Today is October 28th. Thirty years ago on this date my beautiful mother passed away in her bed at Northwestern Hospital in what was then called York Township.
With my brothers and sisters, we stood around her bed, feeling grateful that we were there with her at the end, as she had always been there for us throughout her life.
Just three days prior, I became a grandmother again. My twin grandsons were with their Mom, my daughter Christine, in the Whitby Hospital where they were born. My #1 grandson, David, was with me while my daughter was hospitalized.
This day, October 25th, I had just returned by car with my younger daughter, Susan; her husband; and David, from Whitby, where we had visited Christine and where I met my new baby grandsons for the very first time. I treasure a photo of my mother holding her great-grandson, Joseph, in her arms. This is the very last photo taken of my Mom while she was with me here on earth.
During our hospital visit that day, my Mom told me she was experiencing some chest pain. I knew that my mother had been diagnosed with angina for which she had been prescribed medication. I wanted my Mom to go with me to the emergency department but she was unwilling and determined not to seek medical help at that time. She told me she did not want it mentioned to anyone, despite the fact that we were in a hospital where perhaps a doctor could have been of help to her.
I clearly remember waving from the car and seeing my Mom waving back as she stood on the front verandah of her house once we returned home that day. I lived only a block away from my Mom in my apartment. Susan and her husband dropped David and me off at my home.
David was an adorable little eight-year-old. Once home, since it was so close to Hallowe'en, we ventured out to the corner store where we bought a pumpkin, planning to create a Jack-o-lantern. David chose the pumpkin and was excited about our creative plans.
The phone was ringing when we returned to my apartment. It was Mom. Her pain had increased.
I couldn't walk fast enough down the road to my Mom's home. Poor David - I hadn't meant to scare him but realized that's what I was doing. I slowed down a little as I reassured him that his Grandma Austin was not well, but that everything would be okay.
Upon arrival at Mom's home, I called her family doctor. Mom would not agree to going to hospital with me. I needed his help to encourage her to go. I spoke to Dr. Kingstone. "Put your mother on the phone," he advised me. I did so and, thankfully, Mom listened to him. She finally agreed to go to hospital.
I called my elder brother, Ken, who lived not too far away. He arrived and, in his car, we all drove to the Northwestern Hospital where Mom stayed until her passing October 28th, 1990. She endured a massive heart attack but was finally at peace.
This day, thirty years ago, was one of the most challenging of my life. To simultaneously feel the joy of my twin grandsons' arrival and the deep grief of the loss of my beautiful mother was most difficult. I felt hot and cold; here and there; up and down; inside and out. I was not myself.
I was forty-eight years old. Even in my grief, I felt gratitude that I had been blessed with such a loving, understanding mother who never judged; who was always there for me.
Although thirty years have gone by, I never fail to experience the challenging bittersweet feelings on the birthday of my twin grandsons and on the anniversary of my mother's transition. Birth and death; joy and sorrow; gain and loss. These opposing emotions, even today, leave me wondering.
Much time has passed since my Mom's farewell. My beautiful twin baby grandsons are handsome young men and I feel very proud of them and of their life choices.
Soon, one of these young men will become a father for the first time. How wonderful for me to, any day now, become a great-grandmother. How very true it is that, regardless of the challenges we face, life is good and life goes on.
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