I was turned on to Holmes at a
young age due to Gene Wilder’s comedic homage in The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes’ Smarter Brother. The Granada TV series that starred Jeremy
Brett as Sherlock then turned out to be a revelation. Quite a career-defining role for Brett and
those series definitely set the bar quite high when it comes to any other
Holmes adaptations. Then my brother
encouraged me to actually read the stories, which is what I was doing at that
moment.
Nearing the
end of the book, I knew I would finish it that night. It truly had been quite a journey that I had
taken with Mr. Holmes. From a sign of
four to demon hounds to a death by waterfall to a resurrection to a solitary
cyclist, a drawing of dancing men, and Bruce Partington’s submersible plans, it
had been quite a ride. And soon it would
be over with just another turn of the page.
As I reached the end of the story, I heard from downstairs that it
finally happened: my mother had passed away.
My mother
had been fighting what started out as ovarian cancer for close to three years
at that point. She had been through the
surgeries and the chemotherapy.
Everything seemed to work and in fact her count had showed remission. However the cancer then came back. Her count spiked up. Another round of chemotherapy. Her oncologist said that the chemo wasn’t
working the second time through and this was just delaying the inevitable. Then she made the decision to leave, have
hospice care, and barring some miraculous event, pass away at home.
I never
viewed it as giving up the fight or some other such nonsense definition. She and my father had been through so much
already in battling this disease. If
nothing else, my mother had amazing willpower and had endured horrendous
treatments in trying to beat back cancer.
I think she just reached a point of acceptance with her situation. I also believe that it gave her two months to
not focus on the disease, but rather to focus on her faith in and to demonstrate
that faith to others.
Leaving the
hospital for the last time with her is burned in my memory. It was just the two of us taking that short
trip together. My mother looked out the
window of the car as we drove along. I
don’t remember us talking about anything.
I do remember just the look on her face as we passed familiar landmarks
that she knew she would never see again.
The look she had was one of quiet peace with just a tinge of
sadness. Thinking back on it now, I’m
just amazed that my 21 year-old self managed to keep it together as well as I
did. I’m more amazed at how my mother
kept everything together.
I don’t
know how one without faith would handle knowing that you are going home to die. What horrors those people must go
through. Even having faith, it must be
quite the trial. Yet I remember my
mother showing not false bravery, but resignation and confidence. I have often said in the past, that I pray
that I have just a modicum of the faith that my mother displayed during that
time.
My mother
never met my wife and never had a chance to treat her like the daughter she
never had. My mother never met my
children and never had the experience of being a grandma. They will only know of her via pictures and
home movies, which isn’t much of a connection at all. Even my memories have started to fade since
so much time has passed since she died.
It is also hard to remember a time when she wasn’t sick. But since writing this, certain thoughts pop
into my mind.
I will
always have an affinity for movies thanks to my mother. Some of her favorites are still my
favorites. The Bishop’s Wife is my favorite Christmas movie. The
Thing From Another World is still a great sci-fi film. Her love of The Quiet Man prompted me to contact Maureen O’Hara and she
graciously signed a photograph for me.
Thankfully my mom and my dad taped a lot of Marx Brothers films from the
late shows on TV and that started a lifelong love of their work too.
My mother
had a sense of humor that could go towards the dark at times, which I
love. I remember she would be getting
testosterone with her cancer treatment.
She wanted to have dad get her a fake moustache to put on for the
oncologist so she could say, “Doc, you have to cut back on the treatment!” Even at her funeral that sense of humor
prevailed. My father turned to me prior
to the service and said, “Your mom isn’t here.”
To which I replied, “I know, she’s dead.” My father elaborated, “No, I meant that the
funeral home didn’t get her ashes ready in time, so the memorial box up front
is empty.” I said, “So mom is late to
her own funeral? That is great!” And we both started laughing because she
would have found that hilarious.
She was a
paranoid driver. Ever since she got into
an accident years ago, she would have white knuckles on the wheel just driving
to the store for groceries. As you might
imagine, it was rather tense when she would go out with me to practice driving
for my license. We would just go out
into a vacant parking lot and she would tense up like I was about to attempt
some James Bondian car stunt of legendary proportions.
My mother
was a great cook. I can still taste her
homemade apple pie and nothing since comes close to it. She also wasn’t afraid to experiment with
dishes. My brother and I still have
nightmares about a quiche Lorraine she tried to make where the eggs never
set. Only a year ago did I attempt to
make one on my own. That it came out is
a testament to her watching over me from afar.
I hope that
my loyal readership allows me this posting, as it is quite a left turn from my
usual fare of nonsensical natterings and exquisite blather. But all of a sudden 15 years just blinked by
and I felt the need to reflect upon them.
The ultimate knowledge that my mother and I will be reunited in paradise
someday is a comforting thought. Without
faith there is no such comfort. One day
my mother will meet her daughter-in-law and her grandchildren. One day we will all be brought together. What a day that will be!
If time
permits, I’ll get my mom to watch the Sherlock Holmes shows with Jeremy
Brett. I think she’ll love it!
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