RIP BEVERLY

My mother, Beverly Hodges Patrinely, passed away on Wednesday, November 26, 2008, this past Wednesday.

It was an odd feeling. Realistically, I hadn't expected her condition to improve since she was sent by my sister to a "home" two years ago. Therefore I was in some way anticipating her eminent demise. After all, we all die eventually.

This death, while not by any means the first one I've experienced, still seemed sudden to me. The others I'd been through - four best friends who'd died of AIDS, relatives, etc. - were all in some ways foreseen. While I knew my mother would eventually die as we all do, I thought I would have more foresight.

But I didn't. My Aunt Fran (my Mother's sister) called me Wednesday and told me the news. It was a call we'd actually set up in advance, knowing my sister probably wouldn't call me on her own. "Here" she said to me "is the call we've been dreading."

I haven't heard from my sister since. Aunt Fran told me she was extremely distraught. At least she has a son and a husband to console her. Me, nuttin. I'm here on my own, 3000 miles away from my mother's cold body, unable to show what grief I may have. I won't be able to go to the service for her, for both monetary and physical reasons.

Death can sneak up on you like a silent kitten, surprising you with it's touch and you have a right to act surprised. Other times death stomps in the front door, unwanted and unannounced, and makes it's noisy way to your seat on the sofa. "I'm here" it finally announces in a gruff loud voice. You can only look up from where you lay and nod that it's finally arrived. It's like a relative you know comes for the holidays that you never want. A scab that must appear. A remnant of the wound you'd vainly hoped would heal without a trace behind but never does.