A Rose Today...

My mom always loved the saying, "I'd rather have one rose today than all the flowers when I'm gone." She learned it from her dear friend, Delia McHugh, who was our nanny in the 50's. I learned this phrase meant that someone would rather be with a family member or friend today than with lots of people at their memorial service.

My beautiful, funny, sweet, crazy mom, Marianne Garner, passed away this morning at one o'clock, in the presence of her "Silverado Hospice angels." I was fortunate to have spent a few hours with her late yesterday afternoon, going through the pictures I had saved from the boxes I mentioned in my blog posting last night. Mom was in some distress then, breathing oxygen from a tube attached to a noisy machine, and having some trouble swallowing the soup the staff had brought in for lunch. When I arrived, she was sitting on the side of her bed enjoying a conversation with her beloved Hospice volunteer and "dear friend," Patty. The three of us looked at some pictures and Patty asked to take a yellowed black and white photo of Mom when she was a chubby child to scan and enlarge. Mom and I were delighted that Patty wanted to do that.

After Patty left, Mom asked if she could have a glass of wine. I poured each of us two sips in plastic cups and we toasted to Mom's wonderful past. "I have had a wonderful life," she declared, clutching a photo of her and Jack at the captain's table on a cruise ship and extending her plastic up out to touch mine. "Yes, you have," I agreed.

Mom picked up a tiny, wallet-sized photo of her taken when she was probably 34, holding my little brother, John, in her lap. It must have been snapped by a professional photographer because the quality was excellent. Mom wore a simple black dress and John was in yellow "footy jammies." I'm guessing John was about two, although he looked older because he was such a big boy. They were both smiling in a giddy, silly way, as if they were sharing a goofy secret. Looking at the picture, Mom said, "Johnny was such a joy." I was quiet. "I love you and your brother so much," she said. "I know," was all I could say.

My mom died in the middle of last night, apparently with that picture of her and little John nearby, and surrounded by other photos she'd been viewing. I have to believe that my "Playing God" with historical photos last weekend was a good thing. I honor my caring sister, Meg, for insisting that I go through those boxes of pictures on New Year's Day - a task I dreaded - and then share some with Mom. What a wonderful gift those pictures were for her during the last precious days and hours of her life.

Something I remember from my last conversation with my mother was her question, "When exactly did Jack die?" I told her that my dear stepdad, Jack, had passed January 25th of last year. "Oh, I knew it was January," she said. And then five minutes later, she asked me the same question again, and I gave the same answer. This time she wistfully added, "I miss Jack so much." And I responded, "He misses you too, Mom; and someday you'll be together again."

Did I know she was destined to leave the planet after I left her last night? No. Am I grateful that I was with her just prior to her departure? Yes. Mom had her sought-after "one rose today." And thankfully, so did I.

God bless and keep you, Mom...I love you.