She was so lovely

I will always remeber her like on this picture. She had jet black hair, eyes like sapphires and a figure to die for. She was my mom and I loved her. Now I have lost her forever and it hurts so bad. She was old, 85, and I know that she feared the institutions where old people are kept (not cared for, not really) more than anything. She need not fear them anymore.

Mom liked to be in control of things. She never wanted anyone to interfere and she never asked for help with anything. I called her every Saturday and January 14th was no exception. She talked about bread she was baking, luncheon with her lady friends and my godmother who had just been transferred to one of those "old peoples' homes" that she loathed so much. Nothing was out of the ordinary except that she had had a fall the week before. She had slipped on the icy pavement and fallen flat on her back hurting her head. Hospital? No, of course not. Not her, and I was silly for asking. However, I decided that once a week wasn't enough. I needed to call her more often to check that she was all right. I called her from work on tuesday. No answer. Well, maybe she had gone out to get the paper. She used to do that. No answer in the afternoon. Well, maybe she had taken the bus to her favourite grocery store. She used to do that almost on a daily basis too. After work I called her from home and now I got worried. Then a friend of hers called and said that she had not answered the phone the whole day before.

We found her on the bathroom floor. She was rushed to the ER. Her sugar levels were off the charts. She was dehydrated. They gave her IV, insulin and had a really hard time taking blood samples from her. An old person, dehydrated at that, isn't easy to draw any blood from. Well after midnight they finally managed to find a room for her on a ward and we went home to get some sleep. The next day she was hardly conscious and during the night she suffered another stroke. The hospital called us early on Thursday morning and then I knew that the end was near. We spent the whole day at her bedside, caressing her cheek and holding her hands. She knew that were there, because when she opened her eyes and I said "Mom, we are here" she smiled that lovely smile of hers. Her blood pressure was sinking continuously throughout the day and in the evening she went away. I held her hand tightly in mine, but still I didn't notice. Neither did she, I hope. She just.. left.

I thought about all the times she had talked about this. Whenever we came to see her she always reminded us that the rent had been paid well in advance and these papers were here and all that stuff was there. We didn't pay much attention. Mom is, for some reason, imagined to be everlasting and indestructable. When she seemed to worry about the end of ther life I used to comfort her by telling about how my father would come to meet her. Dad died in 1972 and there was never a man after him. When asked, she simply stated that "father cannot be replaced" and that was that. So.. I think it happed like this:

Is is a bit after nine p.m. on Thursday January 19th. A Bugatti Royale from the late 40-ies drives up in front of the hospital. It leaves no tracks in the snow. A fine-looking gentleman steps out, his arms brimming with dewy pink roses. He walks into ward 33, room 7. He beholds the white-haired lady in the bed who's bravely fighting to draw one more shallow breath and then another. Lovingly, he lifts the beautiful young woman that he loves out of her frail shell and sweeps away with her in his Bugatti. Away to the Faraway Land where no sorrow and no pain exist. Now, they are probably having coffee with granny and grandpa in their garden. Granny's apple trees are in full bloom and there are sweet ripe apples at the same time because that's how it is in Heaven.

Farewell sweet Mom. Enjoy the freedom of your soul. We'll meet soon again.