On Monday, October 27th, 1997 at 6 pm, I held my mother's hand as she died.
I inherited much from my mother. From her, I got my love of books. It is true that both of my parents thought reading was important. My father bought me a tiny desk, the first piece of furniture I can remember as "mine" outside of my crib, and they would carry it into the living room a few times a week to go over letters and their sounds. I came to look forward to this, and by kindergarten I was reading at a third grade level. My parents taught me to read, but it was my mother that gave me the love of the written word. She would seldom be without a book, and in my later years, I found myself emulating this. She often told me I could do whatever I wanted, that the world was open to me, all that was needed was to work hard and to go to school. I took her at her word. The world was mine. For a time.
On Monday, October 27th, 1997 at 6 pm, I held my mother's hand as she died.
From my mother I inherited my sense of humor. My father is serious man, not too prone to laughter for laughter's sake. My mother was just the opposite. She would make wicked comments about the things we saw on TV, while I played in the laundry basket at the foot of her ironing board. She bought me, one year, record albums by George Carlin and Richard Pryor. Some may have thought I was perhaps too young to hear the "salty" talk that was contained in those grooves, but she sat with me, laughing. She was not ashamed of the words, nor the hypocrisy they pointed out, and she wished to expose me to the things she loved. She caused me to be the person I am today.
On Monday, October 27th, 1997 at 6pm, I watched my father break down.
He is not a weak man. He simply confronts the issue that now he must live the rest of his life without the mate whom he chose to be with. His own health is failing, and I fear for him. I spend time with him now, trying to assure him that his life will again be full.
On Monday, October 27th, 1997 at 6pm, I held my mother's hand as she died.
I want to die in a field of tall grasses. With the wind in my hair. The sunset in my eyes, as the moon rises.
In my right hand, I want steel and gold, in my left, I want grass and earth.
On Monday, October 27th, 1997 at 6pm, I held my mother's hand as she died.
There are many ways, I think, for one to be a warrior...
Bear-
