Today is the 40^th anniversary of my mom’s death. I can’t believe it’s been 40 years. Sometimes, it seems like yesterday. 

I was 7 months pregnant, at home in San Francisco, on bedrest with high BP. I had been to see my mom two days before. They decided to put a pacemaker in her heart, and she never woke up. My Uncle Carl called me from the hospital. “You better get here, your mom don’t look so great.”  I called my sister Linda. I couldn’t get there. And a couple hours later, someone called to tell me she died. I can’t remember who. She was 53. 

The situation that led to my mom’s illness and subsequent death was a broken heart. First, she lost her only son, Johnny. Then, while searching for his baby girl all over Northern California, she fell ill. She was run down, exhausted, and broken-hearted. 

Her last words to me were, “Did you find the baby?”  Mine to her were, “No, but I will.”

My mom was a complex woman—a beautiful mess. She loved hard. She fought demons her whole life and occasionally lost. She had an amazing laugh, a dazzling smile, a quick wit, flawless skin, and an abundance of wavy hair. Her nieces and nephews adored her. Those of us who lived with her less so. But still, we did love her.

She actually had a Certificate of Sanity from Napa State Hospital, earned after 2 months of Electric Shock Therapy treatments. It took a while to bounce back from that. The vacant stare, the less witty version of Beverly came home, but she had her damn certificate.  

She had a temper. She was a great cook. She loved to dance. She had great legs (though she was only 5’2” tall.)  She had a beautiful voice. She could lift anything with her toes. She loved yellow cars and driving fast. Her poison was men. She was frequently depressed. 

She loved her kids. She loved her family. 

I found the baby with the help of a friend. She helped heal our hearts. Still, to this day, she brings us joy. My mom has missed the best part. Grandkids, great grandkids and now great-great grandkids. 

40 years gone in a blink. I am now 20 years older than my mom when she died. But I see her in my family little bits here and there. Her laugh, her love of music, her crazy thick hair, her big brown eyes, her cooking talent, and that quick wit! 

Rest in Peace Mom