Last year at this time I was in New York State for my mother’s Memorial Service that was held at the Gerald B. H. Solomon Saratoga National Cemetery in Schuylerville, NY.
It was a warm summer day, perfect for a gathering of friends and family. My father, a WWII Veteran, had been interred in this military cemetery the previous year, on the same date, so it was especially meaningful that they were reunited in restfulness in such a manner after a long and happy earth-bound union, one filled with so many special memories.
My mom passed in February 2024, but as one of my beta readers pointed out recently, I had her passing in 2023, the year my dad died. A beta reader is a “test” or first reader, those who give feedback on a manuscript, in this case a memoir, to make the material stronger and to improve clarity. In my case, clarity on my “grief timeline” is tricky, a result of my brain still trying to make sense of how things have rolled out. That beta also found me injecting Quint in a scene before I even retrieved him from California!
I appreciate those who offer to read material that isn’t always easy, but I try to write in a way that isn’t down or depressing, but asks the reader to consider the challenges of those experiencing a loss that they have not. I think the dog-human bond aspect also makes any story more engaging and uplifting. There are a lot of scenes that include both of my parents as well.
I miss making my mother laugh, even when life was a bit heavy. Just after my dad passed, she called me to her room at her Assisted Living Facility to discuss a move. I understood it was difficult for her to remain in a place where she knew only me and missed her grandchildren and living in the north.
When I arrived, she told me, “I’m not going to die in this state!” At the time Kane Brown’s song, “Bury Me in Georgia” was popular and was frequenting the airwaves. Taking my mom for a drive, it came on and I sang it to her adding, “Don’t ”before the title verse. This gave us both a great laugh.
When she suffered a stroke six months after her move back north, she spent some time in a series of rehab centers, one in Saratoga, NY, which is horse country. My brother and I told her that the facility offered horse therapy and a horse would be coming to her room and they were allowed to roam up and down the hallway. She actually believed us for a minute and then realizing we were having some fun with her had a fit of laughter.
I once accompanied her to the physical therapy room in that facility. The therapists were trying to make my 97 year-old mother do a push up. Lying flat on her stomach she very loudly told them she didn’t need this $%&@! I had to agree and the session ended.
She was a flirt until the end as well. When a man and a women from an assisted living facility came to assess her post-stroke for possible admission, the man relayed to me that after his female colleague had talked to my mom for some time, my mother dismissed her with a flip of her hand, and stated, “I’ve heard enough from you. I want to talk to him now,” flashing a flirtatious smile. This truly made an impression on them.
She would pass in my brother’s home not long after. Every once in a while, she makes it clear her spirit is still strong and present and that carries me through the ups and downs of each day and I know she is thankful that she was able to make it back home to finally find her eternal rest.
“…and remember what I told ya…”
