On Mother’s Day, Mom and I had a lovely chat.
Though bedbound and in hospice care at her assisted living facility, her eyes lit up when I knelt beside her.
Alzheimer’s stole a lot from her, but not the memory of me.
I scooted close and we linked arms – her skin still so silky soft. As Derek snapped a photo, I said something that made her laugh.
“You’re just like your dad,” she said. “He made me laugh so hard!”
The cloudiness cleared from her beautiful, pale blue eyes, and she looked deeply into mine.
“I love you,” she said. “I love you so much!”
“I love you, too, Mama,” I said.
And I kissed her and told her we’d be back soon.
When I woke up Friday morning, I had a mom. A few hours later, I didn’t.
At 95, her death wasn’t unexpected but still a lot to process – especially since I saw her every Friday afternoon. I had her laundry washed and folded in a basket by the front door.
She’d waited 31 years to be reunited with my dad, and for the last few years, dementia drastically diminished the quality of her life.
Her world shrank, and so did she.
“I’m not hungry,” she complained. “But they say I don’t eat enough.”
“That’s OK, Mama,” I replied. “Guess what? You don’t have to clean your plate. You just eat what you want.”
And between moments of her fretting that “Jesus doesn’t want me,” there was love, prayers and so much laughter.
My file of #thingsmymomsays brims.
Here are a few reminders.
February 2021
Mom wasn’t sure how old she’ll be next month, and when I told her 90, she gasped.
“Well, that’s it then,” she said. “That’s about as high as I can count.”
April 2023
I shared the most recent pictures of the grandkids with Mom. She said, “Oh, they call you Aunt Cindy, right?”
I said, “No. I’m Nana Cindy, their grandma.”
She put my phone down.
“HOW DID YOU BECOME A GRANDMA!?”
“Well, Mom, when a boy loves a girl …”
“Stop right there!” she said.
And we laughed until we cried.
May 2023
“I’ve lived a long time, and I am amazed by the things I can remember, and then I’m amazed about all the things I’ve forgotten. I guess I’m pretty amazing!”
February 2024
Mom adjusted her recliner.
“Boy, that sounds creaky,” I said.
She nodded.
“I know, but I just creak along with it.”
May 2024
As previously mentioned, Mom’s lift chair creaks along with her, or as she put it today: “I’ve got sound effects to go with my sound effects.”
March 2025
Mom was in good spirits today.
The kitchen made her a special cake for her birthday. She said it was too pretty to eat.
It was pretty hard and stale, so I offered to toss it.
“Not yet,” she said. “It still looks good!”
I asked if she was going to enter the talent show at the end of the month.
“I think I’ll just sit right here in my chair,” she said. “I’m really good at it. I’m probably the best chair-sitter here.”
May 2025
Today, Mom was grateful for the view from her window – especially the trees.
It put her in a poetic frame of mind.
“Poems are made by you and me,
But only God can make a tree,” she recited.
If my 94-year-old Mom can be thankful and recite poetry, don’t you think the rest of us need to up our game?
February 2026
Mom is missing a lot of socks, so I bought her some new pairs for spring.
“You have a lot of single socks,” I said.
“I know,” she replied. “And I still have two feet.”
Long pause.
“So far, anyway.”
While the things my mom said bring smiles, it’s who my mom was that leaves an aching hole in my heart. Honestly, I’m not sure who I am, now that I’m no one’s “Baby Girl.”
This weekend, while sorting through the outpouring of kind condolence messages, this one from a dear high school friend and bridesmaid in my wedding brought comfort and rang so true.
“I am so sorry. I loved your mom,” she wrote. “Of all the Moms, yours was the sweetest and the funniest. You’ll be together again.”
Shirley Burnett, March 21, 1931-May 15, 2026. Beloved wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and friend.
Cindy Hval 