A new journey for Mom

Mom passed away at 1:22 a.m. March 1, 2010. She's at peace now.



Jane, Mom's dear friend, notified family. We're all here now, telling stories, crying, laughing and trying to keep Dad from waking the entire building (that opera voice of his is still powerful!) Jane tells stories of how she'll miss eating chocolate with Mom. "My diet won't miss it, but I sure will." Jules tells a story about her daughter Emily having a dream that Mom got a shiny new cart and was excited about riding it. The two took turns riding it, laughing.



We joined hands and prayed. We asked that the Lord have patience with Mom as she tries to re-arrange heaven. "You know Jesus, I think this wonderful harp would look terrific right here, under this plant."



Mom's room is quiet. There are 6 L.E.D. candles glowing around Mom's bed. Marshmallow Mayonnaise is resting on her right shoulder. A calming ambient song with chimes plays on Jane's iPhone. The atmosphere is warm.



Dad's just hung up the phone with his brother. We're teasing him about his starting the conversation with, "Hello. How are you doing?" He still leaves the room when he talks, as if Mom has said, "Jim, go outside. I can't hear anything."



Dad's doing well, considering. He's such a warrior for being at Mom's side -- rooting her on during every radiology appointment and just never leaving her.



Jen's telling stories about Mom drawing on herself. "I did my makeup," Mom said with glee. Only she didn't do her makeup, she doodled fancy circles and shapes on her clothes. "See! don't I look nice?" Jen bought her several drawing pads that day. The kind with the magic pens that won't write on clothes or skin. Mom absoluely loved them. "What fun!" she giggled.



The nurses at Willowbrook have been amazing. Dad's given them each a white swan (like Marshmallow Mayonnaise) in memory of Mom. "What a wonderful woman. I knew her a short time and she really touched my life," said the night nurse.



Rest in peace, Mom. We love you dearly. Thank you for you.