Mildred Dean Goodwin
Sunrise: September 15, 1925
Sunset: May 7, 2009, 11:16 PM EST
I'll be flying out this weekend to NC.
I'm calling the church office tomorrow with the funeral arrangements.
Oddly: when my father died, I worried about my mom. She really loved Robert Harrison Goodwin - got him his first job just out the US Navy (just meeting him) - and I was especially sad for her around holidays, he made the Thanksgiving turkey; the Christmas ham: as do I now.
If love alone could have healed him from cancer, she gave more than I could ever imagine. Being an LVN, I imagine she thought she could "fix" him. When he died, she "lost her purpose," and that was evident with every passing day. It's been a slow deterioration without him.
I visited her this summer, working for a small firm that allowed me to telecommute. Each day I went, I was blessed by the fact in her advanced stage of Alzheimer's, she recognized me. Conversations were simple: she'd grasp my right hand with both of hers and pat and kiss it saying "my baby." I would acknowledge her that as usual, she was right.
She was hanging in there from a previous urinary tract infection that had her with a temperature above 100 degrees, according to my sister, but Hospice had not released her, and obvious at this point, had no need to. Death released her from pain and loneliness. Even though she's my older sister, I'm protective of her and where she is emotionally in this.
This blog started with the death of my job on the four year anniversary of my father's death. He died exactly 12 days past my 37th birthday at the age of 74: I was half his age.
Earlier, I mentioned her falling. If you have any loved ones that are senior, please get them companion services. She was on her back for an estimated 10 hours before I had my best friend - works for the Police Department - dispatch a car. She'd fallen out of the tub the night before. My sister couldn't reach her and called me. She never fully recovered from the fear of falling and lost the ability without much practice. She was in a nursing home from that point on.
Now, two days from Mother's Day, Mildred is gone. So is my childhood.
As I spoke at my father's funeral, I will speak at hers. I hope I can give it eloquence.
Sunset: May 7, 2009, 11:16 PM EST
I'll be flying out this weekend to NC.
I'm calling the church office tomorrow with the funeral arrangements.
Oddly: when my father died, I worried about my mom. She really loved Robert Harrison Goodwin - got him his first job just out the US Navy (just meeting him) - and I was especially sad for her around holidays, he made the Thanksgiving turkey; the Christmas ham: as do I now.
If love alone could have healed him from cancer, she gave more than I could ever imagine. Being an LVN, I imagine she thought she could "fix" him. When he died, she "lost her purpose," and that was evident with every passing day. It's been a slow deterioration without him.
I visited her this summer, working for a small firm that allowed me to telecommute. Each day I went, I was blessed by the fact in her advanced stage of Alzheimer's, she recognized me. Conversations were simple: she'd grasp my right hand with both of hers and pat and kiss it saying "my baby." I would acknowledge her that as usual, she was right.
She was hanging in there from a previous urinary tract infection that had her with a temperature above 100 degrees, according to my sister, but Hospice had not released her, and obvious at this point, had no need to. Death released her from pain and loneliness. Even though she's my older sister, I'm protective of her and where she is emotionally in this.
This blog started with the death of my job on the four year anniversary of my father's death. He died exactly 12 days past my 37th birthday at the age of 74: I was half his age.
Earlier, I mentioned her falling. If you have any loved ones that are senior, please get them companion services. She was on her back for an estimated 10 hours before I had my best friend - works for the Police Department - dispatch a car. She'd fallen out of the tub the night before. My sister couldn't reach her and called me. She never fully recovered from the fear of falling and lost the ability without much practice. She was in a nursing home from that point on.
Now, two days from Mother's Day, Mildred is gone. So is my childhood.
As I spoke at my father's funeral, I will speak at hers. I hope I can give it eloquence.
Labels: Loved ones lost
posted by Unemployed | 9:00 PM
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