Memories of my mother include playing Scrabble, Dominoes, and Uno.  She was addicted to solving crossword puzzles, in ink, except for the New York Times puzzles; for those, she’d look up the few words she couldn’t figure out so she’d know them the next time.  But she didn’t like the easy ones—not enough of a challenge.

I remember shopping with her in downtown San Francisco.  We both liked to walk fast, so I could match her steps.  We’d always get a BLT sandwich at Woolworth’s where the cable car turned around.  When I was younger, she bought tickets for me to go on the rides on the roof of the Emporium building, once with a girl friend.

Near the end, she had several episodes of diminished oxygen to her brain, and I spent an afternoon and evening listening to her try to sort out her memories.  She was trying to recall the name of a Hawaiian song she had seen in an Asian magazine in her twenties.  Somehow during that time, she could hear me, although I don’t think she knew who I was.  She thought she was in the hospital and wanted to go home, so she probably thought I was her nurse.  She was also having trouble swallowing, so did not drink much water.  I believe all these things contributed to her system shutting down.  The exertion of trying to get out of bed (to go home?) after removing her oxygen apparently brought on the final episode.

But here’s the thing:  She is where she has wanted to be for quite some time.  She can now see, hear, sing, and move freely.  We miss her, but it’s good knowing she is with Daddy, their two babies, my son Philip, her Mom, sister and brothers, and many other friends and loved ones who have gone before her.  Best of all, she can see Jesus face to face.  And when the time comes, we will join her in those joys.