My mother Diane was born in 1936. I'm
not sure what city or town that was, but she was raised in
Livingston, Montana. It was a train town in the first parts of the
20th century, which meant it was a peculiar mix of the
rural and the urban (not by today's standards, but still...)
There was Wilcoxson's, that made root
beer floats, Reuben sandwiches and candy breakfasts for kids'
birthdays. Dan Bailey's fly shop, now semi-world-famous in its way.
The Blakeleys, John and Francis Comer, the Woodhulls and so many more
people I've only heard of.
My mother grew up smart, and her father
(Frank) was wise enough to push her to go to college for a proper
education. Remember that he was born in nineteen-zero-something, and
was extremely unusual for having this attitude at the time.
At a time when (like it or not) most
women went to college to find a husband, my mother went and got
herself two Master's degrees. One took her to Munchen, Germany for a
summer. The other took her to Hawaii, where she met a certain
gentleman who ended up following her to Potsdam, NY as her husband.
Strangely enough, this gentleman became my father.
But all of that is history, milestones
in a long life.
My mother made spaghetti. A wonderful
bolognese sauce that my whole family has come to know well. She
knitted, she read, and she loved helping people answer their
questions (30+ years as a professional librarian). She was kind, she
was generous and she was forgiving. To pretty much everyone but
herself, although I know she got better about that over the years.
I could talk with her, about anything.
Unless it was about something real, practical, out in the world, we
never became contentious. We could explore ideas without trying to
figure right and wrong, just examining perspective and possibility.
I've never met anyone who understood me intellectually better than
she did.
And, this being written just after
midnight, one year ago today, I watched her die.
Goodbye, Mom. I love you, I miss you
and I will carry you with me always. You were all the best things a
human can be.
Sleep well.
369
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