Mother's day, the first one without my my mom. Almost 20 years ago I decided to follow my then boyfriend/future (ex) husband to the USA. I chose to leave my family behind and start a new life, over 4000 miles away from the place where I grew up.

This was very hard on my mother. She feared she'd never see her oldest daughter again. Fortunately this proved to be untrue. My parents visited us twice, once in Albuquerque and once in Illinois. It took 8 years before I was able to pay my first visit "back home", but since then I visited quite a few times.

I'll always be grateful for being able to spend the last month of her life with my mom, even though she only spent 5 days of that time (her final days) at home.

In 2004, I goofed up, just a little. I got pregnant. I was single and involved with a man who was unwilling and unable to take on the responsibility of being a father to this child. There were more things contributing to the general mess, but I WAS PREGNANT!

I had actively tried to get pregnant during my first marriage. We'd started trying in 1991, to no avail. There was no clear cause and I was trying to come to terms with the fact that my wish to become a mom would not be granted to me.

My sister was getting married in June, and I was traveling back to the Netherlands to be part of all that. The day after the wedding day, I would tell my mom about the pregnancy. I was nervous. The circumstances surrounding this unborn kiddo were less than ideal. Part of me was so thrilled to finally have seen 2 lines on a pregnancy test, and another part of me was a mess because of the situation in general.

After waking up and coming downstairs, I sat down with my mom, and told her I was expecting. Her first reaction: "I'm so happy for you!". I'm tearing up as I write this. There was no judgment for being unmarried. Even when I explained the screwed up circumstances, she didn't judge me. She was happy that finally my wish to be a mom would be granted. She wanted to be an Oma to that baby as much as I wanted to be his/her mom.

Just about a month later I miscarried. It was hard for her that I was so far away, and she couldn't be there for me. All miscarriages are devastating and sad, this one broke my heart at the time. Thanks to loving friends I didn't have to go through it completely alone.

Shortly after that I met Mike, and only 4 months after meeting him I conceived Kate. The girl who finally made me a mommy! My family was a bit shocked at the speed of light with which we got pregnant. (December 31st, celebratory dinner, I was going to move in with him, some wine was involved ...)

When Kate was due, my mom was in the hospital with cardiac problems. I was given explicit permission to call my mother the moment the baby was born, so that my mom could get to the business of getting better. I did. And she and her roommate had a little party (with rusk and anise sprinkles, a Dutch tradition).

She had hoped to come visit her granddaughter a few months later, but the doctor would not clear her to fly, it was to risky health wise. She had to wait exactly one year until she finally met her long awaited grandchild. It was Kate's first birthday.

My mom wasn't perfect, she made mistakes, like all of us. One thing she had down was unconditional love for her children. We did things that hurt her, made her sad, but ... her love and affection never stopped.

Happy Mothers Day mom. I'll miss you a bit more today.

These are from 2002. The first time pneumonia landed my mom in the hospital. This was around or on their 40th wedding anniversary. Even though my mom looked different when Kate knew her, she recognized Oma right away.

Technically these aren't very good, but what I love about these photos is that she looks so joyful and exuberant and full of life. This must have been near the end of her hospital stay. This was the first of many, and even though life got harder and harder and she had to fight more and more for each breath, she was always full of life.

ﾠ

Thanks Kate :-)

That's what Kate calls them. It means that it's a story that wasn't read from the pages of a book. Sometimes she loses reading before bed. This happens when she might have been a little more obstinate or defiant than usual.

Last night it was simply too late. We came home after 9:30 pm, and she needed to just go to sleep. No reading? Her request was: "Can you tell me a story from your mouth?"

Of course I could, after all, she phrased her request so well.

I'm not one of those people who can come up with stories out of the blue. I'll tell a story based on a fairy tale or a myth or something that really happened. A few days ago she heard the story of JoJo (my younger sister) and how she had gone on an adventure when she was a little girl and how everyone was worried until she finally returned home in a police car. (JoJo was 2 at the time).

Last night I told her two stories about a girl named Annie.

Annie and the loaf of bread.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a girl named Annie. Annie's mommy and daddy couldn't take care of her for a bit, so she was living with her aunt and uncle, who loved her very much. It was a difficult time though, and Aunt and Uncle didn't always have a lot of money, and sometimes Annie would be very hungry.

One day Aunt Marie asked Annie to go to the baker to buy half a loaf of white bread. Annie took off, it was quite a long walk, but she enjoyed it, skipping and hopping until she got to the bakery. She had to stand in line for a bit but when it was finally her turn, she bought the half loaf of white bread and set out for home again.

The bread was still warm from the oven and smelled so good. Hungry Annie became even hungrier when she got a whiff of the fresh baked bread smells coming out of the bag. If I take just a little bit, no one will notice, she thought. So she took of a little crumb and put it in her mouth.

Hmmm, that was so delicious. Her hungry tummy grumbled. She took another piece, a little bigger this time, not too much, so no one would notice, right?

By the time Annie came home she'd eaten quite a few of those little pieces that no one was supposed to notice. Oh my, when Aunt Marie opened the bag with the bread, there was no bread left, just a hollowed out bread crust! She was not very happy with Annie! Annie was sent to her bed and Aunt Marie had to get on her bicycle to get a new half loaf so that the rest of the family had bread to eat with dinner!

The end.

Can Annie Sing for the Queen?

Once upon a time, in a land far away, in Opaland (the Netherlands) as a matter of fact, there was a little girl, and her name was Annie. Annie loved to go to Sunday school every Sunday. She loved to hear the stories and she loved singing the songs that the teacher made them sing.

There was a bit of a problem with Annie's singing though. She couldn't sing. She tried, for sure, but somehow her little voice could never find the notes of the song like the other children could.

One day, the teacher had great news for the children. Queen Wilhelmina was coming to visit the Sunday school and had asked if the children could sing a song for her. The class practiced very hard. It all sounded incredibly beautiful, except for one thing. Annie's little voice kept singing out of tune.

Meanwhile, all the children were so excited! Annie and her sisters even got new dresses to wear for the special occasion. Since Annie's parents were poor, this was very special.

A few days before the Queen was supposed to arrive, the teacher took Annie apart. "I'm sorry Annie," she said, "but you just can't sing. We can't let the Queen hear your voice." Annie was sad, and wanted to cry, but bit her lip, she wouldn't let the teacher see how sad she really was.

The teacher said: "Listen Annie, I have a plan. You can come with the other children when we go to sing for the Queen, and your mouth will be moving, but you have to make sure no sound comes out. Let's practice." Annie moved her mouth to the words of the song, but kept her voice quiet. "Beautiful," exclaimed the teacher, "then we're all set! The song will sound as it's supposed to, and you get to see the Queen!"

On the day of Queen Wilhemina's visit all went as planned. Annie and her sisters wore their beautiful new dresses. The children sang beautifully. The Queen gave them a big applause when it was all done, and never knew that the pretty girl with the big brown eyes in the corner only moved her mouth and didn't really sing.

The end.

Annie was Kate's loving Oma, my mom. These stories are based on what she told us about her childhood. She really could not sing, even though she kept trying and sang many children's songs with her grandkids, who didn't mind if Oma didn't hit the notes quite right.

Kate loves hearing stories about people she loves!

My mom loved flowers. This could not have been one of those "in lieu of flowers, please send money to ..." funerals. The tiny room which housed her coffin smelled like a flowershop. Her grave, after she was buried, overflowed with flowers. My sister took the photos below.

While still in the Netherlands, we would visit the cemetary from time to time, to make sure the flowers didn't look too bad. Kate generally enjoyed going to the cemetary, running along, collecting pine cones, picking flowers and sometimes putting those flowers in vases on people's graves. She also planted a hydrangea in the dirt of Oma's grave, along with some other flowers. I'm told they're still there, the hydrangea dried nicely, standing up in the sand.

When my mom was home, things were so busy with taking care of her, being Kate's mom and trying to work, I never pulled out my camera to take pics of Kate and Oma.

I thought I'd have time!

You don't really pull out the camera to take photos of someone who really is tired, exhausted and not feeling well. After all, they almost gave up on her twice while she was in the hospital. We have some pictures of Kate and Oma from last year. And I'll surely remember how sweet Kate and Oma were these last days, how Kate grabbed Oma's cheeks to kiss her or just rubbed noses. That made both of them so very happy. :-)

Early this afternoon my mom's pulmonary specialist called. He was on vacation when she died, and received the news of her passing from his assistant. From what I could tell he was genuinely shocked and sad, and really had not expected this. When he left for vacation he told my mother "I'll see you at the clinic". Now I know he really meant this.

He asked me how things had happened and was sad about how she still suffered near the end, and how she had said "I'm going to die". It was so heart warming to talk to him. My mother always felt so safe with him as a doctor, she trusted him unconditionally. He also told me that she continued to amaze him with her strength, determination and will to live. That a few years ago she was so ill, he thought she wouldn't make it.

He had to cut off the conversation with me because he had to tend to an emergency, but a few minutes later he called back to also talk to my dad. My dad thanked him, and was so moved by this doctor's concern. He thanked Dr. Mￃllers for his excellent care and concern for my mom. He told him how my mom always loved getting a pat on the back from the Doctor when things were going well.

It was a moving exchange, and both my dad and I were deeply moved, we are very grateful that my mom had such a warm and caring doctor. My dad told me that one of the things that was still bothering him was that he hadn't yet thanked Dr. Mￃllers for his care.

Sigh :-)

Today they also picked up the oxygen concentrator and oxygen tanks as well as the chairs that were on loan to my mom. Tomorrow more medical things will be picked up. Then all that's left is the wheel chair, but apparently the organization that picks that up isn't very organized.

Oh well.

I wonder what the wake will be like tonight. It's more like a condolences receiving line which should not last much longer than an hour. It has been interesting to say the least, to see how all of us are handling things so differently. It's also a little sad that there is tension between us at times, because we all handle things so differently.

I'm so proud of my dad though. I'm used to seeing him be quiet and private and not share his emotions easily. It seems that he's facing his feelings head on, and shares them when he feels like it. He feels my mom's loss so deeply. Even though they used to bicker all the time, we all knew how deeply they loved each other, and how they belonged together. He has a tough time with people who hover over him in a way that he just "doesn't do". But he understands that even though he doesn't really need that, and doesn't really want that, it may be something that person needs to do.

Of course I'm worried too. How is it going to be, when all the business and craziness dies down. When I leave, when his kids are back to their lives, at least somewhat. What is he going to do with all the time he'll have left, no longer taking care of my mom's every need and wish.

For me, I think it'll be strange to be back home in the US, and my daily phone call time rolls around. I'll just have to talk to her in spirit then.

I'm serious, don't smoke.

If you haven't started, don't ever, if you've started STOP.

NOW!

My mom is slowly dying, little by little. I keep wondering, how would she be, had she never smoked a cigarette in her life. She started at age 18 or so, when she was dating my dad. My dad smoked cigarettes then, moved on to cigars, which he smokes to this day (something I really don't get, considering my mom's problems).

She stopped smoking in 1993. She was 57 at the time. It was one of the best things she ever did for herself. But by then, she'd smoked for almost 40 years. I have memories of her smoking about 1 pack a day or more for the longest time. She'd send us out to buy them sometimes. We, her four daughters, hated it.

The sad thing is, she started developing problems after she stopped smoking. She found herself short of breath, easily tired. After a visit to the pulmonary specialist, she discovered she had asthmatic bronchitis or something like that. She always told us she always had chronic bronchitis, just like her dad. Did she want to believe her smoking habits had nothing to do with it? Probably. She has COPD, it's a smoker's disease. It is not only shortening her life, it is also making her last years very, very difficult.

I don't talk to her about whether smoking caused all this, it doesn't make sense to make her feel bad about it now. It's too late. Her day to day life consists of struggling for every breath of air she takes. Every move, every action causes exhaustion. In addition to her lung trouble, she also has congenital heart failure, diabetes, arthritis, bouts of gout and she has bad knees, that could be replaced, if she wasn't forbidden to have surgery. Surgery would probably kill her on the operating table.

Years ago the thought of being in a wheel chair was awful to her. Now, outside the house, it's the only way she can go places. She can get up, and with a walker move a little, but only very carefully, and without bending her knees, or she'll fall. When she needs to get up from her chair, she needs all the strength in her arms and hands to push herself up, her legs just can't work that way anymore.

Now, to be honest, my mom is pretty heroic to me. When I say "fighting for every breath of air she takes", I'm not kidding. The woman FIGHTS. She doesn't want to kick the bucket just yet, so she tries and tries and tries to live just a little longer. She finds so much joy in life still, she doesn't want to be done. She loves my dad, and loves her children and grand children.

Her world has gotten smaller and smaller, and she's dependent on others for every thing. But she spends a lot of time behind her laptop, she chats with me and Kate and we use our web cams to see each other. She orders lots of clothing online, for herself and also for the grandkids. She even uses Hyves, the Dutch version of Facebook and MySpace.

Her current hospital stay is the longest to date. She's hoping to be released this coming Saturday, if everything is all right, and if her sputum test results come back negative from the e.coli bacteria that infected her lungs. She cried this morning, when the doctor gave her this tentative going home date. She was happy she heard the words "going home". This time, like last time, she thought she wouldn't get to go home again.

Home is where she loves to be, with my dad, a man who deserves his own post. A man who was all manly and such, who now cooks dinner for the two of them, and waits on my mom hand and foot. Everything she needs, she gets from him. Now he was told he cannot smoke ANYWHERE in the house. He does sometimes in the Kitchen, keeping the door closed to the living room, where my mom usually is. But he cannot do any of that anymore. I honestly don't understand how he can see my mom go through all this, and not throw all of his cigars away. He thinks cigars are less bad I guess. Go figure. I wish he'd just stop.

Being sick because of smoking is a horrible thing. It's hard on the relatives too, to see your loved one suffer like that. It's an awful way to live the last years of your life, it just can't be worth it. In the days my mom started smoking, it wasn't really considered all that bad. (I watch the tv show mad men, it's set in 1960, and everyone smokes, including pregnant women). Now we are so much more aware of the dangers of smoking. Just stay away from the nasty stuff, please, for yourself, for your children and loved ones.