Three weeks ago, when I woke up Saturday, I put together a piece about Mom for Steve to post.  I’d spent a week taking care of Mom and listed things I took for granted that my time with her enabled me to appreciate and ways Mom was lucky despite many trials of illness and age.  On my way to a morning appointment, before the post went up, I learned Mom had died overnight.  It was time.  She’d stopped eating and had slept the previous day.  She wasn’t in pain, but the end came sooner than we expected and caught us by surprise.

I canceled my appointment, turned around and came home, finished packing, and made the three-hour drive to Indianapolis.  Mom died in her sleep at home in her own bed.  My family knew I wanted to wash and dress Mom for burial, so they had a neighborhood doctor come to the house to certify the death and delayed calling the funeral home until after I arrived.  With Dad’s assistance, I gently washed and dressed Mom in her underwear, slip, hose, and the outfit she had requested, a beautiful burgundy dress complete with a necklace given her by dear friend Millicent, her favorite pearl clip-on earrings, powder on her cheeks and nose, and one of her signature Revlon lipsticks, Baby Berry.

Remembering how we tucked special stuffed animals under Mom’s elbows in the hospital a year ago, my sister-in-law Joy tucked Larry Bear under one arm and John Koala under the other.  I couldn’t stand to let the bear I gave Mom go, so I moved Larry Bear to my room and left John Koala with her.  Dad and I had to leave immediately for the local branch of the funeral home to make arrangements, so my sister and sister-in-law stayed until the downtown branch of Flanner & Buchanan came and took Mom’s body away with them.

For various reasons, Dad, Steve, and I wish to be cremated, but Mom was traditional and wished to be buried.  It seemed to me that as long as she was going to be buried, she might as well have some comfort items tucked in with her, in case they might comfort her in whatever place she now watched over us, might be a testament to our love for her if anyone ever unearthed her remains thousands of years from now, or might make laying her earthly shell in the cold, dark ground easier for us.

Here’s a photo of Mom taken in February 2008 after she had surgery to remove what was thought to be a huge cancerous tumor.  It turned out to be a cantaloupe-sized benign cyst so Mom named the bear I gave her in the hospital after Dr. Larry Stevens, the personable and gifted surgeon who announced the miraculous outcome to us.  Larry Bear now sits on the heirloom walnut rocking chair in my parents’ home, as I couldn’t let him go just yet.  Isn’t Mom lovely?

Here’s a pictorial essay of the things we buried with Mom.

Here’s the stuffed koala that was tucked under Mom’s arm when the funeral home employees came and took her body away.  My brother’s son Charlie gave this koala to Mom in April of 2008 after her heart surgery.  Mom named him John Koala after her phenomenal heart surgeon Dr. John Fehrenbacher.  John Koala kept Mom’s body company from Saturday afternoon until Wednesday morning.  I took the remainder of the items below to the Broadripple Flanner & Buchanan on Wednesday morning to be placed in the casket prior to the burial service that afternoon.

That’s me in the photo when I was only a few months old.  Mom bought me Teddy Bear, whom I called TB.  I stuck by the name even though I was teased about why I’d named an animal after a disease.  I slept and played with stuffed animals growing up, took a few to college, carried on the tradition with my sons who both had lovey things (G-Man the alligator and Iggy the iguana), and found TB lovingly stored in a box in my closet.

Mom was a devout Red Sox fan for more than 85 years.  Here she is celebrating the 2007 World Series victory with my family.  Left to right behind Mom is Andrew, Steve, James, Sasha (The Weasel), and me.

I sealed both photos and the letter & cards below in a plastic bag.  I figured if anyone unearthed my mother’s casket thousands of years hence, the unenvironmental plastic would still be inviolate and people could see who Mom was and read how we loved her.

My brother’s daughter Esther Margaret suggested that we bury Mom’s Red Sox cap with her.  Dad saw it in my hands and said, “What are you doing with that?”  When I explained, Dad objected.  Although never a fan himself, Dad claimed to need a baseball cap for the church Mardi Gras parade or other occasions when he’s supposed to wear something unusual.  We think he just couldn’t say that he wanted Mom’s signature BoSox hat to stay in the coat closet where he can see it.  We settled on her favorite Red Sox t-shirt, purchased by Steve decades ago during a business trip to Boston.  When Dad asked us to divide Mom’s clothes, I brought home an identical shirt recently purchased by Steve on ebay to replace this well loved original.

Esther’s husband Keith suggested that we include Scrabble tiles that spelled out “I love you.”  When my sister-in-law Joy, my sister Sylvia, and I were going through Mom’s jewelry, we found her initials on these Scrabble tile pins that were given to her by Sylvia’s daughter Katie.  As noted in my earlier post, only a week before her death, Mom thumped me in an epic five-day Scrabble game.

My brother’s youngest daughter Elizabeth asked that we include this cross-stitch of a pink Iris she had given Grammie.  Pink was one of Mom’s favorite colors and Elizabeth liked the symbolism of Iris, the Greek goddess who acts as messenger of the gods, can travel to and from the underworld with impunity, and is represented by a rainbow.

When we called Mom’s PEO service group to tell them of Mom’s passing, one of the ladies asked if we intended to bury Mom with her PEO star.  At that point, we hadn’t gone through her jewelry yet and it hadn’t occurred to us.  As soon as we found it, we decided that it should be pinned on Mom’s dress.  Mom was a member of Indianapolis Chapter AJ.

Mom was also an enthusiastic and loyal DePauw University graduate.

When I got home from taking care of Mom for a week, I asked our older son to send Grammie a card.  Luckily, James sent something immediately.  Here’s the front of the envelope he sent her.  Note the butterfly stamp. 

Dad went nuts about this note James wrote about the butterfly stamp.  Dad loves commemorative stamps, is an ardent environmentalist, and is an inveterate note writer on the back of envelopes.

James didn’t just send a card, he wrote an enthusiastic, newsy letter.  My sister Sylvia reported that Mom made a big fuss about James’ letter, which she received the Thursday before she died.  The last day she spoke to any of us, Mom told a number of people about the long, lovely letter she had received from her grandson.  Thank you, James, for getting this to her in time.  I spoke to Mom briefly that evening, but didn’t mail her anything myself.

Andrew, who may actually be a polar bear in spirit, sent Mom this card.  As parents often do, I gave him suggestions about what to say.  “Just say, ‘I’m thinking of you’ or ‘I love you and miss you’ but don’t say ‘Get well soon’ or ‘I hope you’re feeling better’ because she’s dying.”

You can see how well my advice worked!  Andrew dismissed my objections by reassuring me that he wanted to take the hopeful and optimistic tack.  Mom never woke up enough on Friday to read Andrew’s card.

I asked Steve to whip up a quick card for Mom on the computer.  He spent half a day creating this, including locating a Boston Red Sox font (he’s obsessive about fonts).

Sadly, I opened this card the evening Mom died.  I’m so glad that James covered the family in glory with his effusive letter since Andrew’s polars and Steve’s BoSox arrived too late for Mom to enjoy in this life.

The day we buried Mom, on Wednesday, March 18^th, Dad’s front yard was a riot of Crocus.  Andrew and I picked deep purple, purple & white striped, golden yellow, and white Crocus to place on her casket as it was lowered.

Dad’s front yard was also carpeted with these beautiful blue Scilla.  Andrew picked these to include in our flower bouquets.

Dad walked across the street to his neighbors of 50 years.  The Mitchells were in Florida and Dad wanted to include them by incorporating their Snowdrops into our homegrown offerings.

Here are the 20 bouquets we took to the graveside service with us.  Andrew and I assembled them in the kitchen as Steve handed us the wet paper towels.

Here I am holding the flowers on our way to Crown Hill Cemetery.  On my right arm, I’m wearing bracelets given to me by my Irish “sister” Ivy in honor of her sister, Patty, our friend who died while serving as a flight attendant on SwissAir Flight 111.  Our dear friend Maha from Kuwait made the Swarovski crystal heart necklace for me.  The hand-beaded earrings come from Cheyenne friend Floyd Black Bear.  I wanted to include these beloved friends in my mother’s passing and service.

These are the things we buried with Mom.