When she was finished talking she slowly dressed and I drove her to the hospital where she was admitted.  Her physician persuaded her to have some tests she had previously refused.  Afterwards, he described her arteriosclerosis and what he thought would be necessary surgery.  She was very sick following the tests.

She suddenly had a heart attack and was rushed into surgery.  She never woke up again, remaining in a coma. I stood with my brother, sisters, aunts and uncles as the priest anointed her for the last time.  She died a few days later.  Standing at her bedside at that moment, I was grateful for the time and intimacy we had shared.

It was a great source of comfort for me to know she had the funeral she had planned with me, and the dress she wore was the one that we purchased in response to her request:  the pink one with lace collar and cuffs.

A few days later we drove to Mt. Calvary Cemetery in White Plains, to the family plot, to her final resting place with my father, with our family name echoing before me on the tombstone, in deafening silence.

I had purchased a huge basked of green carnations, with large green ribbons and bows, an Irish tribute, for her funeral mass.

I have a hard time letting go of loved ones, so I tuck them in special places in my heart to be with me always.  That’s part of grieving for me.

I was happy whenever I saw my parents dancing, especially by the tall elaborately decorated Christmas tree each year.  Now, that is how I like to think of them…dancing in that large living room, or in the kitchen.

End Chapter 7.  See photo.

©Pat Montesano 2003 All Rights Reserved.