"Running Commentary"

        
December Daze

Today, a few moments of remembrance.
Five days from today marks one year.
    Mother died December 22, 2020.
    She didn’t pass away, bite the dust, kick the bucket or buy the farm. Mother didn’t cash in her chips or go out with her boots on. She bleepin’ died. Good grief! Why does everyone seem to have trouble calling it what it is?
It is an anniversary to be remembered, but one without any shedding of tears. Seriously – Genevieve wouldn’t want anyone crying in their beer over her death. She wanted to die. Mother willed herself to hit three digits; and then, with all the strength she had left she willed herself to die.
She did so on her terms – quickly and painlessly.  
As the time got closer, Mother and I talked about the significance of living to be 100. She laughed and poo pooed the thought as though it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s just another day,” she would say. But don’t try to convince me she didn’t care.
The woman had a killer competitive streak. She wasn’t about to give up the proverbial ghost until she was darned good and ready. With a big birthday bash enjoyed by all.
The last two months, Mother was mentally alive and alert, but lacked the wherewithal to carry on. Simple breathing had become labored. This was a proud woman who took pride in her ability to carry herself without the use of a cane or mobile walker. When she sensed the quality of her life was beginning to diminish, she quietly let go.
And with apologies to T. S. Eliot, that is precisely how Mother’s world ended: “Not with a bang, but a whimper.”
    Thus, December 22nd is added to the annual calendar of significant days in December, along with the winter solstice, and, of course, Christmas and New Year’s Eve.
    The upcoming days will surely have a bittersweet flavor, but shed no tears for me. I’m certainly not crying in my beer – Mother wouldn’t want that. Moreover, the ability to grieve and endure through a palpable sense of sadness is the price we pay for all the joys a loved one gave us.
If everything evens out in life, consider yourself blessed.
    Who out there hasn’t lost a loved one? It’s the eternal cycle of life and death. We experience the heartaches … and then we must move on, full of warm remembrances of the joy and goodness we were privileged to share. Our time with Mother was a great blessing, and the memories are enhanced by the knowledge that she lived a very full and wonderful life.
    When hospice care was needed, my brother Jim made hurried arrangements and flew back from Portland to be here. Mother saw the two of us leaning over together on her bedside. Her final words were spoken with a smile and a deep sense of love and appreciation, “My two boys …”
A freeze-frame moment never to be forgotten.
    But enough of that. Let us shift gears with a true celebration on what has always been my favorite day of the year – December 21st, the winter solstice. I write about it often – the turning point when days imperceptibly begin to get longer and warmer.
    Indeed, it was a running joke with Mother. Time and again, we would be looking out the window on some bleak and stormy, frozen custard of a night in January or February and I would spout the same old time-worn line – “I think it’s getting warmer.”
Mother would turn and look at me with disbelieving eyes that said, “Bull-crap” … without her having to utter the word. And then we both broke out laughing.
    As for Christmas 2021 and New Year’s 2022, I have two loving companions with whom to share the holidays. It will be Boulder’s second Christmas – Rocky’s first. Nothing says love like two big babies who jump onto my lap and try to lick me to death.
    The boys make me laugh and give me a reason for getting up virtually every morning.
My other three children and grandchildren live back east. Naturally, I will miss them; however, we remain close despite the miles between us. And when the weather warms up, I plan to go back for extended visits.
I will close with this holiday thought. To some extent, life is what we make of it. Some dwell on the sadness in their lives; some are even consumed by it. Others will remember their blessings, that which lives within our hearts no matter how difficult the hardships we face. The gifts of Christmas past.
    I have so much to be thankful for, and near the top of that list is good health. A few months ago, I had a bad patch, but thankfully my blood clot was discovered. I’m back to being my old self – beginning each day with a smile on my face as I go outside into that bleak, subfreezing, darkened morning to do my workout on the local track.
    This morning, just as I finished my third and final mile, I was joined by local resident Ted Collins, all bundled up and looking very much like the Ghost of Christmas Past. I half expected him to review my life’s history with an admonition to be more generous. I promise to do just that, Ted. One more life principle I learned from Bengie.  
    I don’t mourn my mother’s death.
    Rather, I celebrate her life.

Michael welcomes reader comments. Rmykl@yahoo.com