My Mother, 1929-2026

 

My mother died on April Fools Day, at the age of ninety-seven. Knowing my mother as I did, I can safely say that this was not an April Fools prank; she had very little tolerance for that sort of nonsense. The crisis began a week ago and this time she did not have the strength to fight the constant weakening of her kidneys. My brother and his wife were with her when she passed. They said that Mom slipped away in her sleep, exactly as she hoped to do, going out like the slow disappearance of a candle's flame as it reaches the end of the wick, quietly and without pain. The pain is for those of us who knew her and loved her and now can never speak or be comforted by her again. Grief will be our lot now, and tears, until, in time, her memory becomes a source of joy and we become better people for having known and loved her.