Barbara Ann Myers Fitzgerald, 9/19/1926-2/13/2006

My mother died 1.5 hours ago. This is my first public post on the subject; those who have been following the situation in some or all of my locked posts over the last couple of weeks will see some familiar ground covered below. For those hearing of her recent illness, hospitalization, diagnosis, and transfer to hospice care for the first time, my apologies. I intended to post an overview of the situation several days ago, but it remained only an intention until now.

In April of 1989, elisem said something I've quoted hundreds of times since: "The problem with grief is that when it knocks, you're always home."

Indeed. ( 14 days...well, 21, in 14 paragraphs )

I had a complicated, difficult relationship with my mother. For the past several decades, my wish was that she would live a very happy life in India before going off planet to a sector I never wanted to visit. Instead, she moved to Minneapolis for the last years of her working life, and I was the on-site kid running point through her first couple of strokes and diabetes diagnosis. galacticvoyeur can tell you just how much Mom still got to me then, and how good it was for me after Mom moved back to Michigan at the beginning of 1998. My sister has been running point ever since.

For all of the difficulties, both Sue and I were happy to be at her side, to be there for her and with her as her life was ending. For me, the whole thing has been an utterly intense, valuable learning experience, both mentally and emotionally. And, as I said earlier in this post (at least, I think I did), the experience is far from over yet. The grief of saying goodbye while she was still alive is different than the grief and reality now. It's all intense, it's all big, and I don't yet know what going through all that's still to come will be like. I only know that I am blessed with friends and loved ones who are here for me, all in their own ways, as I am there for them in mine. And, yes, I've said it all to often to others: I know to go as gently as possible through the minutes, hours, days, and weeks to come. And then some.

Even though the LJ time stamp marks when I started this message rather than when I posted it, just over 4 hours have now passed since Mom died. I made it through the first 1.5 hours by calling Tom Whitmore WINOLJ, and who I hadn't managed to call or otherwise update since this whole thing started. This LJ post and a cup of tea saw me through the next 2.5 hours. And now...now I'll find out what comes next.

Thank you, each and all

Thank you, Alison. Thank you, Andrew. Thank you, Anne. Thank you, Bernie. Thank you, Beth. Thank you, Betsy. Thank you, Bill. Thank you, Bridget. Thank you, Dave. Thank you, Dave. Thank you, Davey. Thank you, David. Thank you, David. Thank you, Dean. Thank you, Diane. Thank you, Doug. Thank you, Elaine. Thank you, Elise. Thank you, Emma. Thank you, Eve. Thank you, Fred. Thank you, Gary Thank you, Gavi. Thank you, Grant. Thank you, Jason. Thank you, Jeff. Thank you, Jo. Thank you, Joe. Thank you, Joel.

Thank you, Karen. Thank you, Kate. Thank you, Kevin. Thank you, Kim. Thank you, Kip. Thank you, Laramie. Thank you, Larry. Thank you, Laura Jean. Thank you, Laurel. Thank you, Laurie. Thank you, Liz. Thank you, Magenta. Thank you, Matthew. Thank you, Mitchell. Thank you, Pamela. Thank you, Hal. Thank you, Peer. Thank you, Persis. Thank you, Peter. Thank you, Rachel. Thank you, Sandra. Thank you, Scott. Thank you, Spring. Thank you, Steve. Thank you, Steve. Thank you, Susan. Thank you, Tom. Thank you, Vicki. Thank you, Will.

I am so comfortably wrapped in love, support, and understanding from all of you, and from so many others. There are sweet rolls, and coffee. There's chicken and sausage gumbo, provolone, and more. There's shoveling to be done, work to do, life to live. And you're all doing a marvelous job of reminding me of that while also giving me the space to find and believe its underlying truth and reality.

Thank you. I look forward to seeing you all on the Funway just as soon as I make it there. And to seeing you wherever our paths cross in the meantime.

P.S. Thank you, Tami.