Jumbled.

I was going to do a part three, but to be honest...writing those two pieces wore me out emotionally. My mood tanked during and after I was done. Instead, I find myself just wanting to write about what I'm feeling and thinking and have been thinking and feeling for the past seven months since her death. This won't have any kind of "pattern" to it. If there's a "flow" it will almost certainly be disjointed. I mainly want to get out all the things I want to say.


I miss my mother. Every day. Having to live in the same house I've lived in for, now, the majority of my life...to see the room where she died every day, to see her in my memory laying there on the floor not breathing..I'm fighting tears just writing this. For a little over 30 years, she was my rock. My mom was the only constant in my life. Even my dad, despite the fact we now have a wonderful relationship and have for the past years since they got remarried...there was a period when he wasn't there. Now, the constant presence, my rock, the person I always came home to..she's not there. And I am drifting. I'm scared.

I'm scared that something will happen to dad, and then I'll be totally alone. I'm scared of something happening to me at my job. I'm scared of pushing friends away by being clingy. I'm scared of becoming dependent. I'm worried and lost. Physically and emotionally and mentally, I feel weak. My memory has gone downhill - I remember a lot of things so clearly, and others..I can't even remember simple conversations I've had a month ago. I've always relied on my great memory. Emotionally, I'm more up and down than I've ever been before. Which is taking a toil on myself and on my friends, family and coworkers. I'll be fine one day, and all it will take to sink my mood is a remark that either I take the wrong way or is intended to be hurtful. Mostly the former. I joke about being a "pocket volcano" but sometimes it's the truth. I go off. I don't think before I speak. And you can't always do damage control. I'm utterly grateful that I have understanding and supportive family and friends - but everyone has a point.

I saw a therapist. My work provided a certain amount of therapy sessions for free, and I had two left before I had to start paying. My counselor suggested I save the two for when I felt like I truly needed them. Which, I could always go back..but it doesn't change things. My mother is dead. She is not coming back. And I am so fucking angry. I've hit walls, pillows, thrown things, almost broke my tv remote throwing it against the wall. I need to get a punching bag to take my anger out on, or something..I've screamed at times, when I've been alone in the house.

The day mom was buried, I told God that I wouldn't be talking to Him for quite some time, if ever again. Because it wasn't fair. How many times had I told her in December before her foot surgery that 2013 was going to be her best year yet? She had a shitty 2011, was in the hospital twice during the first 3 months of 2012, but after her first trip she quit smoking (after smoking for most of her adult life - the fact she had enough will power to quit made me so fucking PROUD), and she was finally on the right dose of medication across the board. She wasn't overdoing her pain medication (she trusted me to keep track of the pills, and never took more than she was prescribed because the fear of becoming addicted kept her from it), her regular medicines were keeping her other health problems in check, she was in the process of getting dental implants so she could eat the foods she hadn't been able to in past years, and her first foot surgery went so well...she was going to be able to walk pain free for the first time in a decade or more. She was doing everything right. I was so proud of her, telling her time after time that 2013 was going to be so fantastic. That we would go back to New York, or Vegas or heck even Italy. She wanted to go back so much...

After all that, despite the fact that so many others deserved to go before her...she went first. I had people tell me, "God wanted an angel so He took her." THAT MADE ME SO FUCKING MAD. Because I had never, ever seen God as selfish but that struck me as the most selfish thing of all. Taking someone because He wanted that person? What about us? What about the people that wanted her here? She told me so many times she didn't want to leave before she had seen that I would be okay and taken care of. But no. Yes, I know, life isn't fair, bad things happen to good people, yadda yadda...but for someone who had a solid faith..it broke my faith, among other things. And since then, I haven't properly prayed. It bothers me sometimes, that I just don't care about my relationship with God. But I can't bring myself to lie and to force something that He would already know isn't genuine. And it makes me wonder...is she in Heaven? Hell? Limbo? Paradise? Maybe she's in the ground, trapped in her corpse, in that tiny blue box surrounded by dirt. Yes these are all things I have considered. When I look up at the stars at night, the few I can see, I wonder. Can she see me? Can she hear me? Is she in pain? Or is she just gone?

Oh yes, I do believe there are people who should have died before my mother. Even some members of my own family that don't take care of themselves the way momma did. That are stuck in their own addictions and don't have the will or the drive to get out of them like mine did. Some have told me that they believe they would have gone before her, and I think, "You should have." Cold? Cruel? Yes. But it's true. My mom went through so much to get her health back on track, her LIFE back on track...and in the end, it didn't mean a fucking thing. Makes me wonder about life.

Anger is the most prevalent. That, and guilt. Because I took care of her. I was sleeping five fucking footsteps from her door. And I didn't hear her fall like I have so many times before. If she yelled or cried out, I didn't hear her. I wasn't there. I've been there so many times before when she's fallen and needed me to help her get back up. I've been there to call 911 when she was unconscious. I've been there to sort through her medicines, to call them in, to take her to doctor appointments, to help her walk when she couldn't. I WAS ALWAYS THERE. And when she needed me, in those five or six hours between when I saw her last and when dad woke me up, I wasn't. I wasn't there. No I don't know if I could've saved her, if anyone could have. The autopsy said that, long story short, it was a heart attack. I cry bullshit. She saw her cardiologist, someone that saved her life back in 2006 when her carotid had built up so much it was starting to block her blood flow, in September. Three months before she died. And the doctor said her heart was strong. So what happened in the 3 months that passed? What did she miss? What did I miss? How could this have happened??

I don't know. I have no answers. All I have is just overwhelming loss and insecurity and fear and anger. So much anger.

And guilt. Because, before, the only times I went away for long periods of time were SHIMMER weekends. Mom grew comfortable enough to see me off without any concerns. But I always called to check in on her. And in 2011 there was Vegas and England, but otherwise that was it. Last year, there was Montreal but it was also for a weekend. Likewise up to visit Stephanie and go to AIW in Cleveland. Never for long. But now...now, I have new and more responsibilities, but also more freedom. And I hate to admit that, because momma was never, ever a burden or a liability. She worried about the fact that I didn't get out much, but I never wanted too. For the most part, I was content. Now? In the last 7 months, I've been to New York to visit Eric and go to WrestleCon; Berwyn for SHIMMER; and numerous wrestling shows that are 3-5 hours away. As I've started watching more wrestling and seeking out what there is in my area, I've become a fan of new people - and just as I was willing to travel to see the female wrestlers I was a fan of, so I've become willing to travel to see the male wrestlers I've become a fan of. Indiana, Illinois, Tennessee. And several times I've felt guilt pangs. Because I never would have done all this, gone to all these places, if mom had been alive most likely. My weekends were spent with her. Every time a trip has come up this year, I've struggled with the guilt I feel about going which makes me reluctant to go. Every time. Each time I've gone, and I've had great times, and great experiences, and gotten to know more people...but each time, I struggle with the guilt. And also the guilt of leaving dad although he tells me time and time again not to feel guilty, to go, to have fun, to live.

I want to. But the guilt doesn't fade. I worry, I fret, and usually for nothing I admit. Going to SHIMMER was cathartic. I truly needed to be with friends that were more than friends - they were family. The hugs I received helped me more than I can ever say. The first wrestling show I went to after mom's death came..I think two or three weeks after her funeral. It was Crossfire Entertainment in Nashville, TN. It was where I met Jessicka Havok. I was reluctant to go - but I'm so glad I did. She nearly jumped over the table when she saw me (legit) and gave me the biggest hug I'd ever gotten. I could've started crying but I didn't. Getting to finally meet her...that started the long healing process. I finally got to tell her how much that experience, and how much her friendship, meant to me in May.

In truth, I could spend the rest of this entry explaining what each person I know and love has done for me. The Voxes, the text messages, the Tweets, the emails...and the hugs. Most of all, the hugs. Because I miss that the most with mom. She was always there to hug me before I left for work, to hug me when I came home, and to hug me before we went to sleep. You honestly don't know how much a simple gesture like that MEANS UNTIL IT IS GONE. And I am closer to so many of my friends than my family...in ways small and large, it's only because of them that I'm doing as well as I am.

I hate being alone. I never realized it until I had to start coming home to an empty house (my dad drives a truck for Wal-Mart, and he's gone Monday morning to Friday night, although that's recently changed a bit) - how many times have I come home and yelled, "Mom I'm home"? Too many. Too many have I opened her door, expecting her to be there...and she's not. Too many times have I actually HEARD the stairs creak like they do when someone's walking up them, and looked up expecting her head to start appearing. Which it never does. I despise being alone. At SHIMMER, I roomed with Cryssi, and drove her, Shanti, Steven and Torri around. I sat with them during the shows. Hung out with them, Katelyn, Chris and so many others during the after party. At AAW the Friday before, I finally met Angelus Layne and Alex Castle, after having corresponded with them via Twitter since becoming a fan late last year. I consider them the brother and sister I never had. It meant more than I can say to have Anthony come and attend Sunday's show with me, talk with me extensively at the after parties, and then encourage me to sing at Karaoke on Sunday night. I have never sang at Karaoke before, ever. Too shy. But with his encouragement I got up and poured my heart out...and in that moment, I felt free. I was NEVER alone during that SHIMMER weekend, and I thank God for the friends who were there for me. Precious people. And when I cried, I had friends there to comfort me. The love I felt that weekend helped me so much.

But recently, I think I've become too needy, too attached. I think it's why I've spent so much more time on Twitter - because even when I'm in the house by myself, there's almost always someone online I can chat with, even just casually. I am not connected physically, but via the internet, I'm not fully alone. But I feel like I've started trying to fit myself in with people too much - like forcing a square peg into a round hole, so to speak. In my need to not be alone, I think I'm trying to force myself into groups that I don't belong to. I had a wonderful few days when I went to Illinois for Dreamwave - the best weekend I'd had since December, or so I thought - but now..now I don't know. Maybe I'm trying too hard to be...I don't even know, too hard to be a friend? An insider? A support? A cheerleader? Or, I'm trying in the wrong ways.

Maybe I'm trying to find more people to be that "rock" that mom was. Not in a romantic sense, but that I can rely on, like I relied on her. My sister always thought I clung to her too much though.  That was something she threw at me during the fight we had in February 2012, that I would never make it in the real world without her. And maybe she was right. Maybe, when dad is gone, and I'm truly on my own I won't make it. Maybe I'll sink. There were times I considered suicide after mom died. Maybe, when dad's gone, that will be enough to drive me over that point.

Because you can't rely on ANYONE BUT YOUR GODDAMN SELF IN THIS LIFE. Everyone else LEAVES or DIES or lets you down. And it is stupid, so fucking stupid to think that that isn't true. Or maybe I will grow hard enough to survive on my own. Hard enough, strong enough, harsh enough, cold enough. The one person I thought would always be there, or that I would at LEAST have enough time to say goodbye to (like we had time with Nannie) to is GONE out of my life and I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to save her like I had before, and you know what? You don't get to save anyone. You can only save yourself. You can only look out for yourself. I am crying so hard right now, I want to scream but I can't because dad is in the other room and he's already worried enough about me. I am so angry and lost and confused and jumbled and nothing will ever be the same again. I'm shaking. Honest to God, I want assurance that it will be okay and the one person I always counted on to be there to tell me it would be okay is GONE. GODDAMNIT.

I've been working on this since Friday, and that last paragraph was set off after getting mad over something on Twitter. See? I am unstable. I am that goddamn volcano. Sometimes I wonder if I'm losing my fucking mind. I have such good days, such great days and then it falls apart. Like a glass that breaks. But I don't want to be fragile. I don't want to need anything or anyone. But humans are social creatures by our very nature. I've always wanted to fit in somewhere, but I always always feel like a god damn tag along, no matter how hard I try or what I do. I feel absolutely sick to my stomach. It's now that I see how pathetic I am. I want to put my fist through this computer screen and it's taking every ounce of self control that I still have to not do it.

I've been called crazy, I've been called a whore, I've been called a ring rat, I've been called a momma's girl. Maybe I'm all of that, maybe I'm none of it. Maybe I'm looking for something that I'll never ever find - complete acceptance. Mom gave me that - and now she's gone. And I don't know what to do. I don't know how to find peace or joy - the wrestling events I went to, the time spent with friends, that's all I've found that gives me joy since she died. But what happens when I become too reliant, too clinging, too needy, too desperate? What happens when one by one they draw away? What happens when my dad dies and I'm truly alone? I don't know. I used to be so sure, about so many things and now I'm not. I'm not sure about anything, not God, not faith, not anything. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I am pathetic. I feel like it.

I feel tired. And I could keep going but now I've drained myself. My eyes are red, my face is ugly, all the emotion and the anger I've pounded into this poor keyboard until my fingers have hurt. And it all just starts to repeat. There's no point. Hemmingway once said that life breaks us, and when we heal we're stronger at the broken points. But sometimes, we just stay broken.

In Memory of the Most Wonderful Mother (Part 2)

My mom, age 2, with her mom and dad.

My mother lived for 62 years, and she packed a lot of life into those years. She was married three times (well, four technically, if you count her re-marrying my father in 2001), had two daughters that grew up to be strong, independent, outspoken women, and overcame a myriad of problems that might have made a lesser person go off the rails. Her experiences shaped her into a woman with an incredible will, a compassionate heart, and a deep understanding of things that a lot of people cannot understand.

Graduation day. Mom is on the left, her sister Debbie on the right.

By her own admission, mom was a straight laced girl through school (although she had her fair share of getting into trouble with her sister, Debbie), shy and quiet, and married her high school sweetheart Richard after graduation. They had my sister, Shannon, but after her birth Richard grew jealous and distant. His behavior proved to be too much, and mom divorced him. Her second husband, Mike, was a marked contrast - he was wild, a party-loving guy, and the person who introduced mom to her first stint with drugs. It was mostly acid, LSD, and in her later years when I was old enough to understand, she would tell me about the things that she saw under the influence. It was funny later, but obviously at the time, it was no laughing matter. Mike wound up cheating on mom with one of their mutual friends, but even after the divorce and her moving back in with her parents, the drug use didn't end. If anything, it got worse. Things came to a head when mom forged a check from her father's account. She knew she would get caught, but she did not care. Part of her probably wanted to get caught, and this was a way out. Inevitably PawPaw (my grandfather, her dad) found out and gave her a choice. Check into rehab or get kicked out. To her credit, mom went through JADAC (one of the drug rehab places in town), and began her recovery.

Mom and dad, the early years.

She got clean and I think at this point, her and my dad were married, and driving cabs. But after she was robbed, mom quit. It might have been at this point that I was born, in 1982. Mom stayed home while dad switched to driving trucks (which eventually led to his long time employment by Wal-Mart), but at some point she was hired by Jewish Hospital, one of two jobs she held for the longest period of time. She was a switchboard operator who eventually became known as one of the hardest workers in the hospital, known and trusted by dozens of people. But it was during these years that she fell off the wagon - thanks to a relative.

"No, Jenny, put down the bottle."

I didn't learn this until within the past two years, but one of my cousins introduced her to cocaine. She started using it at some point during the late 80s-early 90s. To her credit, I had no clue. True, I was young, but there were martial problems developing between her and my dad (due to him having a one night stand with a woman who worked, of all things, with a traveling circus that had come through town), and as a result mom began to dote on me excessively. When he was gone, I slept in her bed with her, and even when he would return home, I slept in between them. I was young, and didn't realize I was a literal and figurative barrier between them. During the night, once I was asleep, was when she would use, and stay up all night, paranoid. Yet she was a perfect mother - was there for school meetings, every time I was in a play or received an award, took me places, bought me things. There was never a lack of love or attention. And I never had an inkling.

She encouraged my attitude.

Fast forward to 1995. Momma had been drug tested at work and it came back positive. They forced her into rehabilitation, but this time she went to a group headed by a counselor named Leo Hobbs. The hospital wound up firing her under another pretext, but she stuck with Leo who led her onto the road to recovery. But before it took hold, my grandmother (Nannie), sister (Shannon) and dad gave mom an ultimatum: tell me about the drug usage or they were going to take me away from her. She had probably hoped to spare me from the knowledge, but after this she couldn't. I remember the day - she said she needed to talk to me, and that we were going for a drive. We drove up to Highview park, about 10 minutes away, and as I watched the trees go by, I quite clearly remember wondering what she had to tell me that was so earth-shattering. The only thing I could think of turned out to be exactly what it was: she was a drug addict. Mom was deathly afraid that I wouldn't love her anymore, that I would turn against her for not being as perfect as I had always thought she was.

She couldn't have been more wrong. If anything, I loved her more. She was still a perfect mother, but not a perfect person. She was fallible, human - and the fact that she was willing to do whatever she could to stay in recovery, and keep me, made her precious. I met Leo a few times, and he was always kind, understanding and willing to play a game of Jinga that he kept in the office. Thanks to his counseling and her strength, she never relapsed. I believe that her future medical problems may have stemmed from the cocaine usage, but have no way of knowing for sure. She cut ties to both family and friends that used to place herself away from potential temptation.

In Florida 1999. Mom is not amused.

It was in late '98-early '99 that my mom and dad divorced, and I'm sorry to say that I'd never had a close relationship with my dad after earlier years (when I didn't know/wasn't able to understand the problems), and I was old enough to choose to live with my mom. She began a relationship after their divorce with a man whom she had met online. His name was Tom and he lived in Florida. They did the usual online relationship stuff - phone calls, trips, etc. until he finally moved up here and in with us. At the end of the school year, in May 1999, mom and I went to Florida for the first time, and went to Universal Studios. It was fun but during our trip, mom broke two discs in her back during a boating trip. She went to a hospital down there where the doctor told her it was nothing big - and it turned out it was. That was where her degenerative disc disease began, I believe. Due to the continuing pain (a doctor later told her he was amazed she had been able to walk around Universal, given she had something akin to a broken back!), we didn't do as much as we could have but we made the best of it and a lot of fun!

Hanging out at Universal!

Her relationship with Tom went south, however, and he wound up moving out. Her and my dad started dating (which myself and a co-worker at the job she was at during the time encouraged), and they wound up getting re-married in January 2001. During the two years they were divorced, I had grown much closer to dad, and that relationship only got better after the remarriage. Both of them had changed for the better - they were friends as well as spouses, and there was much more communication and love shown. I was truly blessed to witness and be apart of this second stage of their relationship. True, both got on each other's nerves from time to time, but there was never any doubt about the love or the commitment from them both. We took trips together, went out to eat, ate together at home..it was a completely different relationship, and it made me proud to witness their love.

January 2001, the start of the better half.

When I got into wrestling in 1999, mom may have thought it strange at first (considering I had disliked wrestling most of my life to that point, even mocking my cousin who was a huge Hulk Hogan fan), but she never discouraged me from any of my hobbies. Whether it was reading, comics, climbing trees (I was your typical tomboy), or wrestling she either accepted it or went further and encouraged it. However, this was a plus as she happened to see Shawn Michaels during an episode of RAW and started to watch it with me. We would discuss what was real, what wasn't, the stories, the wrestlers, and in July of that year, she took me to my first RAW which I believe was the last one before the July '99 PPV, Fully Loaded. We had seats way up near the top of Freedom Hall but it was still a lot of fun. Every wrestling show I went to, aside from Judgment Day 2000 and the last WWE show I went to, a Smackdown a few years ago, I went with mom who always had fun. I remember the first house show we went to (all the others had been RAW or Smackdown! live/tapings), Shawn Michaels had returned full time by then and was teaming with the Big Show to wrestle Triple H and Chris Masters. They did several hilarious bits, one of which involved Hunter running in circles while HBK held onto him.....by his tights. Hunter had a magnificent rear end. Our last wrestling-related trip was in 2007 when we drove to Memphis for Unforgiven in 2007. It was a spur of the moment decision, and I paid for the tickets. We had the best seats for any WWE show we'd ever had: on the ramp barrier, second row. If you were facing the ring from the entrance way, we were on the left. And it was a jolly good thing mom was with me - she had to calm me down after Triple H saw my sign ("I Came for the Game") and reached out and touched my hand. Just mine. Mom and I walked around Memphis before the show, it was a beautiful day. We carried our chairs back to the hotel, which was in walking distance, and more than once we were asked what the chairs were for. We still have both chairs.

May 2000: My Graduation Day. She was so proud.

When my friend, and first boyfriend, Andrew, passed away in January 2008, once mom saw I was determined to attend the funeral, she went with me and supported me. Aside from Nannie's death in 2002, and Grandma Dorothy's (dad's mom) in 2006, Andrew's was the hardest up to that point. We had been friends, meeting on America Online, in 1997 and he had claimed to have been in love with me since then, but we didn't get together until 2002 after my grandmother had passed. Our little under two years together was rocky (due to the distance and my impatience), but mom did all she could to support us. She was the one who did research on his form of cancer, neuroblastoma, and therefore knew what the eventual consequences would be. I didn't want to accept it, but we did finally break up in early 2004. Four years later, I attended his funeral with momma by my side. His family was so wonderful towards us and I have never forgotten this. Mom supported me as I broke down and grieved for the first love and the friend I had lost.

When I made plans in 2010 to attend SHIMMER for the first time, she was dead set against it. At one point she said, "You don't even know what really goes on up there!" - as if it was some big orgy of sex and violence or something. Up to that point, I had usually let her fears combine with my own to keep me from doing new things. And she had a right to be anxious, as everyone I would 'know' in Berwyn I only knew through Twitter and Facebook. I'd never met any of them in person. But for the first time, I kept my determination and went. Obviously, it turned out okay, and from then on mom had less anxiety when I went. Although she didn't quite expect me to become involved in only my second relationship as a result of that trip. Another long distance relationship, except this one involved an ocean being between us. From the start, despite being happy at how happy I was, mom wasn't 100% supportive. She never said anything to make me doubt, but she was never keen to discuss it and at times talked to me about how it could be years before anything permanent could be done. Unfortunately, 2011 was one of her worst years health-wise, and despite going to Las Vegas with dad while myself, Lee and our friends were there on vacation, she wasn't in a good condition to meet him properly. We had dinner together, but I could tell from the beginning she wasn't in a good place. And when I flew to England to visit him for a week, she was scared to death. But, ironically enough, when I had finally convinced her that I was patient enough to see this through and she was ready to not only accept but encourage our relationship in any way that she could, Lee and I broke up in February 2012. As always, mom was there helping me deal with the turmoil of emotions I experienced during the subsequent months. And as I started to go to other wrestling shows that were short drives away, she encouraged me to go. She was happy that I was getting out of the house.

In October 2012, I had my worst SHIMMER experience to date, not due to the shows or the after party, but going back to the hotel alone afterwards. However, thanks to mom, a week later I flew to Montreal for Femmes Fatales X and had one of the best times of my life with my friend Chris. Momma loaned me the money for the airplane ticket. It was entirely due to her that I was able to go. There was very little my mother was not willing to do for me. Sure, I was undoubtedly spoiled for the majority of my life, but from her I developed a generous, giving spirit. To this day, if I can help a friend with anything be it money, time, attention, whatever, I don't hesitate. That comes from mom.

(Left) In Washington in '09. (Right) My 18th birthday May 2000.

We took several trips to visit relatives in Virginia Beach, and in Tennessee. I can remember one trip we were coming back, just the two of us, from Tennessee, and we were stuck behind a long row of cars on a strip of highway in the mountains. Mom was getting increasingly frustrated at how slow they were going and wondered what the cause of it was. At one point, she said, "I swear, I'm going to kill the person who is responsible for this backup!" Finally, she decided to go around them and as we got to the front of the line of cars, I started laughing hysterically. It was a hearse. We had been stuck behind a funeral procession. I told mom, "Well looks like you can't kill them - they're already dead!" That was a story that never failed to get a laugh. Those car trips were always fun and it's where I developed a love of road travel. There were certain places we stopped every time we went there and back. A few years ago, my parents and I as well as my sister's ex-husband, Shannon and Zack went to Florida for a week. It was wonderful! Mom, dad and Shannon went para sailing, and me and mom swam with dolphins. She loved that. After Nannie passed away in May 2002, in September, my great Aunt Marie and Uncle Louis took her to Italy for two weeks, to meet our family there in Montefiascone (Nannie's father, Guido Maragoni, had traveled on a boat to come to America) and sight see in Rome. That was the best trip of her life, at least until her and I went to New York City for the first time properly (she had been once before, when she was 17, but it was only for two days) in September 2012. Our trip together there was magical. We packed a lot in for a week, taking a tour of the harbor, seeing the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island; shopping, relaxing. In the fall of 2009, my parents and I went to Washington DC and did a lot of sight seeing before driving down to see our relatives in Virginia Beach. We had a lot of travels, saw so much together, and experienced many unforgettable things..

Bottle feeding Spike. She loved that spunky kitten!

Through her, I developed a love of almost every animal. Mom always opened her home to any stray that came her way, or would help them find good, loving homes. My first cat was a stray, as was Shannon's. She was a lifelong member of the Kentucky Humane Society and the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. She never hesitated to donate to them, something that I have taken up doing. Compassion and gentleness towards animals is something she never hesitated to show.

Nannie and Mom at a Tom Jones concert. Beautiful smiles.

Everything that I am, I owe to mom. Watching her care for Nannie as my grandmother spent the last six weeks of her life in April 2002 from cancer, I learned true strength. Watching her choose each day to not give into temptation, I learned dedication. Each time she refused to pass judgment on someone struggling with their own demons, I learned compassion. Each time she did something that she was terrified to do, I learned courage. By knowing her and her past thoroughly, and only loving her more throughout the years, I learned unconditional love. By being loved and supported by her when I made decisions on my own, for good or for ill, I learned how to love unconditionally. By caring for her in progressively larger ways since 2006, I learned patience. Through her love of animals and support for various charities, I learned tenderness and generosity. By working side by side with her at my first job, I developed a strong work ethic. I learned loyalty and bravery and independence from her.

Every good quality I have, every positive trait I have developed...it's all due to my momma. In the later years, as her health went through increasing bad spots, I was there to help keep track of her medical problems, her medications, doctor appointments. When her hand writing wasn't good, I did the bills and took over keeping track of the checkbook. On the weekends I would help clean the house when she wasn't feeling well. Taking care of the woman who had raised me, loved me, and took care of me became my purpose in life. And, although at times it was frustrating, I never resented it or hated it. Rather, I saw it as my reason for living. After all, she gave me life - the prospect of putting her off onto someone else was never an option.

Mom and Zack - a proud, happy grandmother.

I love my momma. And I am beyond proud to be her daughter. I am proud of the fact she faced her drug addiction and overcame it. I am proud she never let her medical issues drag her under. I am proud that she lived an exciting, vibrant life. And I am proud that, according to her counselor Leo, I am the reason she wanted to get and stay sober. He told me in recent emails that her love for me was a source of strength that enabled her to prevail; I was instrumental in her recovery because she loved me and wanted to be the mother I deserved.

The life of the party!

From the moment I was born until the day she died, she was nothing less than the perfect mother. If I can be half the woman that she is, it will be enough. I treasure the memories of us together, our trips, the laughter and the fun. And I know that she is not truly gone...her blood runs through my veins. Her spirit is with me. Right now, I simply exist and take advantage of the fun moments that life provides...and one day, maybe I will find another purpose in life.

I love you mom. I miss you. I will always love you and always miss you. I hope I can make you proud. You always made me proud. Always.

The locket was my great-grandmother's. It contains pictures of Nannie (her daughter) and Mitzie (Nannie's dog). The fingerprint is my mom's - the funeral home made imprints of her pinkie and put them on silver for my dad, Shannon and I. I never take these off, except to sleep and shower. They are always with me..

In Memory of the Most Wonderful Mother: Part One

(All the songs included are from the CD we played during the visitation.)

On December 21st, 2012, the day that everyone claimed the Mayans had foretold would be the end of the world....a huge part of my world disappeared unexpectedly. Undeservedly. My mother, Mary Lee Feather Logsdon, died sometime between 2:30 a.m. and 9 a.m. Friday morning. I was the last person to see her alive. I'd heard movement in her room (which is right across from mine), and went in to check on her since she had had foot surgery the week before and was unable to walk properly. She was getting back into her bed after visiting the bathroom, so I helped her in, propped her foot up on the pillows, put the cover over her as best I could and asked if she was okay. She said she was, and after I told her to try and get some sleep, I told her I loved her as I always do before we go to sleep each night, and went back to bed. This was around 2:30 a.m. Thursday night/Friday morning. I remember her smiling at me before I pulled the door to.

The next thing I knew, it was 8:30 a.m. Dad was in my room, waking me up. He said that he was going to call an ambulance because he couldn't get mom to wake up. Now, this in itself wasn't something abnormal believe it or not. Twice before in 2012, once in January and again in March, Mom had had severe cases of pneumonia where her breathing would slow and we weren't able to fully rouse her from sleep/unconsciousness. Each time, first dad then myself, we got her to the hospital in time. In both cases, the treating doctors had told us that if we hadn't gotten her there, she would have died. So when dad told me this on December 21st, I assumed this would be another case as before.

I wish it had been. His next words made me literally launch myself out of my bed. "And her lips are blue." Five footsteps got me from my room into hers where I saw her. It is an image that comes to mind almost every day. It will stay with me until the day I die. Mom was laying on the floor, eyes slightly open, lips parted slightly. She was on her back. Dad said that when he had woken up and checked on her, she had been laying on the floor on her side, her back towards the door, head near the night stand. Since this wasn't uncommon to find her on the floor, dad went over to put a pillow under her head. When he noticed she wasn't moving, he rolled her on her back to try and shake her awake. That's when he came and woke me up.

I had been sick for the past three days and been at home, so Thursday I had taken mom to her appointment with the foot doctor. Her foot surgery the previous week had been to make her foot and toes straight (she had had several previous surgeries, none of which had really worked the way they should have), but the pins in her toes had started to come loose and she felt a pain in them. When the doctor Thursday unwrapped her foot to examine it, I was amazed. I had never seen mom with her foot looking as good as it did. It was straight. It looked normal. The only thing was that one of the toes with a pin in it was purplish. The doctor (who wasn't her regular one, he was out due to his wife having surgery) looked at it and called her regular doc. They consulted and prescribed a strong medication to get rid of the infection, then gave me instructions as to what to buy, how to re-wrap the bandage, and how often to soak the foot. I took the instructions down in the Note app on my iPhone. I still have them in there. Went to Walgreens, got the prescription as well as a ton of stuff for her foot. There's a reason why I'm the nurse for both my parents. It isn't..wasn't a job or a chore. I saw it...see it as saying thank you for everything they have ever done for me. The many times I fell and scraped my knee, mom was there to bandage it up with a kiss. The times I was sick and wanted something from out, either mom or dad if he was there would go out and get it for me. When I had my wisdom teeth pulled out (and it wound up that the doctor DIDN'T extract them, but that's neither here nor there), I couldn't eat hardly anything...except spaghetti sauce. Mom fixed one batch, then a second when the first ran out, until I was able to eat solid foods again. And we're talking not pre-made stuff you get from the grocery, but frying ground round meat, peppers, onions then mixing it with tomatoes, spices..the works. Home made. Momma did that for me.

So in later years, starting around 2004-2005, I never considered it a chore or a pain to do for mom what she needed. I considered it...an obligation, but not one that was a burden. I wanted to show her the same love and care that she had always shown me. I kept a medication list, surgery list, doctor list and medical diagnosis list updated and brought to every doctor appointment. I called in prescriptions when it came time and kept track of them. Whenever she couldn't take herself to an appointment, dad or I would take her. I balanced the checkbook and made out the bills at times. There was nothing I wouldn't do for momma.

When I saw her on the floor, my gut reaction was that I knew. I knew she was dead. But as soon as I thought that, I fought against it. She couldn't be. I'd just talked to her a few hours ago, told her I loved her, and wished her good night. Now she had somehow gotten onto the floor and she wasn't moving? No. I refused. I knelt down beside her and just looked at her for a moment. Her stomach wasn't going up and down. Her lips were blue. My hand went to her chest, I think and felt for a heart beat. That strong heart that only 2-3 months ago had been checked by her cardiologist, Dr. Rebecca McFarland, and pronounced as healthy...I couldn't feel that strong heart. I think I told dad to yes, call 911, I couldn't feel a heart beat. He got on the phone as I took hold of her wrist, searching for a pulse. All the time, I knew...I knew, but I couldn't say it. I couldn't. I don't know if dad had realized she was gone when he came in, if he knew it now, but as he talked to the operator, I put my head down to her chest. She was already a bit cold. There was no movement, no beat. I fought hysteria as I said she wasn't breathing. He relayed this to the operator, who directed him to start CPR. I'd made an attempt to start it but he took over and I can still hear him going, "One, two, one, two, one, two" as I left the room. I ran to the front door that we seldom use and undid the locks, throwing it open so that I could look out the screen door. For a few moments I remember fighting panic, praying, begging, refusing to accept what my first reaction had been. She couldn't be gone. She wasn't. The EMS would get here, and they would bring in the shock paddles like I'd seen on television so many times. They would resuscitate her, bring her back. Like on TV.

I wanted to be ready to go with them in the ambulance when they got here, so I threw on some clothes. Jeans and a shirt, can't remember which shirt now. Rusty was wandering around, in and out of rooms, and I knelt down at one point and told him I'd take care of him, hugged and kissed him. He wagged his tail..I think he knew.

EMS took such a long time, all I could hear was traffic and dad keeping rhythm. Finally, finally I heard the siren, and I kept fighting hysteria, fighting the urge to run outside and scream at them to get in the house. As it was I held the door open, directing them down the hall to the last door on the left. Rusty was in my room, locked up, but unlike every other time, he didn't bark when he heard new people coming inside. I didn't hear what they told dad, but he cleared out of the room and let them in, answering their questions. He joined me in the kitchen and we both stood there. Hopeless. At a loss as to what to do. He finally suggested that I go in the bedroom with them, as I could answer any medical questions they had. He followed me down the hall as I stood in the doorway. The EMTs weren't doing anything. I remember looking for the shock paddles, wondering for a moment what they were waiting for. The one kneeling by mom looked up. I don't remember what he said. If it was "I'm sorry..she's gone." or just "I'm sorry.." and didn't get the next words out of his mouth, but that's when the world shattered.

My mom, dad's wife, the love of our lives, was dead.

I will never, ever forget dad wailing, "Oh no..." in a voice that was absolutely broken. I didn't even form words, just noise...just a wail, almost a scream. I turned back to him and we hugged each other, sobbing and yelling. He leaned back against the wall and I leaned against him, we held each other trying not to collapse. It felt like an eternity lapsed as we stood there, but it wasn't that long I know. At some point, one of the EMTs guided us gently down the hall into the living room where we sat down. I don't know how long we stayed like that.

I know one of them called the coroner, and a minister with the county. The minister was a gentle, older man. The coroner was a young woman. Before either of them arrived, however, our neighbor from across the street, Lem, came over. We had become acquainted with him and his wife Carol in the last few years, and they knew about mom's medical problems. When he came into the house, I told him he was gone and he looked so sad...he gave me a hug and went back to his house, not wanting to be in the way.

Events are jumbled - dad went back to the bedroom at one point and I saw him stretched out on the floor beside her, stroking her face, sobbing. One of the EMTs had to stay in there, to make sure nothing was done with her, which we understood. They were all very understanding and took pains to not be overly in the way. Before either the coroner or the minister arrived, however, I remember. Shannon, my older sister. Someone had to call her. Looking at dad, I couldn't ask him to. When our grandmother, mom's mom, passed away at our house on May 3rd, 2002, he had had to call Shannon then I believe. But I wasn't sure how she would react.

In February 2012, her and I had gotten into a major fight that had went on for two days. Since it started when I was at work, I got so upset I wasn't able to function properly, so I had to excuse myself from the front desk. I went outside and called mom and asked her to call Shannon and get her to calm down. Mom had always been able to somewhat handle her anger, so I didn't think anything about bringing mom into it. However, it backfired, and they had their own vicious fight. From February on, I did not speak to Shannon and it was only several months later that she apologized to mom and things evened out between them. Despite this though, in 2012 Shannon only came over to the house twice to see her, maybe three times. Mom didn't get to see Zack very often either. But Shannon did take mom to her house the day after Thanksgiving while I was at work, and they had a fun day together. I was genuinely happy - it pained mom to have any sort of fight with either of us, so despite the fact I was still unwilling to talk to her until she apologized to me, I was glad that they were back on good terms.

Facing the task of calling her though...I realized this would be the first time I had talked to her since February. Could I do this? I had to..but maybe I could get her to leave work and come to the house so I could tell her in person and not over the phone. It took everything I had to call her cell phone. She picked up and it threw her to hear from me. I don't know how I remained calm sounding, but I told her to come to the house. It didn't work. She kept asking me why, what was wrong...I finally told her. She wasn't convinced. Denial, and honestly I was okay with denial. I didn't want her to lose it at work. She finally said she was coming over, and it wasn't long before she got here. A friend from work had driven her. I was in the bedroom, sitting with mom and dad on the floor, when she walked in. Shannon still couldn't believe it, not even seeing it with her own eyes. She was just sleeping...God, I wish that would have been true. When she went to the kitchen, I followed her and wrapped my arms around her.

Our first contact since February was the day our mother died. That still tears at me. But the grudge died there. Later on, she did apologize for what had happened, and I apologized for what I had said. Mom had said several times during the course of the year that she did not want me and Shannon to become like her and her sister Debbie had - falling out after their mother's death over several issues. I had told mom this wouldn't happen. And it won't.

It wasn't long after that that her boyfriend of a few years, Mark, arrived. Her friend left, and at some point the coroner arrived. The minister was there at that point as well. The coroner gathered the three of us in the living room. I sat in the middle. I remember being in shock. I wasn't in control of myself. It wasn't real. She asked us questions about her medical history, her health, the foot operation, what had happened the night before. I went and got extra copies of the medical information I kept on file, her medication list and what not, and gave it to her. She was surprised at the detail and order, which dad and Shannon attributed to me. It wasn't enough, I thought. When she asked about last night, I told her that I'd given her one of the medicines on the list, a sleeping pill. She was having trouble getting enough sleep due to the pain and discomfort of her foot. She asked for one, and I gave it to her - I made sure to tell her that certain of her medicines were kept in my room, so as she wouldn't accidentally get up in the night and take more than one dose.

After telling her about this, I remember asking, "Did I do this? Did I kill her?" Of course I hadn't - how many times had she asked for a sleeping pill and woken up fine in the morning? But at the time, everything I did was suspect to me. I had failed somehow, I was convinced of it. The coroner told us what would happen next, something about taking mom somewhere, then transporting her to Resthaven where she had wanted to be buried...where Nannie and PawPaw were buried, her parents. The words just floated through my head. I couldn't take it in. I remember though asking if we wanted an autopsy done. Dad refused one. Shannon and I wanted one done but we didn't want to argue with dad over it, so we let him make the call. He couldn't take the idea of them opening her up, then sewing her back together.

It finally ended, and the EMTs wheeled in the stretcher. She explained they would place mom on it, wheel her out to the living room where we could say goodbye, then take her out. Somewhere along the way, I had let Rusty out and he had stayed quiet, walking around the emergency workers. I don't know if he stayed with mom very much, I can't remember. He didn't bother anyone though..he knew. Dad and I stayed in the kitchen with the minister, while Shannon was in the living room near the Christmas tree. The tree mom, dad, and I for the first time had decorated together just last Saturday. Mom had sat on the couch and directed dad and I in what to hang and where. It had been a lot of fun, and I had said so during. I remember thinking that we felt like a traditional family, decorating for Christmas. And then four days before Christmas, the joy was gone.

The EMTs wheeled her out. She was covered with a white blanket, the same blanket they had covered her with in the bedroom. Before this, however, when everyone was in the kitchen or the living room, I went back to my room and got a pair of scissors. I knew that mom would want one of her oldest and dearest friends, Janie, a hair dresser, to do her hair for the funeral. So I tilted her head slightly and cut a lock of hair from towards the back and bottom of the hairline, where it wouldn't be noticeable. I apologized, smoothing her hair back down, and put the hair on my nightstand. A day or two later, I placed it in a Zip lock baggie and put it with my treasured items. I can't explain why, even now, but I had to. When I went in there, the blanket was over her head. I found this distasteful, as if she had to breathe, and kept her head uncovered until they had to place her onto the stretcher. While still alone, I kissed her and apologized..I had failed her.

When they brought her out, her head was still uncovered, and we were allowed to say goodbye. Dad kissed her, stroked her head and said something that I can't remember now. I was next. I may have held Rusty up so he could say his goodbye, I'm not sure. I kissed her lips and cheek...she was getting colder, but her skin was still soft. I knew at the funeral she would be embalmed and this was the last time I could feel her naturally. She would be a hardened shell by that time. She was still soft, still my mother on that stretcher. The cheek I had stroked so many times when I had slept in her bed when young, the face I had stroked when she was sick or sad, the face I knew every line, every mark on...the most beautiful face in the world. The face of my wonderful mother.

Shannon was last to go up to her, and I was afraid for a few minutes she wouldn't or couldn't. But she did. The minister stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room so that dad and I couldn't see her being wheeled out of the house, into the hearse, and driven away. In hindsight, I wish I had pushed him out of the way, insisted on seeing her off. But I was in shock, and then it was too late. The minister left his card, the coroner left hers, and then everyone was gone. It was just me, dad, Shannon, Mark and Rusty. Not long after that, Mark and Shannon left. I believe Zack was still at school and part of me hurt, knowing how devastated he was going to be. He loved his Nonie and had worried about her ever since he was at an age to know about her illnesses. Worrying runs in the family.

Dad and I sat in the kitchen, silent and numb. I remember he looked at me and said, "Why don't we go lay down?" So we did. Dad, Rusty and me went into mom's room and laid down on her bed, huddled together.  He had woken me at 8:30 a.m. I think I looked at the clock after we were alone, and it was only somewhere around 10-10:30. In the space of 90-120 minutes our world had been turned upside down. When we had been in the living room, before Shannon had arrived, before the coroner had arrived, when we had still been sobbing, he had said, "What are we going to do?" Lying there with him, dozing off and on, I wondered. I didn't know. I still don't know, five months later.

We laid there with Rusty for an hour, but he couldn't sleep and I dozed lightly. Eventually we got up and I can't remember if he called anyone but somehow word spread and my Aunt Beverly brought us over a ham so we wouldn't have to worry about dinner. The rest of the day is a blur, but I know at one point I posted about it on Facebook. Didn't even remember doing it until my phone blew up with messages, texts, etc. We have so little family that it didn't take long for everyone to know. Phone calls to out of state relatives were made. I called my boss. We ate and just laid around, lost. Very lost.

That was Friday, the first day. The weekend is a blur of crying, no sleep, too much sleep, and clinging together. Rusty was absolutely lost. So was Dad. We all were. I think I went into denial - this was just an extended hospital trip. She would come home at some point. But that was harder to maintain when me, dad, Shannon and Mark went to the funeral home. The people at Resthaven were lovely, they didn't pressure us to buy a lot of extra stuff, just worked until we were satisfied. But we weren't thinking clearly - we decided to have visitation on Friday and the funeral on Saturday. The obit would come out in Wednesday's paper..we should have had it in Friday's paper, as most people don't get the full week subscription anymore. But those who matter knew. Mom had made specific requests as to what she wanted for her funeral (she insisted on talking about this to me, even though I never wanted to hear it), and fortunately I had written some of it down. Shannon would make the CD, I told them what she said she'd wanted on her gravestone and dad selected the casket. It was a pretty sky blue with clouds on each corner.

The week seemed to drag. Dad hustled me up to the bank to get me on his and mom's account so I could take over the bills properly (meaning my signature would now be official on checks), I was designated dad's POA - it was as if we were both scared something would happen to him next and I'd be left to swim without a life jacket. Mom had been preparing their wills, but hadn't brought them to their lawyer to get them official. Everything that had to do with finances and what not, dad and I got done that week. And suddenly, it was Friday again. The visitation.

I wasn't sure how I would react walking into the room and seeing mom in the casket. But I walked in with dad, side by side...and when I saw her, I almost smiled. She wasn't there. It wasn't her. It was..a shell. But she looked lovely. Her childhood friend, Janie, a hair dresser, had been convinced to do her hair, and she fit into the dress she wore for her second wedding to dad. Except for a small interval, I stayed there all day, mostly off to myself, chatting with family. It was still all very surreal. A CD that Shannon had made with appropriate songs was playing softly overhead. I heard "My Immortal", "Forever Young" and "My Heart Will Go On" among others. Mom had told me a few songs over the years to include, and between them and the ones we had chosen, it was a good mix. We hadn't been to church in years, but the pastor of the last church we went to (and the same one that did Nannie's funeral service) was contacted and agreed to do the service. He got enough details about her and her life to do a good job, but it wasn't enough. I told them I would do the eulogy. Dad and Shannon were worried that I wouldn't be up to it, but I had to. I just did. And in the absence of enough strong men, I insisted on being a paul bearer. Again..I had to. I had to take care of her. To the very end.

Towards the end of visitation, I left to get dinner, get away for a bit and come back with Rusty. He deserved to have the chance to say goodbye to his mom. Unfortunately during the time I was away, two of my friends came by. I wish I hadn't missed them but there was nothing to be done. When I held Rusty up to see and smell her, he whimpered. He knew. Don't ever think animals don't know these things. It wasn't long after that we all went home. I had a restless night, starting to write the eulogy, but didn't finish it until an hour before the service the next day. That Saturday was cold and snowy, and when we got to Resthaven, the director said that the graveside service would be canceled. They wouldn't risk anyone falling due to the snow on the ground, even though there wasn't that much. None of us were happy about this. But all too soon, the service was set to begin. Her casket was rolled in and set up, the music played and Pastor Dave began to speak.

Then, it was my turn. I grabbed my notebook, went up to the podium, cleared my throat and started to talk. This is the eulogy I gave:

"My mother was the perfect mother. I say this with absolute conviction. She was not a perfect person, none of us are, but as a mom she was wonderful. She loves Shannon and I more than her own life. When we needed her, she was there. She gave of her time, attention, advice and love. Selflessly.

How do you sum up a life in words? How do I sum up her life? I can't really. But for those of us who were blessed to know her, we can say that to know her was to love her. Momma had a charm about her. She was soft spoken, gentle and kind. The trails she went through made her understand a life a lot of us never will. Momma overcame her drug problem with the help of God, Leo Hobbs, and the love and support of us. After that she would frequently say that before judging others, we should walk a mile in some one's shoes. She never judged others. She accepted their shortcomings and loved them anyways.

Anita Diamant wrote in "The Red Tent" that the more a daughter knows the details of her mother's life - without flinching or whining - the stronger the daughter." My sister and I knew the details of our mother's life and that is part of the reason we are the strong women we are now. We have a mother who wasn't ashamed to share things that others would try to hide, because she wanted us to learn from her mistakes. We did learn. And I read a quote the other day, from someone who had gone down the same road as momma, and like her had come out the other side. Unlike her, however, he died young, younger than her. But he had said something that momma would have, and had said, in other words. He said, "I'm ashamed of what I did but not what I've done to correct my mistakes. I'm proud of who I am." His name was Eddie Guerrero, and he was one of the professional wrestlers mom and I frequently watched. Mom was proud of the person she was. I was proud of her too. I told her that frequently. She overcame drugs, and this past January, after a stint in the hospital, she stopped smoking. She had a strong will and that held her through the rough times. The roughest was undoubtedly when her mom, Nannie, was diagnosed with cancer in 2002. During the last six weeks of Nannie's life, mom took care of her without complaining. She showed the strength that all of our family has shown when it's needed. The strength that is carrying us now. Momma's strength.

I love my momma. Our bond is special. We were each other's confidant, each other's companion and best friend. She was the one person that was always there, no matter what. She spoiled me silly, even up to now. Yet through her I learned and became giving, compassionate, understanding and loving. She showed me all of herself - and I am a better woman for it.

We had adventures. The many trips to Virginia Beach to visit Aunt Sandy and Uncle Edward. Trips to Tennessee to visit Meemaw, her grandmother. Our family trip to Florida, where she went para sailing with dad and Shannon - something she was proud of doing. Going to Memphis for a WWE PPV in 2007. Las Vegas in 2011. And our greatest trip, to New York City in September of this year. We were scared yet went anyways. My friend Eric took care of us, and it was one of mom's best times. All her trips to see Rod Stewart, some with Aunt Cathy, who loves him as much as she does. And of course her trip to Italy in 2002 - a precious memory she treasured for the rest of her life.

Momma was happy that she and dad had re-married, yet she never regretted the two years they spent apart. No matter what anyone thinks, this was no wild fancy of hers, nor was it a midlife crisis. Mom needed that time away, and it was fate that brought them back together. Those two years changed both mom and dad - they became friends, which is what was lacking in the first part of their marriage. They learned to talk to each other. Mom let go of the anger she had carried, and when she re-married dad, it was as a wiser woman who knew what she wanted. Dad changed as well - he became more affectionate, better able to talk, and more understanding. They couldn't have known they would wind up back together, but they did - and the last eleven years were so much better than the first twenty two. I was blessed to witness this.

Momma was proud of the woman Shannon has become. She regretted the early years, but was grateful Nannie was there. Shannon is a mix of Nannie and mom, the best of both. Most of all she was proud of the mom Shannon became. The patience and love Shannon showed raising Zack made mom so happy. She realized she had raised a woman that was as selfless and loving a mom as she was. And she was proud of the man Zack is becoming. Funny, quick witted,  handsome and incredibly smart. Mom was proud of Zack's achievements and hoped he would continue to do well and go onto college. She loves him with the love only a grandmother can give.

Mom loved her sister, her nephew, and all of her brothers-and-sisters-in-law. They were as close to her as any blood relative. And she loved animals, every cat and dog that came into our house was treated as a person. Her kind heart wouldn't have it any other way.

And mom loved me..."

This was where my written eulogy ended, and I began to speak from the heart. I talked about how she encouraged my somewhat unusual hobbies, my love of reading, my passion for learning, and my outspokenness. I spoke about how we weren't just mother and daughter, but best friends, secret keepers, and each other's protector. I cannot remember exactly what I said, but I know I spoke with love and truth - she was the best mother. I ended with the prayer that mom had modeled her life after, the Serenity Prayer. After I stepped down, Aunt Cathy got up to say a few words, and then the pastor led us in a final prayer. It was over, and Shannon's CD started playing again. Starting from the back, everyone filed up to pay their final respects. When I had been up at the podium, it struck me how few people there there. At Nannie's funeral, ten years earlier, the same chapel had been packed. Since then, though, various friends and family had died or become estranged from us. Most of the family that was there was dad's, and I was grateful for that.

Then it was our turn. Shannon, Zack and Mark went up first. Then dad and myself...we didn't want to leave, didn't want them to close the casket and take her away from us forever even though she was already gone. When dad was done, it was just me. I bent down and kissed her on the nose and stroked her hair, the only part of her that still felt real. Her friend Janie had done a lovely job, despite her always telling mom she couldn't do it. Then I knelt down, placed my forehead against the casket and prayed. That was the last time I prayed for a long time. Kissing the casket, I rose to my feet, talked to her softly, and forced myself to walk off to where dad, Aunt Janet and Uncle Johnny were waiting.

Outside in the lobby, we gathered, waiting as the funeral directors took down the pictures, arranged things properly, and closed the casket. Within it, Shannon and I had put almost all of her Rod Stewart buttons, the Michael Jordan plate I got her in '97, her "I'm the mommy, that's why!" coffee cup, the violin ornament she had gotten me when I was little, Max's ashes...and the final Christmas gift I had never gotten to give her: a soccer ball that had been signed by Rod Stewart. There might have been more items but I can't remember at this point. Once the arrangements were done, the main director stepped out and requested the pallbearers come back in. My cousin Eddie, my sister's ex-husband Shawn, Uncle Johnny stepped forward. Zack was only 13 but he wanted to help so he followed. I led the way. I had always told mom I would be one of her pallbearers, and I felt it was my duty to see that she was taken care of - even to the end. Her casket was rolled to the outside and up to the back of the hearse. We lifted, placed it gently inside and rolled it back until it was all the way in. As they closed the door, we realized that almost everyone else had lined up in their cars behind us. I hurried to mine and drove up, letting dad, Eddie and mom's sister Debbie climb in. Despite it not snowing anymore, the director told us to stay in our cars and park behind the hearse, to watch as the gravediggers took her to the grave site. None of us were happy, but we lined up and made the long, slow trek back to where she would be laid to rest.

With a stroke of luck, the site was only a few yards away from where her parents were laid, which would have made mom happy. As we parked, we watched as the diggers took mom out of the hearse and carried her towards the grave. At that point I couldn't take it. "Hell with it," I said, got out of the car and marched up there past the cars. I started a tidal wave: as soon as everyone else saw me going up there, they followed suit. The director came over and tried to protest but I told him that I wouldn't sue anyone if I tripped, I was going to be there as they lowered her in. He gave up, and I went up to the grave, dad on my left and Shannon on my right. We watched as slowly her casket was lowered. It was cold, and it felt like an eternity that we stood there, but we stayed until it was at the bottom and the straps were released and rolled back up. It may have started to lightly snow at that point. I leaned forward enough that I saw her casket all the way down there in that huge, gaping hole. A pretty blue box surrounded by walls of brown dirt and mud. I recall hearing dad telling me it was time to go and feeling a tug against my jacket. I hardly felt the cold - I wanted to stay. I believe dad feared I might do something drastic, but it never entered my mind. I just didn't want to leave her. After a few more minutes though, I realized I had to. I'd done everything I could for her. My job was done...and once this sank in a few days later, I felt empty.

We went back to the funeral home, gathered up the flowers, the statues, and everything else. I had thought the plan was for all of us to go back to our house since it was so close, but only dad's side of the family came. My sister, aunt, and cousin all went back home, emotionally drained. Eventually, it was just dad and me and Rusty. And so it has been, since that awful day. I exist, but lack a purpose, a meaning.

Now that I've written about her death, let me write about her life. Momma lived for 62 years, and her life was a full, fascinating and varied one. It's my hope that I can bring her to life through my words, and that her story gives hope to anyone that needs it.