Family echoes.

Today is my 54th birthday.  I am now the age that my mother was when she died, on January 8th, 1985.  I knew then that she died too young, that she had so much more living to do.

Two weeks before her death, I visited her in the convalescent hospital where she had been for months.  She was going home!  The doctors had given her a clean bill of health.   She ordered a new skirt to celebrate and had it shipped to her home.  We got out maps of London and made plans to take a trip there together, as adults, as friends, the following summer.  I went back to school, happy to have had such a nice visit, happy she would soon be going home.

About ten days later, on January 5th, 1985, I got a call from my brother, telling me that mother had septic shock, that she might not make it, and that I needed to get there, fast.  I bought a one-way ticket and packed a dark suit.   She was still alert when I finally arrived.  The nurses remembered me, and let me stay with her, even when visiting hours were over.  I got to talk to her, and ask her what she wanted me to do for her, what she wanted the doctors to do for her, what measures she wanted taken.  She wanted to live.  She was getting weak, working to breath, waiting for the antibiotics to work. Or not. The doctors recommended a ventilator, to help her conserve her strength.  Before they put it in, she had one last thing to say:  “I love my children.”   She died that night.

I remember thinking at the time how sad it was that she had never gone to college, never had a career, never fulfilled her dreams.  That she had fallen in love at 18, gotten married, and devoted her entire adult life to her children.    That her last thought was of her children. I was single and doing odd jobs while earning a doctorate.  I had a cat and helped take care of my 90-year-old neighbor, but having children was the furthest thing from my mind.

Fast forward to today, January 12, 2010.   I am now the age my mother was when she died.  I did go to college, I do have a career, and I have chipped away at those dreams.    But those are the side bars of my life.  Like every parent out there, the moment my first child was born, I understood what my mother meant.  I understood how much you could love someone, how you could put their interests ahead of your own,  and how you could not be happy unless they were okay.  And, as the years go by and I get older, I understand what a precious gift my mother gave me when she said those last words.  She taught me that time flies, and you never know what day might be your last.  She taught me to treasure every second with your children because, before you know it, they have grown up and are out the door. Just yesterday, they were toddlers; blink, and they are turning 30.

Time passes so fast.   Make it worth it.

By Sherry Jarrell
[Readers may find that an earlier Post by Sherry fits very beautifully with this moving account published today. Ed.]