Timothy Birdnow

I go now to bury my mother.

She died late last week, the result of a massive heart attack. She had been sick for years, suffering the lingering effects of a pair of strokes that left reduced her mobility and caused her memory loss. Her health had been slowly but steadily declining over the years, and she fell down about three weeks ago and broke her hip.

the hip repladement somehow came detached (the top part from the lower) and she was in great pain. after a week the rehab center sent her back to the hospital, where they were able to manipulate it back into place, but by then her health had declined precipitously and she suffered a massive heart attack. The doctor himself called me to tell me to get out right away.

But she fooled them all, living another three days in the hospice before passing on. I was at her bedside when she breathed her last.

The visitation was held last night, and a larger crowd than I expected showed up (octogenarians rarely have a lot of people at their funerals, especially ones with smaller families as is ours.) Hers was a suitably lively wake, a tribute to how well loved she truly was. Couple that with a really wild memorial going on in another room of the funeral home (the parking lot was full of people TAILGATING as if a high school football game had just ended) and we had a pretty lively affair.

My mother was a delightful person. Bubbly, fun-loving, and warm, she had a bevy of beaus chasing her about before my father won her at the tender age of 24. She had attended the same college that my brother and I would later attend (Saint Louis University) and she went on to become an elementary school teacher in an impoverished suburb of St. Louis called Granite City. Granite City was a mill town where migrants from Appalachia settled to work in the steel mills. Her kids were poor, sometimes showing up to school without shoes and whatnot and she often had to help them out of her own pocket.. After becoming pregnant with my oldest brother she was forced to resign and became a stay-at-home mom. Later she would return to teaching at a Catholic school, and it is out of that very parish that she will not receive her final rites from Holy Mother Church.. Strange how things have come full circle.

She was the reason my father became a Catholic. He had been an indifferent Methodist until my mother led him by example, and so he converted to Catholicism when I was a boy. He received his Confirmation just before I did, and acted as my sponsor even when I was confirmed! That was ultimately my mother's doing.

She had a great enjoyment of life, too, and she and my father used to go out regularly - to festivals, to parties, to bars and restaurants. She loved the nightlife and enjoyed herself fully. My friends loved her, and my parents would come to fun events like the Strassenfest (a German street festival) where they would dance and enjoy beer or sausages or whatnot - even into their 70's. They never missed a St. Patrick's Day parade. In fact, my good friend's daughter invited my parents to her wedding (the only such invitation issued) because she had grown up enjoying their company at the St. Pats parade so much! People loved how much my mother enjoyed life when she could.

And she was a fine singer who enjoyed being in shows and plays and whatnot. She even dabbled in it professionally on occasion, having done a few gigs where she was paid. But that wasn't the point; she loved to take the stage and grab a a microphone and sing for the sheer joy of it. Up until the end she would go to a piano bar and sing some old tune. She loved Cole Porter (and we are going to have Begin the Beguine played at her funeral as per her request) and would belt out a Porter tune at The Hideaway, their regular haunt. And that went on until she was in her 70's! When we were younger she was the belle of the ball at our grade school where they put on shows, and she was active in the parent's shows at my high school.

She also loved to travel, and my parents used to drive all over the country in their rather dilapidated old clunker cars. I mean everywhere; they loved the traveling, not the destination, and saw every back road in the country. But her fondest dream was to go to Europe, a dream she finally realized later in life.

As I say, she was a delightful person.

Not that she was without her faults. She was late to everything and we said she would be late to her own funeral. Her death several days after they called it was right in character. She was also very slow and methodical, something that drove my father crazy at times and now is the source of his greatest pain; he misses it. If she did a job she did it to perfection which meant she did it slowly. Her penmanship was picture perfect, but it took her forever to write anything. She was also a packrat and in later life turned into a terrible horder; she couldn't bear to throw anything away. Even when she was younger she washed paper plates (if they were the nicer kind) and plastic utensils. But when you needed something she would dip into her stockpile and find whateever you were seeking somewhere in the clutter.

Now she is gone. Today is the day we say our final farewell.

Her only brother passed away almost exactly one year ago. Now she joins him.

So I am off now to put my mother to rest. Interesting that it should be at the beginning of Holy Week, the celebration of Christ's death and resurrection. I find comfort in that.

Posted by: Timothy Birdnow at 06:16 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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