately, much of what I said didn’t register with her, anyway. It was like she was in her own world.

I was in my own world, too, and I had no idea what might happen next.

Said acquaintance had inquired about her health and wanted to know how old she was. I told him I knew better than to tell. Mother had cautioned all of us that there are two things you never ask a lady—how old she is and how much she weighs. She’d also given us The Look and said we should NEVER reveal how long she had been on Planet Earth. The man gazed into the distance and said, “Well, she must be about 104.” That made her livid. She said, “I am not! I’m only 100!” With that, she decreed that her birthday celebration should be published in the hometown newspaper. She wasn’t going to have people thinking she was older than she actually was.

The morning of the birthday, DD had sent flowers in lieu of her being there in person.

My oldest sister had come in from Colorado for the occasion and posed for me to take her picture.

Mother was taking it easy on her birthday and reading the mail while I fixed my breakfast.

I was still using coconut oil to cook with. I’d brought my own supply. Trending toward becoming vegan, I had switched from real cheese to rice cheese. Soy and I had parted the way long before when I found that my thyroid didn’t like it. The rice cheese seemed, to me, to be a worthy alternative. It didn’t have too many unpronounceables in the list of ingredients.

The birthday dinner was still several hours away so I wanted something that would “stay with me” until it came around. Getting out the skillet, I liberally slathered two pieces of bread with the coconut oil (it was a HEALTHY fat, you know), put a piece of the rice cheese between them and put the sandwich into the skillet. Oh, I loved grilled cheese sandwiches! The rice cheese even sort of melted into a semblance of goo. When I was pregnant with DS2, I craved grilled cheese sandwiches with mayonnaise, mustard, pickles and onion. I’d brought my own Vegenaise (it was the grapeseed variety with a minimal amount of soy in it). Mother had the other condiments on hand so I piled them on.

Sitting down at the table, I prepared to enjoy my repast. Mother was used to my strange eating habits so she didn’t comment. She’d told me earlier she wished I’d lose weight. I got through eating and went to brush my teeth, shower and get ready for the birthday celebration.

Within an hour or two, I started feeling queasy. There was a sharp pain in my back, too. I soldiered on and didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to spoil the happy day.

The time came for the gathering at my sister’s house. I’d taken my camera but when I tried to take a picture of Mother and her birthday cake, nothing happened. My camera’s batteries were dead and I didn’t have any spares along. That was okay. There would be plenty of other picture-taking.

Sitting at the table, I picked at the food on my plate. I didn’t feel like eating anything. I’d taken mostly salad but I couldn’t choke it down. When the cake was cut (it was one of my sister’s specialties), I asked for a very small piece and no ice cream. I ate one bite and couldn’t eat any more. Mother looked at me with concern. It wasn’t like me not to eat.

When the dinner and gift-unwrapping were over, we went back to Mother’s house just down the driveway. I took up residence on the couch where I could have my back supported. I had never been so miserable in my life. My stomach hurt. My back hurt. I kept thinking about the people who would come into the ER with chronic back pain and how we were so cavalier about it. I was getting paid back for all the times I poo-pooed their complaints.

The pain kept getting worse. I was writhing and pressing my back into the back of the couch. Mother fussed over me and felt frustrated because she didn’t know what to do to make me feel better. I knew what had done me in—it was that grilled cheese sandwich. The knowledge didn’t help at all. I still felt like I was dying.

Hours later, the attack was finally over and my gallbladder settled down.

When I got back to work, the x-ray department had gotten a new ultrasound machine and they needed a guinea pig. I volunteered for a gallbladder ultrasound. The tech squirted the goosh on my belly and proceeded to prod and probe. She leaned into the monitor for a better look and I could tell by her expression that she was concerned. She turned the monitor so I could see it, too. Pointing out the different organs, she said, “That’s your gallbladder. I can’t read the ultrasound but I can tell you have enough stones in there to make a necklace.” That was comforting.

In those days, the radiologist read everything—even the test films. My ultrasound was read and the results were sent to my PCP. His surgeon sister was in the office while my PCP was elsewhere. She had one of the girls call me to come in for an appointment. It was her considered opinion that I should have surgery to have my gallbladder removed. She could set it up to be done almost immediately. I told her I didn’t want to do that and left.

When I got home, I started Googling. I found a simple gallbladder flush and ordered the herbal preparation that was to precede it. When it came, I started taking the herbs. I finished them up on Friday. Sabbath, I ate lightly and Saturday night, I started the flush. I wanted to be home for the resulting dashing to and from the bathroom.

Sunday, I spent most of my time doing just that and passed a large number of “stones” (that I found out later were probably solidified olive oil). I’d seen pictures of stones online so I took pictures of mine, too. I have no idea where they are so you are spared seeing them.

I have no idea if it helped, but I didn’t have another attack for a long time and I never had one as bad as the one at Mother’s.

Weeks went by and one day I got a bill for $200 in the mail. It was from my PCP’s surgeon sister’s billing office. She wasn’t a participating provider with my insurance so it had been denied. I called the office and told them I hadn’t asked to see her. She had initiated the office visit. It wasn’t something I wanted or needed. They wrote the balance off. It was a good thing because I had no intention of paying it.

I was being more careful about what I ate but I didn’t have any intention of eating JUST raw food.

DD and I would talk and if food came up in the conversation, I’d skirt the subject. I didn’t want to talk about her and merm eating raw food. To me, it was totally unacceptable and I wouldn’t be a party to my flesh and blood ruining her health. I couldn’t approve of the plan but, until I knew more, I couldn’t totally disapprove. She was an adult and I had to have more on my side than “Because I said so. That’s why.”

I started Googling but I couldn’t find much. What I did find was even more unsettling. Men with wild hair and women who looked like holdovers from the hippie generation were touting the raw food lifestyle. Yikes! Was my daughter going to become one of THEM? It was like the pot calling the kettle black because I had once been a flower child, myself.

When DH had left, I’d learned to phase things out that bothered me. That’s what I’d do with her latest craze. I would ignore it. If I ignored it long enough, it would go away.

I had other fish to fry—no, not literally. Every April on the day before Easter, the church at the university puts on a pageant known as Sonrise. It is quite a production. One year, DS1 got me a ticket (they’re free but they go fast) and I went as a regular on-looker. However, if one dresses in the fashion of the Bible days, one gets in without a ticket. Those people are known as “travelers”. I decided I’d be One of Them.

My sheets were either flowered or pastel and not appropriate for making the robe and head-covering of the era so I bought a solid colored sheet and several yards of fabric. The pattern was on the Sonrise web site so I set to work. Mine would have be full enough to pitch for a small tent since I would have to have room for my considerable bulk.

Sewing is not my “thing” so it was a great relief for it to be over. The weekend came and I was at DS1′s house. We decided when we would be traveling since there are multiple starting times to accommodate the crowds. We’d eat lunch and go after that.

We all got dressed in our garb and looked like we’d stepped out of a movie set.

The day was rather hot for April so my granddaughter had to shed her robe for something more comfortable.

Next came Mother’s Day and I had a card made for my mother with The Travelers on the front. She never commented. Even though she was nearing her 100th year, I knew she couldn’t have not recognized us. She was that way, though. Once when she was visiting, I fixed one of our favorite dishes and bragged that many people had asked for the recipe. She fixed me with her beady-eyed gaze and all she said was, “I won’t.” ‘Nuff said.

As the months crawled by, I dodged any reference to eating raw food. I was quite content to eat my lasagna with garlic cream sauce and the apple turnovers with whipped cream for dessert. Oh, I’d eat a salad with my meal and I had always loved fruit but eat a diet of raw food? Never!

September and DS1′s birthday #39 came and went and it was on to October. My granddaughter’s second birthday was coming up. Would I be there? Of course! and with the camera at the ready. Her birthday fell on Sabbath and she was dressed for the special occasion.

Later on, we went to the Imagination Station for her birthday celebration. My daughter-in-law had reserved the shelter for the afternoon. Even though it wasn’t terribly cool, there was a breeze blowing. For some unknown reason, the shelter concentrated whatever wind currents there were which made it into a wind tunnel. Being naturally cold natured, I just about froze even though I was dressed warmly. At least the icing on the cake didn’t melt.

The playground wasn’t too far away but we had other things to do.

She found the cake fascinating for a little while.

Then there were the presents. I think Mom and Dad were as interested as the Birthday Girl was.

Those things may have occupied her briefly but the playground drew her attention away.

Finally! The celebration was over and she could get to what was really, truly important. Playing!!

The special occasion was just a memory and I was burping fake hot dogs and birthday cake. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten so much but I couldn’t seem to keep from it. It was addicting. I didn’t realize it then but it was. Overeating was such an easy thing to do and eating sensibly was so hard.

Raw food kept niggling at my brain. I wished I’d never heard of such a concept. I didn’t know whether to blame it on DD’s time in California or her home in New York. In either case, in my opinion, she was going down a dangerous path and I was powerless to stop her.

The Big Day came and found us all gathered at my sister’s home for the celebration. Mother had let me fix her hair for the occasion, up to a point. There were certain things she wouldn’t let me modify so the “look” was still quite dated. She and Miss Clairol would always have a personal relationship and she did her part to support the company.

The meal was full of family favorites (I was glad to help polish off my share and more) and there was a special cake to top it off. The candle fit in with the agreement we all had with the matriarch.

She was well supplied with gifts from the children and grandchildren. Always, she would say, “Now, you shouldn’t have done that!” but I think she secretly enjoyed every minute.

The celebration was over but the visit went on. The next day, she was persuaded to take her seat on the piano bench (which didn’t take much) and serenade us with the likes of “Nola”, “Hindustan” and “Edelweiss Glide”. She pressed me into service to warble “My Wonderful One”. Seems I could always sing better when she was playing. She was good at following me and I never had that confidence in other accompanists.

Later in the week, we went to an Asian buffet where people celebrating birthdays were treated to a free meal. The rest of us had to pay but my brother-in-law picked up the tab for me. I don’t know if he did the same for everyone. It was the first time I’d had any kind of sushi (sans the fish) or wasabi. Some kind of fried dumplings (meatless) were tastier, though.

Even though Mother felt sorry for the fish that were sure to be someone’s meal, she delighted in watching them swim around the tank. As she would say, she took her entertainment where she found it.

Once again, my visit drew to an end and it was back over the mountain and to work.

With fall approaching, Halloween signaled the rollout of the time of the year that everyone gorged themselves on junk. Besides being good for the dental business, it was also good for the hospital’s emergency room. There was an upswing in cases of indigestion, gastritis and gall bladder disease not to mention heart attacks. The general overindulgence compromised immune systems and the result was colds and pneumonia. I bought a good supply of cheap pens so, if someone contagious handled them, they could be discarded. It was cheaper to get rid of germs than have someone out sick and run up the percentage of overtime.

Even though I don’t “celebrate” Halloween, dressing up was encouraged at the hospital. That year, the people in Administration were going to be characters from the Wizard of Oz. I was pressed into service as Glenda the Good Witch. I bought the dress, borrowed the hoop slip and made my crown and the star on the “wand” from a gift bag. Someone brought the wig for me to wear. You can’t see my shoes but they were gold loafers like a pair my sister in the Great Northwest had. I’ll have to admit it was fun.

DD and I were having our regular visits. One Sunday, she told me that she and merm had heard of a new diet. It was only eating raw food. They were interested in trying it. To say I was horrified would be a gross understatement. I protested, “You will ruin your health! There’s no way that can be sustainable!!” I was just about sick when we hung up. Her stint in the West had changed her way of thinking. What would she come up with next?

There was a salsa contest with prizes. I’d never made salsa before but I figured I knew what tasted good so I set to work when I got home. I chopped, minced and mixed until I had something I felt was worthy of entering. The next day, I loaded it up into a quart jar with a blue plastic lid and took it in. Each container was assigned a number and there was a master list to show which one belonged to which employee.

The time came for judging. All the entrants gathered in the cafeteria. Four judges were called in from who-knows-where. I certainly didn’t know any but one and she was a nursing home resident. They were given samples of each of the containers along with chips to shovel it in. They seriously contemplated each mouthful and finally got the top ones down to three. Third place wasn’t difficult at all but the other two were tied. The judges couldn’t come to a clear decision. That’s what comes of having an even number of judges.

Just then, one of the doctors walked through. Someone grabbed him and asked him to break the tie. The people conducting the contest surreptitiously put some of the salsa out for him to taste. I watched closely and—one of the containers was a quart jar with a blue plastic lid! I caught my breath and felt like everything was moving very slowly.

He loaded a chip with first one, then the other salsa. It didn’t take him long at all to indicate which was his choice. I couldn’t tell if it was mine at that point but I was hoping.

Third place was announced, then second. My name hadn’t been called. I held my breath. The prizes for second and third were nice but nothing special. Then first place and it was ME!! I went up to collect the prize—a DVD player. You could have knocked me over with a feather. My first attempt at making salsa and I won!

All of the salsa entries were lined up on a table with plates and bowls of chips. The employees ate salsa and chips to their hearts’ content. I felt like a celebrity. People were asking me for my recipe and I gladly complied. The fact that it was “a little of this and a little of that” made no difference.

I went home to Twinkle bearing my empty jar and my DVD player and she didn’t care for either one.

As I so often did, I consoled myself for her disdain by eating. My favorite meal was fried potatoes and onions with scrambled eggs, toast and avocado. Fat City. And the weight kept piling on.

We went on to DS2′s house where we were met with a bit of an attitude.

It was short-lived, and soon replaced with giggles at Elmo.

DD watched the goings on and I was at the ready with my camera.

My granddaughter had toys galore.

DD went back to New York and, on the morning of my birthday, I woke up to this.

I elected not to go anywhere. Later that afternoon, someone cleared the road and I went out and took more pictures.

The gas logs made the house cozy and I was happy to stay home.

A couple of days later, the snow had melted and I went to visit my children and grandgirls for a late birthday celebration.

My older granddaughter had gotten a crayon maker and was busy with it. I’d bought her a Bob the Tomato T-shirt and she was wearing it in my honor.

We’d have Veggie Tales marathons and watch one video after another. I enjoyed them as much as she did.

Mother had had me pick out my own present that year. She gave me a dollar amount and I found this at the Mother Ship’s flower shop.

March rolled around and I got a phone call. Mother was in the hospital. She had decided she didn’t like having to run to the bathroom so much (though she was a little past running, anyway) so she’d quit taking her diuretic. My sister had discovered her sitting in her chair suffering from congestive heart failure. There was no way she could get into the car so the ambulance had to be called. When I got to the hospital, she was sitting up eating the hospital food.

When I asked her how tasty it was, she wrinkled her nose and said, “Needs salt.” I come by it honest.

My sister and her oldest daughter had come in from the West. No one knew whether this would be IT for Mother or not.

Mother spent several days in acute care and then was moved to a swingbed for the balance of her stay. It wasn’t her time yet. It had been good to see the family but I had to get back to work. I’d already called for an extension of my stay but I was told I would have to have the operating budget done not long after I got back. Stress! That was all I needed.