I am here to present to you the story of my Mom. But to me that story cannot be told or exist without bringing in my Dad, because I have no frame of reference of one without the other. This is a love story. A real love story. No slow motion running, no music track in the background, a real marriage spanning over 52 years. A marriage of better and a marriage of worse.
They were married at 21 and 20. They had their first child, my sister Suzanne, 9 months to the day of their marriage. A fact that was not missed by my father’s devoutly Catholic mother. I can vividly picture the days crossed off and counted on her calendar as my sister’s birth approached. A Mom and Dad now at 22 and 21. 18 months after my sister was born, I was born. A mother and father of two at 24 and 23.
Mom was a great mom. She could cook, sew, bake, she was creative. She loved to read to us, teach us, she took us to the pool, she encouraged cultural exploration - family outings to the Smithsonian museums in DC, the zoo. She was spiritual - she read the Bible to us, she volunteered at the church, she encouraged us to be active in the church. She encouraged creativity - for us to sing, to play instruments, to be in plays. She loved sports - encouraged us to play sports, she coached us, she played soccer as an adult, she was a fan and she loved her home teams - the Redskins, Nationals, Caps, Hoyas, and then the Blue Devils.
Mom had a strong spirit and opinions - she was a proponent of woman’s equal rights, equal rights for all, Democratic politics and she was an advocate for us her family/her kids. She could be gentle and sweet and she could be fiery and volatile. She could be passive aggressive and she could be just plain aggressive. She was real. All the time. Pretentiousness was a foreign concept.
Mom was fun. She loved a good restaurant. Ribs, beer, and fries, steamed shrimp, a crab boil. Out with my Dad - her best friend. Christmas Eve and 4th of July parties at the Gradys were legendary. She loved music – the Beatles, Glen Campbell, Neil Diamond in her cherished Ford EXP with the sunroof open. She was an avid reader. Upon my college graduation, she “retired” from her past jobs as a Orthodontist Assistant and then an Office Manager to take her dream job as a clerk at Crowne Books just up the street from my parent’s house. One year in a contest with her co-workers in the book store she read 182 books during that year.
In 1989 the love story experienced rebirth/a renaissance of sorts. Mom had been having headaches for years at the most inopportune times - Bob and Leslie’s rehearsal dinner, my college graduation. We jokingly referred to it as “Special Occasion Flu." She then suffered other symptoms that were thought to be blood pressure related.
On August 16, 1989 my dad was supposed to leave on a business trip after work. By chance, he forgot something and had to stop by the house on his way to the airport. He found my Mom on the floor of the upstairs bathroom. She had suffered a cerebral aneurism. She had been on the floor bleeding into her brain for over 8 hours. She was placed on life support. She received Last Rites (an act that my father would hear about for the next 27 years). She lived. One in a million. For better and for worse. She stayed in a coma for 22 days. She came out of the coma on September 7, 1989 - on my Mom and Dad’s 26th wedding anniversary. There is no chance. There is Grace. A love story. Pain, suffering, sacrifice, and resurrection so that we may live, that we may be redeemed.
Rehab from the aneurism required over 8 months in Mount Vernon Hospital a world renowned brain injury center. Mom had to learn how to walk again, how to dress herself, how to talk. She vowed she would walk out of that hospital and she did. Determination, pride, stubbornness - strong traits but in time weaknesses.
When mom returned home, she fired her physical therapist, her occupational therapist, and speech therapist. She could do this on her own. For a while she did - walking over 3 miles a day on her own. She and my dad did some traveling, they were back hanging out at their old spots. Life was good. Nephews were born - Jesse and Noah. Grandchildren came - Abbey and then Sean. She so loved her nephews and she so loved her grandchildren. Her pride and joy. Visits were made: Christmases, Thanksgivings, then graduations. She didn’t need help. Although help was constantly there. Every second, every minute, every day, every year along the way. Her best friend, her partner in crime, her husband...her help.
Almost exactly four years ago Mom and Dad moved to Mount Pleasant. We found them a house less than a mile from our house. A one story house on a huge pond. More time with Abbey and Sean, more time with Sherri and me, cookouts, dinners out, band concerts, birthdays, Mother’s and Father’s days together, 4th of July when Sean and I almost blew up their backyard, Christmas Eve services at St. Andrew’s and St Benedict’s their new church. Alligators were named and geese and ducks were watched from her new screened porch. Life was good. She loved that porch, she loved that pond.
More recently, it was clear that age and disability from the aneurism were colliding. She was more and more anxious, time on the porch was limited, time outside of the house was a challenge. Her teams were more her escape than her joy. She was no longer reading her books. We would come and bring dinner or cook at their house. Church and doctor’s appointments were her only times out of the house.
On a Sunday afternoon Dad called. Mom was in an ambulance on her way to the Mount Pleasant hospital. A simple urinary tract infection. She knew it was something else, she knew something was wrong. She was right. 5 days in the hospital; then 6 days at Savannah Grace for rehab where she seemed to be getting stronger, working hard to get back home. She was found unresponsive on a Wednesday morning; a massive stroke - the same side of the brain. Four more long days in the hospital holding vigil and counting breaths; one glorious day in Hospice. Bathed, her hair washed, in a beautiful room with a beautiful bed with the covers pulled up to her chin. Just like the day in 1989 when she got to come home from the rehab hospital for the day and she got in her bed for the first time in 3 months. Peaceful, relaxed, content….Home. This time she was being called to her eternal home.
So I did some math. Mom and Dad were married in 1963 - dated for a time before that - 26 almost 27 years until the aneurism. August 1989 until July 2016 - 26 almost 27 years. A role reversal of sorts. Mom had the aneurism at the age of 46 years old. I cannot imagine experiencing this kind of trauma. I cannot imagine losing my ability to go wherever I want whenever I wanted to, driving a car, walking up some stairs, my independence, my self. This was very counter to Mom’s self. She was fiercely independent and was suddenly fiercely dependent. I think Mom had some talks with God. I know she strayed for a while, but then she was back. She could not ignore the story. The Love Story. The Author of the story. He had given her him and neither of them had ever left her side. Remember this love story is a real love story. A marriage of better; a marriage of worse. Pain, suffering, sacrifice and resurrection… redemption.
