Today my mother passed away. She has suffered with Alzheimer's disease/dementia for several years now during which time I attempted to provide for her day-to-day home care with the substantial financial aide of my eldest brother. This disease is known as 'the long goodbye' because although the victim physically remains--often for years--among their loved ones, their mental capacities--their memories and cognitive processes--slowly slip away. But even if I have been 'loosing' mom for years, this doesn't make the final farewell any easier. Beyond the fact that she gave me life, I owe her so much. The times in her life that she did without so that my brothers and I could have food on the table or clothes on our backs or to provide those opportunities which added to our future successes are legion. Her heart was as big as all outdoors and extended to a true concern for the well being of all God's creatures--man or beast. I owe (among so many other things) my respect for and love of nature and all animals to her. She saw the Great Depression, World War II, and all of those numerous undeclared 'conflicts' that this country has experienced since. She has acted as house mother to countless 'home-room' classes for all of us kids--as well as scout master for all of our cub-scout troops--even though I am sure that she had any number of things that she would rather be doing. She encouraged and enabled my brother, the toxicologist, entries in the local and regional science fairs and she helped with the bookkeeping as my father was setting up his struggling (initially) CPA business on the kitchen table at home. In the early years when my brothers and I shared one bedroom (they had bunk beds while I, the youngest, had my own bed due primarily, I would hazard to guess, to age appropriate bed wettings on my part), she would read to us each night and I remember we went through the entire Oz series of books as well as many other children classics--I never hesitate to attribute the life long love of reading that I share with my brothers to this nightly ritual. We were health kids growing up but even so we each experienced occasional periods in the hospital (typically for surgeries such as tonsils or appendixes). I remember that on each occasion she remained at my bedside religiously and as I awoke from the anesthetic she was the first sight I beheld. The one exception was my heart surgery during the summer of 2005 and was understandable considering the state of her health in recent years but even then I remember how sad I felt about her absence. If you read or so choose to now read my entry entitled A Personal Aside, it explains my mother's relationship with her poms which were a great part of her life for many years, so I won't delve into that again--suffice it to say that I pray with all my heart that the sentiments and concepts expressed in Rainbow Bridge .doc prove to be an accurate account of the hereafter and that she and her many little friends are now back together in mutual bliss for all eternity. When the end came it came quickly. She seemed fine on Sunday but Monday morning we needed to call an ambulance to rush her to the emergency room. Sometime Monday night, while she lay in ICU, her kidneys failed and by ten Tuesday morning we had to make the decision to allow the doctors to discontinue the medications which were being administered to keep her blood pressure up. This was followed by a long but peaceful decline in her vital functions until at exactly 2:38 p.m. MDT she quietly passed on. In attendance, besides myself, were my 'middle' brother, Chris, and Armida with members of her family. Armida was a cherished care provider for my mother--she, and her family, long ago adopted mom as their own and cared for her accordingly. Once it was over, I chose to remain with her body until shortly before 6 p.m. when the funeral home attendants arrived to transport her to their facility. I left it to my brothers to make funeral arrangements. A memorial service will be held Saturday afternoon, the day that falls between Good Friday and Easter Sunday this year--traditionally a time of renewal. We have collectively agreed to a cremation and will arrange to place the ashes at an appropriate facility. I believe that we did the best we could to assure that her final wishes, as regards both which appropriate final medical measures were and weren't taken on her behalf and what simple funeral arrangements she wanted, where carried out and, in both cases, all three of us (her sons) were involved in making these decisions--even the eldest (Shayne), by phone, who was in North Carolina at the time. I also take great solace in the fact that she was surrounded by loved ones when she passed and that even my eldest brother had the opportunity to visit with her one last time Sunday (while she was still well) and to be with her Monday morning while she was being administered to in the emergency room. As long as I remain busy and continue to receive condolences from friends and distant relatives I can cope with this loss. But come Sunday night or Monday morning, when the services are over and everyone has returned to their own daily lives, I fear that the finality of her absence will irrevocably settle in. I realize that for several years now her mental state has precluded any type of mutual communications, but by her behavior when I returned home from work or any other absences, I know that she recognized me and experienced joy that I was present once again. And I would like to think that although her condition prevented her from expressing herself well, that somehow, somewhere, deep inside she understood enough to realize how much she was loved. Every since I decided to retire and pursue the life of a perpetual traveler via RV, some two or three years ago now, I more or less put the issue of mom's future care once I actually retired and was on the road, as well as other entanglements such as the few remaining dogs and cats (even fewer now) and the disposition of house and property out of my mind--figuring (hoping?) that when the time came many, if not all, of these issues would have resolved themselves (totally unrealistically in a vague, non-painful way). After December of last year, once I was officially retired, I was finally forced to confront the need to address these responsibilities. Consulting with my brother, I believe that I had made arrangements for the care of my mother, once I was on the road, which would prove far superior to just remanding her to a nursing home. Additionally, just this last weekend we had taken the steps necessary to place the real property on the market and to authorize an estate sale for everything else, although these efforts has been temporarily placed on hold for obvious reasons. All that remains is the issue of the pets and I fear that there exist no resolution which will not result in at least some of them being miserable and myself feeling guilty. In any case, regardless of whatever circumstances of care I provided for mom, I knew that while on the road I would worry, miss her, and feel guilt about her being back here and alone. I also--deep in the back of my mind--knew that somewhere and sometime, while I was out there traveling, I would get that dreaded call that mom had passed on and it would devastate me to know that I wasn't there for her when it happened. So in a perverse fashion this was avoided by her death now. But, although it was destined from the moment that I first decided on this lifestyle for my retirement that (currently, at least) my lot in life is to travel alone, with mom gone I am now faced with the realization that for the first time I am truly alone and my future travels will be infinitely sadder--for whether I was with her at home or somewhere far away and even though she was incapacitated, I knew she was there for me and now she isn't! The following obituaries appeared in the El Paso Times on Friday, April 6th: ------------------------------------------------------------------------ GAD Article Launched: � 04/06/2007 12:00:00 AM MDT On April 3, 2007 Norma Gad passed. Norma was born in 1927 to William Ernest Cox and Leila Cox in Yuma, Arizona. Norma grew up in El Paso during the Great Depression and World War II. She attended Austin High School. Norma's early adult life was spent as a loving mother to her three sons: Shay, Chris and Scott. As they were growing up she was the "go to" mother in the neighborhood and family, always paying special attention to her son's and their friends and cousins. As her sons grew up, Norma became an avid Pomeranian breeder. Her greatest joy was found in breeding and showing her dogs as well as hobnobbing with the dog crowd. Norma is survived by her son's, Shayne and his wife Joyce, Chris and his wife Rosa, and Scott. Her surviving grandchildren include Samantha, Katina, Jake, Alessandra and Ethan. And her sister, Ernestine Bustamante. Though her family will miss her dearly they take great comfort in knowing that she has gone to be with Chicky, Prince, Frosty, Doll, Flirt, Noel and her many other little friends. The memorial ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Advertisement ------------------------------------------------------------------------service for Norma will be Saturday, April 7, 2007 at 3 p.m. at Hillcrest Funeral Home-Doniphan. Directed by Hillcrest Funeral Home. 5054 Doniphan Drive 587-0202 and Saturday, April 7th: GAD Article Launched: � 04/07/2007 12:00:00 AM MDT GAD, NORMA, 79, Memorial Service: 3 p.m. today at Hillcrest Funeral Home Doniphan. Survived by sons Shay, Chris & Scott Gad, sister Ernestine Bustamante.