I am an admirer. I am also a daughter, living in the grip of dementia with my own 89 year-old mother. I deal daily with a person who relies on me more than I am able to provide. Some days it is difficult to be the compassionate person I’d like to think I am. Most days I trudge through compassion, guilt and anger.
I read about your mother’s death. My heart is with you and your family tonight. I just want you to know you said something about your mother that reminded me what is difficult to remember about mine on most days. You said,
"I owe it to my mother, who never got a chance to go to college,
who had a very difficult childhood, but who gave me a belief that
I could do whatever I set my mind.”
In all the emotion wrapped around my mother’s demise I sometimes forget the legacy she leaves. What you said about your mother is true of mine. She is also responsible for me being an excellent cook (we first experimented with a walnut chicken in 1965—a pretty exotic dish when compared to 50s and 60s meals). She bought her own home, ran her own business, and raised me mostly by herself when women around her were still living Donna Reed’s dream. At 40 she was riding skateboards down the hill next to our house and insisted we tell the doctor she fell off a ladder when she wiped out on a tree. She taught me that tomorrow will always be better and be sure that the ones you love know it because they could be gone tomorrow.
Thank you for thoughtful words that bring solace and remind us to be grateful. What a tribute to your Mom.
Respectfully and I must say fondly,