August 1964

It hits me at different times, for different reasons. But with each little “milestone,” the emotions and sense of loss fill my chest. I spent most of the day yesterday alone at mom’s house. I’ve been surrounded and supported by loving friends and family for the last two weeks. But I felt I needed some

I often joked with mom that whatever flowers I were to give would be given in life when she could appreciate them. That said, if those who cared for her are so moved, I would suggest the following as places to send memorial gifts in lieu of flowers: Her name is Maria Herminia Avila St.

My mother passed away this morning at 6:40, with me and my dearest sister-friend Jenn at her side. Her breathing had gotten very hard, like she was climbing a mountain. But this morning something changed. As we looked at her, she opened her eyes, took one last breath and stopped. A look of softness came

This last year has rattled my foundation to the core. I have seen my mother suffer the indignity of disease, disability and invasive treatments. I have watched her suffer, and have thrown my anger toward any god that would do that to her — the person who least deserves it, who obediently did everything she

Mom continues her fight, confounding the nurses and doctors. Today makes a week that she had surgery. She has not spoken or engaged with us since we brought her home. I am reassured by the hospice team that she seems comfortable. The vigil continues.

Mom was brought to her home by ambulance today. She knew it and you could see in her eyes she recognized her home of 40 years. It took a bit to get her into the tiny 900 square foot cottage with narrow doors and tight corners, but between the EMTs and Greg we figured it

Bringing mom home tomorrow into hospice.