Ode to Libby

My little Bohemian mother, Libby, died on September 11, 1991.  But it was September 9 (1991) that I checked her into the hospital because her ticker (that's what she called her heart) seemed a little uneasy and in general, she didn't feel too great.  When I checked her in I realized how weak she was and as I left the hospital late in the day, she said, "I'll say Happy Birthday to you now in case I don't see you on your Birthday."  I sort of scolded her for saying that to me and tried to lift her spirit, but she was right in the end.  She just listened to my scolding and all she said was, "It's OK."  (Look how pretty she was at age 20 in 1943)

The next day, September 10, I spent most of the day with her and tried to get her going, but she was sad and had been for a long time since dad left her after a 30-year marriage for another woman who was my age.   Mom had recovered from a heart bypass a year earlier but that left her very tentative about life.  She loved her grand-daughters (that's Haley & Desiree in the photo in 1977) and I'm thankful she was in their lives for 14 years.  I wish she could see how beautiful they both turned out to be. 

Mom also loved her long- time friends whom she always kept in contact with.  She was the best neighbor and was the neighborhood nurse because of her excellent nursing skills and fearlessness.  Every child on our street was bandaged back together at some point by mom.  She loved to swim and dance and cook and help us with our homework.  She really was a perfect mother -- but she wasn't happy after dad left.  (That's mom and her high school friend, Vera, swimming in Lake Michigan about 1946.)

Look how pretty mom was when she and dad were married in Chicago in 1948.  She really wanted to grow old with him.  She always said that.  But it didn't happen that way.  When I kissed her goodnight in the hospital on September 10 I had lipstick on so I planted a lipstick smooch right on her forehead.  She was still lucid and I told her I'd see her in the morning.  But in the wee hours of September 11 (dread that day!) the hospital called Tom (my brother) to say mom had just died.  He picked me up and we hurried to the hospital and there she was with my smooch still on her forehead.  Her little ticker just stopped.  It was very simple.

Mom was cremated and I gently spilled her ashes into the Sea of Cortez at sunset right in front of our home in Baja where we put the ashes of most everyone in our family.  Whenever I go to Baja I always look at that spot and say, "Hi Mom!"  A few years later, when dad died, I put his ashes in the Sea at the same spot as mom's ashes (she liked that!)

Looking back, I can see that she started to slip away from us when we (her 3 children) decided to sell our family home where she raised us.  Dad built that wonderful house in 1959 and mom loved that big, old house.  We thought she'd be happier here in BC with her 3 children and 2 granddaughters.  The day we put her in the car to leave her house forever she began to cry in the car.  It was an awful moment.  I wish we would have left her in that house....   She was never the same.

When Mom died, Tom, Lisa & I split up her furniture.  I have her dishes -- the same dishes we grew up with.  But my favorite memento is her funny little purse.  We always teased her about that purse!  I put all her jewelry & glasses inside of it and keep it in my closet.  Sometimes when I want to talk to her I write her a love note and put it in her purse.

Mom was only 5'2".  She studied Modern Dance with Martha Graham and her love of dance spilled onto me.  Lisa flunked Beginning Ballet twice so mom decided Lisa would be happier riding horses since she couldn't follow in her big sister's footsteps.  So mom became an expert in everything to do with horses!  She could do everything, and if she couldn't, she'd learn.  She never complained -- a rare quality.

I turned 40 the very next day after she died.  I was so glad she had wished me a Happy Birthday early.  I'm an expert at ballet and raising kittens, but I'm not an expert at giving death advice.  But if I could say anything I'd say...

"Kiss your mother every time you see her because one of those kisses will be the last kiss -- and be sure to wear lipstick!"  

Love you Mom! 

xoxo Amy