It was Super Bowl weekend 2008. I went over to visit with my parents, “Mommy Too” and “Daddy Too”.

That is what the grandkids lovingly call my parents. Mom seemed to be having a good day despite her

osteoporosis and emphysema. She had always been strong, determined, and yes, even a little stubborn

at times. She was the pillar and rock of our family, especially since her mother passed away many years

ago. I was happy to find her up, dressed, talkative, and in a positive mood. Taking care of Daddy Too

had become increasingly difficult for her as his Alzheimer’s was beginning to take a toll on her.

We talked about nothing and about everything while I folded a load of laundry and dusted the living

room - simple chores that had become difficult for her in recent months. I also told her how happy I was

that Ken would be home most of this week and not traveling out of town as he had been doing. He

wanted to be home for our son, Mason’s, first varsity soccer game at the high school on Tuesday night,

but he told his boss that he had to be home Tuesday to vote in the Super Tuesday election. Mom

laughed at his sneaky way of getting to be home for the big soccer game. I told her how we had taken

the boys shopping at Steinmart over the weekend for dress clothes for them to wear to school on game

day, Tuesday. I knew I would be too busy for shopping during the week to worry about their khaki

pants, dress shirts, sport coats, dress shoes, and ties.

She asked me to show her how to set the timer on the coffee pot I had given her for Christmas. She

insisted that she was going to start getting up by 8:00 every morning again like she did before Dad

became so difficult. The coffee pot reminded her to have me check in a cabinet way up high that she

could not reach for coffee and sugar. I dragged the red step stool over to the cabinet and climbed up to

look for the sugar and coffee. Sure enough, they were there but way in the back of the cabinet. She

asked me to pull them forward to the front so that she could see them. I did as she instructed and put

the stool away.

She smiled as I gave her a bouquet of red flowers, and we chuckled as she commented that I shouldn’t

have spent money on expensive roses in February. As we unwrapped them, we discovered that they

were not roses after all, but red tulips. I put them in a vase and placed them on the coffee table so she

could admire them as she lay on the couch. She had been spending more time there napping during the

days after being up with Dad most nights as he wandered the house, or asked the same questions over

and over.

She loved flowers. I didn’t tell her that I had signed up for the bouquet of the month club at school and

that she would be getting a fresh bouquet every month for a year. I just thought I would surprise her

every month with the flowers. It was evident that my once strong mother was growing weak and weary

- physically, mentally, and emotionally, but never spiritually. After a few hours, the dishes done and

simple Valentine decorations up, I kissed her on the forehead and said goodbye as she nestled on the

red couch for an afternoon nap. She smiled up at me and told me thanks for stopping by and for doing a

few simple things to help her out, and she smirked again and thanked me for the “roses”.

I called Mom Sunday after church to “check in” and to see if the coffee pot timer worked at 8:00 a.m.

She said yes and thanked me again. We talked about Mallory, my daughter, who is away at college. It

has been a difficult adjustment for me and Mommy Too as I sent my only daughter away to school,

leaving me home with my husband Ken and twin teenage boys. I feel out-numbered being the only

female at home and I terribly miss talking, shopping, and doing all the fun girl stuff with my daughter.

Mom had been helping me get through this transition, but she admitted she missed Mallory too and

looked forward to her daily phone calls from her first granddaughter. I helped Mom with Daddy Too

when I could while teaching kindergarten, working with the youth at church, and shuffling my boys to

soccer.

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Our Sunday phone conversation was brief because Ken and the boys had invited some friends over to

eat wings and watch the Super Bowl later that evening. I was busy getting things ready for the “Flynn

Super Bowl Wing Bash.” Although Mallory would not be there, it would be a fun night and help to lift

my spirits before heading back to work on Monday. As we hung up the phone, Mommy Too said her

famous tag line, “love ya later”. She had been saying that for years and everyone in the family knows it

as her little special saying which combines two thoughts “I love you” and “Talk to ya later”. It was

always followed by a “love you” from her callers. Little did I know that would be the last time I would

hear that quirky little saying that has come to mean so much to me and many others.

During lunch on Monday, I called my friend Lisa to ask if she could color my hair that week. I really

wanted to get this done before the parent conferences that were scheduled for the following week. Lisa

had the flu and wasn’t sure when she would feel well enough to color my hair. I was disappointed and

aggravated but what could I do? I was also upset that one of the parent conferences scheduled for the

following Monday at 7:15 a.m. had been changed to Wednesday. I made my usual call to my parents to

check on the long night with Dad. Mom did not answer her cell or the house phone, but I assumed they

were napping after being up with Dad all night trying to play his saxophone, crawling down the hallway,

or emptying everything out from under the bathroom sick -some of his latest antics. I would try again

when I got home from school in the afternoon.

That evening I finally reached my Aunt Brenda, my mom’s sister who lived with my parents. They had

always taken care of her, but recently, Brenda had been taking care of my parents. She said that Mom

had not been feeling well all day and insisted that Brenda not call us or be taken to the doctor. I

immediately asked Brenda if I should come over and she reassured me that she had finally gotten both

Mom and Dad settled into bed for the night and that they seemed to be resting quietly. She assured me

that she would check on Mom throughout the night and that she would call me if needed. I hesitantly

agreed and hung up the phone and finished ironing the dress shirts and pants the boys needed to wear

to school on Tuesday.

I sent a text to Mallory and she said she had not talked to Mommy Too either, which was unusual. I

relayed Brenda’s story and we reminded each other to pray for Mommy Too. Mallory was excited that

she had finished a paper for a class today that wasn’t due until later in the week.

Tuesday morning at 6 a.m. came quickly as I climbed out of bed and grabbed my cell phone to check for

calls as I always do. No calls. At 6:20, Aunt Brenda called and sounded frantic as she asked if I was

alone, knowing Ken traveled, and then she shouted into the phone that my mom was gone. My mind

was reeling and I was so thankful Ken was home that morning. I hurried to the house and Brenda told

us what happened. She explained that she had taken Mom to rest on the couch around 1 a.m. and had

been checking on her every thirty minutes, but Brenda had fallen asleep from exhaustion and bolted out

of bed at 5:45 when she realized she had drifted off to sleep. She ran to the living room calling Mom’s

name only to find her still warm but lifeless. The rest of that Tuesday was surreal as my brother and

sister and I tried to comprehend that Mom was gone. A neighbor came and began to fix coffee and I

heard her comment that there was no more sugar. I looked up to the high cabinet Mom had pointed

out just a few days earlier, and said there was plenty of coffee and sugar up there. How strange that I

should know where that was. So many phone calls and decisions had to be made and the person who

did all of these kind of important things was laying quiet and still before us all on the living room floor

next to the red couch and tulips where Brenda and her daughter, Roxy, and finally the paramedics, had

tried to resuscitate her. The red heart lights still blinked across the mantel from our Saturday

decorating.

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I wanted to call Mallory but I was trying to wait until her afternoon classes were over. Suddenly, I

received a text from Mallory saying she was homesick and wanted to come home this weekend. That

was totally unlike her. She had fun ski plans for the weekend. How did she know I would need her

home for the weekend? I suddenly remembered how happy she was the last time we spoke, so proud

that she had finished a paper early that was due later in the week. Now I knew why. The phone call to

Mallory away at school was the most difficult as I had to tell her about Mommy Too’s unexpected death.

The three of us were so close and we had a tight and very special bond that connected our generations.

Mallory and I made it to the soccer game that night to see Mason play. I was so numb I don’t even

remember the game. I just sat there and stared at the field, not noticing the yelling fans, or the loud

announcer calling the game. I just knew that Mom would want me to go the game as planned.

It was late when I finally returned home Tuesday night. As I walked into my quiet kitchen, where my

morning started so horribly a few hours earlier, I glanced at the counter and saw my Daily Guideposts

book. I remembered seeing the book on my kitchen table growing up and on my Mom’s kitchen table

even when I visited her now. It is a daily devotional I read every morning. My mother also read it for as

long as I can remember. She always gave the books to people as Christmas gifts. Since my morning

routine had been abruptly interrupted, I had not read my inspirational story and verse for that day. I sat

down on the stool and opened the book to the date - Tuesday, February 5, 2008. After the story, the

verse seemed to shout at me from the page. It was from Isaiah 55:12

“For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace.”

As I read it, tears streamed down my already stained cheeks and I knew it was a small gesture from God

and Mom. For the first time that day, I felt a peace and that God would take care of me and see me

through this tragedy. I claimed the verse, entrusted it into my heart, turned off the kitchen lights, and

walked upstairs to bed, where I found my three teenage children sleeping on my bedroom floor.

Wednesday was quiet at home as my siblings and I finished the arrangements and readied ourselves to

receive guests at the funeral home later that evening. Friends called, emailed and brought food. The

visitation went well and I admit it was nice to see relatives I had not seen in many years, cousins my age

who I was so close to growing up as Mom was the oldest of four sisters. Seeing my cousins brought back

memories of the many Saturdays we all met together at my grandparent’s small house near Grant Park

in Atlanta where we played in the big backyard for hours until past dark. The emotions were

overwhelming. I looked at my precious Mom in the casket in her beautiful royal blue silk skirt set and

thanked her for a happy childhood, full of memories I now cherished. She finally looked rested and

peaceful - a way she had not appeared in a long while.

We had to be at the funeral home early Thursday morning for the 11:00 service. The ride there with my

family was quiet and somber. No one really knew what to say as the shock and truth began to sink

inside us all. My mind was questioning what I would do without my Mom. We talked every day. Who

would help me get through missing Mallory? Now the two women who meant the most to me were not

around, Mallory off at school, and now Mom gone forever. Who would pick up baskets and clay pots for

my kindergarten class? Who would make my strawberry shortcake for my April birthday? Wait, my

mind went back to something that happened a week ago, and I was smiling and crying as I relayed the

story to Ken and the kids as we rode to the funeral home.

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The week before the Super Bowl, my friend Lisa, the hair girl, called me and asked for my mother’s

strawberry shortcake recipe so she could serve it at her Super Bowl party. Lisa had enjoyed a piece of

my annual birthday cake a year ago and remembered how moist and delicious it was. I thought the cake

was an odd thing to serve at a Super Bowl party, but now I know why God prompted Lisa to ask me for

the recipe. I told her my Mom had made the cake every year for my birthday and I had never gotten her

secret recipe but that I would call her and get it. I did, and I wrote it down on an envelope and tucked it

away after I repeated it to Lisa last week. Now I have the recipe forever, straight from my mother’s

heart.

My mom was a true southern belle and one of her collections included hats. She always wore a hat to

church, weddings, and funerals. Beautiful hats, small pill box types to extravagant big, floppy hats with

feathers and fur in a rainbow of colors to match each outfit. One of my aunts had the great idea to

honor Mom and her collection by wearing her hats at the memorial service. So we did! Almost every

female family member and close friend at the service wore a hat of Mom’s , and we even had the royal

blue hat that matched her outfit perched on top of the casket during the service where the tenor voice

sang “O Holy Night”, Mom’s favorite Christmas song, even though it was February.

The service was truly amazing, a real celebration of a life filled with serving and unselfish giving. Debby,

my brother’s wife, read a touching poem she had written and the minister, a family friend whose piano

Dad had tuned for years, and who had met his wife at my parent’s home long ago, spoke beautifully and

eloquently about Mom. He shared the Guideposts passage and told about Mom’s love of musicals,

southern cooking, holiday decorating, her strong faith, and of course her love for her grandchildren.

Mallory and I wore mom’s perfume, Tabu, and even polished our nails with her color, Cherries in the

Snow. Crazy Aunt Brenda lightened up the service with laughter by sharing her humor, stories and

reminiscing while wearing a black and white polka-dotted hat. She even told the now infamous “teeth

story” that occurred after my mother’s death.

As I later watched my sons carry their grandmother’s casket to the grave, I couldn’t help think how tall,

handsome, and grown up they looked in their dress clothes, the very ones we had so much fun shopping

for a few days earlier and the same ones I so carefully pressed just Monday night, thinking they would

be for school, not my mother’s funeral.

Friday came and as I sat in my friend Lisa’s kitchen while she finally colored my hair after recovering

from the flu, I told her all about the events of the week and reflected on how I saw God move all week,

and the weeks before. He was preparing me and taking care of me in so many small ways. He took care

of every detail He knew would concern me: my boys dress clothes, the coffee and sugar, Super Tuesday

voting, a school paper finished early, text messages, conference time changes, a bouquet of the month

club, my strawberry shortcake, a verse from His word, and even the hats that covered my gray roots at

the funeral.

When I returned back to school at 8:00 on Monday I was glad and understood why the 7:15 a.m.

conference had “mysteriously” been changed to Wednesday. God knew I would not be ready to face

that after being out for a week.

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Easter came in the spring, and we did what we could. Mom loved decorating for the holidays and each

one was special to her. My birthday followed, and my friend Lisa made me the strawberry shortcake.

Brenda and I laughed over spring break as we tried to get Dad out of the bathtub and took him for his

first pedicure. Mother’s Day was tough, but a friend had given me a gardenia bush, one of Mom’s

favorites, and it had its first bloom that day. I pulled the bloom off and tucked it in my purse and sniffed

it several times throughout that Sunday and thought about how that fragrance had filled her house in

past springs from the bushes growing in her own yard. We celebrated her birthday in June at her grave

with the newly installed headstone. We sat on blankets and ate petit fours from Rhodes Bakery, her

favorite, and some of us wore hats and our shirts backwards (we had discovered that the funeral home

had put Mom’s royal blue silk shirt on backwards). After we played the lottery, using Mom’s numbers,

Aunt Brenda, Mallory and I got tattoos to honor her birthday. Aunt Brenda had “Sisters 4 Ever”

inscribed on her forearm representing the four sisters. Mallory got little music notes on her hip because

she remembered how Mom always sang “You Are My Sunshine” to her when she was little. I had “Love

Ya Later” and a red heart inked on my waist as a constant reminder of her love and the idea that she will

always be on my side.

The summer was especially difficult as Dad became lost in his Alzheimer’s. We moved him to an assisted

living facility where he could receive constant medical care. Cleaning and selling their home was very

difficult for me, Caprice and Glen. We saw God’s hand as the house sold quickly and closed on October

31st, Halloween, our parent’s fifty-fifth wedding anniversary.