That Mother O' Mine

The longer we live, the more we know about death and dying. With each departure, there are new lessons to learn that seem to replace everything you thought you already knew on the subject. Since the age of 20, I've lost my fair share of friends, family members and beloved pets due to illness, traffic accidents and old age. It's something that's shaped and altered my views on life again and again.

Intellectually, I understand that death is a part of life, but when you want to hear their voice or hold their hand and you can't, you just want to turn out the lights, assume the fetal position and cry for hours. And that's okay. Then you have to get up and get things done, whether you're ready or not. In other words, you have to keep on growing up.

My wonderful mother, Winifred, passed away this year, in July - she was 95 years old but, as I kept reminding her, the expiration date on her renewed license fell on her 100th birthday, so I half-expected her to stay with us five more years - and now my brother and I are finally orphans. It's a bitter pill to take.

Here is a heavily edited version of the obituary I wrote for her. It's just the tip of the iceberg that was my mother's life force, which is why I'm attempting to write a book - part memoir, part novel - using excerpts from her journals and my own observations about her and how she impacted our lives. She was the glue that kept us together, and I am lucky to have had her in my life for so long.

Winnie was born and raised in rural Kentucky, experiencing hardship during the Great Depression as an only child and, later on, enjoying the simple comforts of living in a small town.

She earned her teaching degree in Physical Education at a college in her home town before joining the U.S. Navy in 1944 and becoming a WAVE, where she taught English to international naval units - specifically Russian and Chinese sailors - a duty she gladly performed and truly enjoyed.

In 1946, Winnie married the first love of her life, Joel, a talented artist and wartime photographer with the Army Air Corps, and the two shared many adventures in the mountains near Spokane, Wash. and the mansions of Hollywood, Calif. before moving to Sarasota, Fla., where they both attended art school. Dad studied commercial art, while Mom took courses in interior design.

She taught Physical Education for three decades in Florida, returning to her alma mater in Kentucky for her Master’s Degree in Education (that took three full, glorious summers and my brother and I went with her) and taking part in Central Florida’s landmark teachers’ strike in 1968 (the nation’s first) promoting better education for students and better wages for educators.

Her first 25-year marriage ended in divorce and was followed by a second 25-year marriage to A.J., a retired Air Force Major and fun-loving Cajun. She was predeceased by both of them.

Winnie was funny and feisty, and she will be lovingly remembered and greatly missed by her family, former students and steadfast friends.

But the mourning never stops - or, rather, it comes and goes, returning again and again - and I obsessively wonder if the outcome would have been the same if I had done things any differently... It's a constant seesaw of justification and rationalization, and I must go through it to get to where I need to be.

So, I am left with no other recourse than to grieve my mother's passing and honor her life by writing about it as a way to heal my shattered soul. She will live on in my memory and my words, and I hope her children continue to make her proud.

Her grave marker reads: US Navy World War II - Caring Mother Teacher Friend

Happy Trails, mother o' mine, my mother o' mine...