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Reading My Mother's Journals Is Like Having Her Back, If Only For A Moment

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For 92 years, we were inseparable. But ever one to enter the room with a flourish, my mother proved to be a master of the timely exit. She passed away right before Mother's Day.

She died unexpectedly after a brief hospital stay, an "annual blood-pressure tune-up," we had jokingly coined it when it became a predictable spring occurrence. But, at 92 and otherwise healthy, she contracted pneumonia. Within three days, she went from being cognitively alert, to laboured breathing on oxygen and permanent organ failure. Her last day — medicated for comfort, not recovery — was peaceful. Then she was gone.

Mother's Day that year was tough, but in her absence, as her only child and daughter, I had her hand-written journals. And it was immersed in those, wrapped in the comfort of her words, that I spent Mother's Day 2017. I went to her apartment the evening before, sat first on her deck overlooking the ocean, and later in her well-worn La-Z-Boy, tucked down for the evening with a bottle of wine and nothing but time, to read, reflect and connect through the written word with the woman I loved dearly. That evening........

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