Ruth Florence Chapman Heinold
Born April 13, 1917
Died April 30, 2009
Momma slipped quietly away yesterday morning. I don’t have much experience writing obituaries. My Daddy was Robert Jacob Heinold. My sister was Ann Elizabeth Heinold Cutler, my brother was John David Heinold. That’s my dad, the guy with the bow tie, in the large opening page photo. He died 20 years ago, he was 72. He made Mom smile all the time — so his picture is there, instead of Mom’s. It seems appropriate. My parents adored each other. My brother committed suicide. My sister died a few weeks ago.
And then there’s me. Still here.
Selfishly, I find myself wanting to sleep today. No nightmarish visions of death dance around in my head. Instead, there’s Momma, looking at me with a smile covering her whole face as I said, “I’m not leaving, it’s okay. I’ll stay right here.”
Mom in 1968
She tried to focus on my face and after a few seconds said, “It’s a good day.” Then the nurse gave her some morphine and she slipped back to the foggy haze of a world where her broken body could not distinguish or recognize its pain.
“foooooossshhh,” she whispered, “fooooooosssssh”
“Foolish?” My heart cracked into a thousand pieces and spilled out of my eyes.
She waved her left hand in the air, a common gesture I’ve watched her do all my life. She always speaks with her hands. Her skin, fine as a spider’s web, was covered with purple, black and green bruises from arterial sticks and blood work and IVs. I stroked her forehead and placed a cold cloth just above her eyes.
“Oh honey, oh Momma… now you’ve smashed your hip and broken some ribs. Oh, Mom… last time you broke your elbow. Now this… this…” my eyes swept over a miniature version of my Mother, skin and bones, her chest heaving with effort and she shuttered as she took each breath.
“I’ll get through this,” she said. Her voice got stronger. “We’ll be all right.” Then she nodded ever so slightly.
Daddy at his retirement party in early 1980s
“Were you trying to get to me?” I asked. “Probably” she whispered. I told her, “That’s not foolish then. That’s just you… you’re too impatient. I told you I was coming.” She smiled and fell back into her trance.
I wish ya’ll could have known my Mom. She never ceased to amaze me. Or leave my side.
I am standing on the edge of the beach.
A sailing boat passes in the morning breeze
And leaves toward the horizon.
It is beauty.
It is life.
Which I see until it disappears over the horizon.
Someone by me says ‘It has gone’.
Gone?
Where?
Gone from my view, that is all.
Its mast is still as high.
Its hull still has the strength to carry its human cargo.
Its total disappearance from my view is only in my mind.
And just at the moment when someone by me says ‘It has gone’
There are others who see it appearing on the horizon,
And exclaim with joy ‘Look! There’.
Anonymous writer
One warm ciao to you .
Emilio
Italy .
( b.w. last news it is life and death in the same time…..)
Thank you. Your comment is exquisite.