June 19, 1966
Peering out the Venetian blinds at my aunt’s house, I saw the car pull up to the curb. “She’s here!” I yelled as I ran out the door.
My beautiful mother, tall, strong and bronzed by days on the golf course, stepped out of the car into the warm June morning. Jutting her chin out, she pulled her shoulders back, as if to stand at attention. We ran to her, my sisters behind me.
“She’s gone,” Mom stated, opening her arms for us to nestle. Despite squeezing her eyes shut, tears trickled out of the corners of Mom’s cornflower blue eyes. Impatiently, she wiped them away and stated, “She’s out of pain. And, what a happy day it must be in heaven when she arrived.”
The roses were in bloom. I could smell their heady fragrance. Birds chirped, sunlight dazzled, and the June day burst around us with indescribable joy, despite our broken hearts.
Our sobs hiccupped loudly, and Mom’s voice quivered, “Now, now! Come on! She wouldn’t want us moping around. We have to go on and you girls have to make her proud.”
Mom hugged us again. Our tears continued to drop while Mom described what was going on in heaven.
“She’s having fun up there, meeting God, the saints and the angels, and Mother and Dad. She’s probably making those silly faces of hers. Didn’t she teach us how to make silly faces when we are sad? That’s how we honor her.”
My mother set aside her own shattered heart to teach us how to handle grief.
Standing on the curb on a side street in the bustling city of Chicago forty-eight years ago, the torch in the battle against PKD was handed to us.
We have tried to make her proud. Mom, JoAnn and Janice have knocked it out of the park with the way they have handled PKD. Their fortitude, strength and courage are stellar. None of it could have been done without the faith she taught us. Ironclad faith.
Rest in peace, Sister Mike!