Twenty-eight years ago today my mother died. She was diagnosed with colon cancer that metastasized to other organs. It was discovered the previous November; five months later she was gone.
She never believed she would die so quickly. There were things to accomplish, projects to finish, plans to travel. In fact, two months after her diagnosis she joined a health club with the idea that all she had to do was try harder.
That was her motto: “Try harder.” She was never the brightest bulb in the box or the prettiest woman in a bathing suit lineup, but she could outwork practically anyone. Her sheer determination accounted for much of her success.
Except she had blind spots. One of those was her disdain for physicians, which kept her from getting regular check-ups. Which, in turn, kept her diagnosis of colon cancer undiscovered until it was too late.
I remember her passing and the following months dismembering her life in Conway, AR, as if it were yesterday. She and I were never close, but in the months following her death I came to appreciate what a wonderful person she really was. Mother was difficult within the family circle, but her friends adored her. And during those months, they shared that with me.
So I’ll think of her today and smile.
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