A daughter honoring her mother.
She was beautiful and didn't know it. She was nearly deaf and had to wear hearing aides and because of that she thought it made her ugly. She hated the color purple. She said it reminded her of death. She was nicknamed 'Dolly' and it suited her. She would defend her husband children like a tigress. She was sooo much more than the world knew.
I knew that something was terribly wrong with mom, but in my fifteen year old head I thought it was 'menopause.' At least that is what I had overheard when the adults were talking. Her fingers would turn dark purple, it looked like plums were stuck on her fingers.
One day shortly before she went in the hospital, she was walking past me in the kitchen and she reached out and grabbed me, folding me into a bear hug. That feeling and my thoughts are as fresh today as then. I must have grown some since our last hug, because I was at least three inches taller than her and she felt she so tiny. Even little as she seemed that bear hug was strong and kind of desperate. I wonder now, was she saying goodbye? As an adult and mother of children myself, I look back at the position she was in and I know that I certainly wouldn’t show my fears to my young children.
I have never had a single conversation with anybody about what she had been going through with her illness, so my memory for most of it is purely speculation. I know now that she had been going to the doctor, so I believe she knew she was dying. Her obituary says she had been sick for eleven months. I remember it as being, maybe, a short few weeks.
In my memory, the day before Thanksgiving 1970 she told me not to go to school. She wanted me to go lay down with her for a few minutes. To my everlasting regret I fell back to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I don’t know what happened next, but the next thing I remember is that something was very wrong and I couldn’t understand why they were taking her to the hospital. In my head and I can’t be sure (It has been forty-seven years now) but I don’t remember seeing her again until after Christmas.
My mom was not a fat woman by any means but on that visit I was shocked to see a barely recognizable, skinny, tiny, woman who couldn’t talk because of the eight strokes she had suffered and her beautiful dark brown eyes. Those eyes spoke volumes, as she desperately looked at each of her children. I remember feeling her deep love and that she was scared. Even then, I didn’t have a clue that just a few days later, on New Years Day 1971, that she would die. It’s terrible that teenagers can't see what is right in front of them but I couldn’t comprehend that she was that sick. I look back now on that hug and I wish I could go back and never let go. I wouldn’t fall asleep, I would stay awake and cherish those last moments with her.
Her death certificate says she died of pulmonary embolism, due to a enlarge heart. Her illness is now recognized as Pulmonary Hypertension. It is a life-threatening condition characterized by high blood pressure in the arteries leading to the lungs and heart. Unlike regular hypertension or high blood pressure, pulmonary hypertension occurs when the arteries in the lungs become blocked or narrow, making it harder for the heart to pump blood through them. This raises blood pressure in the lungs and causes the heart to weaken, which may eventually lead to heart failure. Even today pulmonary embolisms cause death in one-third of people who go undiagnosed or untreated. From what I understand about pulmonary hypertension, it is a genetic disorder. The most common symptom is shortness of breath, your skin may turn blue. My mother’s fingers turned blue. So if any of her descendants show sign of this disease see a doctor.
My mom wasn’t just the mother who died. She was a woman who was so much more, She was blessed with a warm and generous heart, she was shy and she was very creative. She decorated cakes for all of our birthdays. When I say decorated, I mean they were beautiful imaginative cakes. She made wedding cakes that were absolutely gorgeous. Her icing roses were lifelike. She either didn’t know about "the sugar effect" or she didn’t care, because she always gave us her icing bags to get every last bit of the sugary icing. That being said the one and only thing I remember her not being good at... my mom couldn’t cook. Her pork chops were so hard you could use them as shoe leather. Her mashed potatoes were full of lumps. Speaking of lumps.. her gravy was way worse. I really can’t remember anything she cooked that she was good at, but she made sure that every meal was served only at the table. Great food or not, I remember those meals as sometimes funny, most times as wonderful sharing moments. One great memory of those family meals, Mom loved green onions. She would put salt on a saucer and she would dip the onion in the salt and then take a bite. She would get lost in conversation and the next thing you knew she was putting the onion in her mouth like she was smoking a cigarette. She had quit smoking by then a loooong time. Of course she didn't realize what she was doing. It was only when she would catch her husband and children choking back the laughter that she’d realize she was doing it again, it never failed. When we saw the green onion come out, we all stayed at the table until Mom smoked her green onion.
My parents had that kind of marriage that everyone wants. You could just feel their love. Their looks at each other spoke volumes. They just understood each other and loved each other to the end. I moved to Louisiana in 1973 and the boys had scattered all over the country, so none of us had visited her grave since her headstone was installed. So in 1992 when Dad died, we all gathered together to say one last goodbye. All of a sudden we were overcome with laughter. To others it must have seemed bizarre but we all understood without words what was so funny. My father never forgot my mother’s birthday. On May 27th every year, without fail and with great fanfare he would wake her up with some carnations. Mom loved carnations you’d think he was giving her diamonds. She always beamed her love at him. It was always a touching moment. What started the laughter? At the grave on the card on Dad's one of us actually looked at the dates. My mom's birthday was on May 25th. What other woman, but my mother, would let her husband miss her birthday for twenty years and still give him that wonderful smile.
Ruth Rodgers Plaisance
She was beautiful and didn't know it. She was nearly deaf and had to wear hearing aides and because of that she thought it made her ugly. She hated the color purple. She said it reminded her of death. She was nicknamed 'Dolly' and it suited her. She would defend her husband children like a tigress. She was sooo much more than the world knew.
I knew that something was terribly wrong with mom, but in my fifteen year old head I thought it was 'menopause.' At least that is what I had overheard when the adults were talking. Her fingers would turn dark purple, it looked like plums were stuck on her fingers.
One day shortly before she went in the hospital, she was walking past me in the kitchen and she reached out and grabbed me, folding me into a bear hug. That feeling and my thoughts are as fresh today as then. I must have grown some since our last hug, because I was at least three inches taller than her and she felt she so tiny. Even little as she seemed that bear hug was strong and kind of desperate. I wonder now, was she saying goodbye? As an adult and mother of children myself, I look back at the position she was in and I know that I certainly wouldn’t show my fears to my young children.
I have never had a single conversation with anybody about what she had been going through with her illness, so my memory for most of it is purely speculation. I know now that she had been going to the doctor, so I believe she knew she was dying. Her obituary says she had been sick for eleven months. I remember it as being, maybe, a short few weeks.
In my memory, the day before Thanksgiving 1970 she told me not to go to school. She wanted me to go lay down with her for a few minutes. To my everlasting regret I fell back to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I don’t know what happened next, but the next thing I remember is that something was very wrong and I couldn’t understand why they were taking her to the hospital. In my head and I can’t be sure (It has been forty-seven years now) but I don’t remember seeing her again until after Christmas.
My mom was not a fat woman by any means but on that visit I was shocked to see a barely recognizable, skinny, tiny, woman who couldn’t talk because of the eight strokes she had suffered and her beautiful dark brown eyes. Those eyes spoke volumes, as she desperately looked at each of her children. I remember feeling her deep love and that she was scared. Even then, I didn’t have a clue that just a few days later, on New Years Day 1971, that she would die. It’s terrible that teenagers can't see what is right in front of them but I couldn’t comprehend that she was that sick. I look back now on that hug and I wish I could go back and never let go. I wouldn’t fall asleep, I would stay awake and cherish those last moments with her.
Her death certificate says she died of pulmonary embolism, due to a enlarge heart. Her illness is now recognized as Pulmonary Hypertension. It is a life-threatening condition characterized by high blood pressure in the arteries leading to the lungs and heart. Unlike regular hypertension or high blood pressure, pulmonary hypertension occurs when the arteries in the lungs become blocked or narrow, making it harder for the heart to pump blood through them. This raises blood pressure in the lungs and causes the heart to weaken, which may eventually lead to heart failure. Even today pulmonary embolisms cause death in one-third of people who go undiagnosed or untreated. From what I understand about pulmonary hypertension, it is a genetic disorder. The most common symptom is shortness of breath, your skin may turn blue. My mother’s fingers turned blue. So if any of her descendants show sign of this disease see a doctor.
My mom wasn’t just the mother who died. She was a woman who was so much more, She was blessed with a warm and generous heart, she was shy and she was very creative. She decorated cakes for all of our birthdays. When I say decorated, I mean they were beautiful imaginative cakes. She made wedding cakes that were absolutely gorgeous. Her icing roses were lifelike. She either didn’t know about "the sugar effect" or she didn’t care, because she always gave us her icing bags to get every last bit of the sugary icing. That being said the one and only thing I remember her not being good at... my mom couldn’t cook. Her pork chops were so hard you could use them as shoe leather. Her mashed potatoes were full of lumps. Speaking of lumps.. her gravy was way worse. I really can’t remember anything she cooked that she was good at, but she made sure that every meal was served only at the table. Great food or not, I remember those meals as sometimes funny, most times as wonderful sharing moments. One great memory of those family meals, Mom loved green onions. She would put salt on a saucer and she would dip the onion in the salt and then take a bite. She would get lost in conversation and the next thing you knew she was putting the onion in her mouth like she was smoking a cigarette. She had quit smoking by then a loooong time. Of course she didn't realize what she was doing. It was only when she would catch her husband and children choking back the laughter that she’d realize she was doing it again, it never failed. When we saw the green onion come out, we all stayed at the table until Mom smoked her green onion.
My parents had that kind of marriage that everyone wants. You could just feel their love. Their looks at each other spoke volumes. They just understood each other and loved each other to the end. I moved to Louisiana in 1973 and the boys had scattered all over the country, so none of us had visited her grave since her headstone was installed. So in 1992 when Dad died, we all gathered together to say one last goodbye. All of a sudden we were overcome with laughter. To others it must have seemed bizarre but we all understood without words what was so funny. My father never forgot my mother’s birthday. On May 27th every year, without fail and with great fanfare he would wake her up with some carnations. Mom loved carnations you’d think he was giving her diamonds. She always beamed her love at him. It was always a touching moment. What started the laughter? At the grave on the card on Dad's one of us actually looked at the dates. My mom's birthday was on May 25th. What other woman, but my mother, would let her husband miss her birthday for twenty years and still give him that wonderful smile.
Ruth Rodgers Plaisance
A daughter honoring her mother.
She was beautiful and didn't know it. She was nearly deaf and had to wear hearing aides and because of that she thought it made her ugly. She hated the color purple. She said it reminded her of death. She was nicknamed 'Dolly' and it suited her. She would defend her husband children like a tigress. She was sooo much more than the world knew.
I knew that something was terribly wrong with mom, but in my fifteen year old head I thought it was 'menopause.' At least that is what I had overheard when the adults were talking. Her fingers would turn dark purple, it looked like plums were stuck on her fingers.
One day shortly before she went in the hospital, she was walking past me in the kitchen and she reached out and grabbed me, folding me into a bear hug. That feeling and my thoughts are as fresh today as then. I must have grown some since our last hug, because I was at least three inches taller than her and she felt she so tiny. Even little as she seemed that bear hug was strong and kind of desperate. I wonder now, was she saying goodbye? As an adult and mother of children myself, I look back at the position she was in and I know that I certainly wouldn’t show my fears to my young children.
I have never had a single conversation with anybody about what she had been going through with her illness, so my memory for most of it is purely speculation. I know now that she had been going to the doctor, so I believe she knew she was dying. Her obituary says she had been sick for eleven months. I remember it as being, maybe, a short few weeks.
In my memory, the day before Thanksgiving 1970 she told me not to go to school. She wanted me to go lay down with her for a few minutes. To my everlasting regret I fell back to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I don’t know what happened next, but the next thing I remember is that something was very wrong and I couldn’t understand why they were taking her to the hospital. In my head and I can’t be sure (It has been forty-seven years now) but I don’t remember seeing her again until after Christmas.
My mom was not a fat woman by any means but on that visit I was shocked to see a barely recognizable, skinny, tiny, woman who couldn’t talk because of the eight strokes she had suffered and her beautiful dark brown eyes. Those eyes spoke volumes, as she desperately looked at each of her children. I remember feeling her deep love and that she was scared. Even then, I didn’t have a clue that just a few days later, on New Years Day 1971, that she would die. It’s terrible that teenagers can't see what is right in front of them but I couldn’t comprehend that she was that sick. I look back now on that hug and I wish I could go back and never let go. I wouldn’t fall asleep, I would stay awake and cherish those last moments with her.
Her death certificate says she died of pulmonary embolism, due to a enlarge heart. Her illness is now recognized as Pulmonary Hypertension. It is a life-threatening condition characterized by high blood pressure in the arteries leading to the lungs and heart. Unlike regular hypertension or high blood pressure, pulmonary hypertension occurs when the arteries in the lungs become blocked or narrow, making it harder for the heart to pump blood through them. This raises blood pressure in the lungs and causes the heart to weaken, which may eventually lead to heart failure. Even today pulmonary embolisms cause death in one-third of people who go undiagnosed or untreated. From what I understand about pulmonary hypertension, it is a genetic disorder. The most common symptom is shortness of breath, your skin may turn blue. My mother’s fingers turned blue. So if any of her descendants show sign of this disease see a doctor.
My mom wasn’t just the mother who died. She was a woman who was so much more, She was blessed with a warm and generous heart, she was shy and she was very creative. She decorated cakes for all of our birthdays. When I say decorated, I mean they were beautiful imaginative cakes. She made wedding cakes that were absolutely gorgeous. Her icing roses were lifelike. She either didn’t know about "the sugar effect" or she didn’t care, because she always gave us her icing bags to get every last bit of the sugary icing. That being said the one and only thing I remember her not being good at... my mom couldn’t cook. Her pork chops were so hard you could use them as shoe leather. Her mashed potatoes were full of lumps. Speaking of lumps.. her gravy was way worse. I really can’t remember anything she cooked that she was good at, but she made sure that every meal was served only at the table. Great food or not, I remember those meals as sometimes funny, most times as wonderful sharing moments. One great memory of those family meals, Mom loved green onions. She would put salt on a saucer and she would dip the onion in the salt and then take a bite. She would get lost in conversation and the next thing you knew she was putting the onion in her mouth like she was smoking a cigarette. She had quit smoking by then a loooong time. Of course she didn't realize what she was doing. It was only when she would catch her husband and children choking back the laughter that she’d realize she was doing it again, it never failed. When we saw the green onion come out, we all stayed at the table until Mom smoked her green onion.
My parents had that kind of marriage that everyone wants. You could just feel their love. Their looks at each other spoke volumes. They just understood each other and loved each other to the end. I moved to Louisiana in 1973 and the boys had scattered all over the country, so none of us had visited her grave since her headstone was installed. So in 1992 when Dad died, we all gathered together to say one last goodbye. All of a sudden we were overcome with laughter. To others it must have seemed bizarre but we all understood without words what was so funny. My father never forgot my mother’s birthday. On May 27th every year, without fail and with great fanfare he would wake her up with some carnations. Mom loved carnations you’d think he was giving her diamonds. She always beamed her love at him. It was always a touching moment. What started the laughter? At the grave on the card on Dad's one of us actually looked at the dates. My mom's birthday was on May 25th. What other woman, but my mother, would let her husband miss her birthday for twenty years and still give him that wonderful smile.
Ruth Rodgers Plaisance
She was beautiful and didn't know it. She was nearly deaf and had to wear hearing aides and because of that she thought it made her ugly. She hated the color purple. She said it reminded her of death. She was nicknamed 'Dolly' and it suited her. She would defend her husband children like a tigress. She was sooo much more than the world knew.
I knew that something was terribly wrong with mom, but in my fifteen year old head I thought it was 'menopause.' At least that is what I had overheard when the adults were talking. Her fingers would turn dark purple, it looked like plums were stuck on her fingers.
One day shortly before she went in the hospital, she was walking past me in the kitchen and she reached out and grabbed me, folding me into a bear hug. That feeling and my thoughts are as fresh today as then. I must have grown some since our last hug, because I was at least three inches taller than her and she felt she so tiny. Even little as she seemed that bear hug was strong and kind of desperate. I wonder now, was she saying goodbye? As an adult and mother of children myself, I look back at the position she was in and I know that I certainly wouldn’t show my fears to my young children.
I have never had a single conversation with anybody about what she had been going through with her illness, so my memory for most of it is purely speculation. I know now that she had been going to the doctor, so I believe she knew she was dying. Her obituary says she had been sick for eleven months. I remember it as being, maybe, a short few weeks.
In my memory, the day before Thanksgiving 1970 she told me not to go to school. She wanted me to go lay down with her for a few minutes. To my everlasting regret I fell back to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I don’t know what happened next, but the next thing I remember is that something was very wrong and I couldn’t understand why they were taking her to the hospital. In my head and I can’t be sure (It has been forty-seven years now) but I don’t remember seeing her again until after Christmas.
My mom was not a fat woman by any means but on that visit I was shocked to see a barely recognizable, skinny, tiny, woman who couldn’t talk because of the eight strokes she had suffered and her beautiful dark brown eyes. Those eyes spoke volumes, as she desperately looked at each of her children. I remember feeling her deep love and that she was scared. Even then, I didn’t have a clue that just a few days later, on New Years Day 1971, that she would die. It’s terrible that teenagers can't see what is right in front of them but I couldn’t comprehend that she was that sick. I look back now on that hug and I wish I could go back and never let go. I wouldn’t fall asleep, I would stay awake and cherish those last moments with her.
Her death certificate says she died of pulmonary embolism, due to a enlarge heart. Her illness is now recognized as Pulmonary Hypertension. It is a life-threatening condition characterized by high blood pressure in the arteries leading to the lungs and heart. Unlike regular hypertension or high blood pressure, pulmonary hypertension occurs when the arteries in the lungs become blocked or narrow, making it harder for the heart to pump blood through them. This raises blood pressure in the lungs and causes the heart to weaken, which may eventually lead to heart failure. Even today pulmonary embolisms cause death in one-third of people who go undiagnosed or untreated. From what I understand about pulmonary hypertension, it is a genetic disorder. The most common symptom is shortness of breath, your skin may turn blue. My mother’s fingers turned blue. So if any of her descendants show sign of this disease see a doctor.
My mom wasn’t just the mother who died. She was a woman who was so much more, She was blessed with a warm and generous heart, she was shy and she was very creative. She decorated cakes for all of our birthdays. When I say decorated, I mean they were beautiful imaginative cakes. She made wedding cakes that were absolutely gorgeous. Her icing roses were lifelike. She either didn’t know about "the sugar effect" or she didn’t care, because she always gave us her icing bags to get every last bit of the sugary icing. That being said the one and only thing I remember her not being good at... my mom couldn’t cook. Her pork chops were so hard you could use them as shoe leather. Her mashed potatoes were full of lumps. Speaking of lumps.. her gravy was way worse. I really can’t remember anything she cooked that she was good at, but she made sure that every meal was served only at the table. Great food or not, I remember those meals as sometimes funny, most times as wonderful sharing moments. One great memory of those family meals, Mom loved green onions. She would put salt on a saucer and she would dip the onion in the salt and then take a bite. She would get lost in conversation and the next thing you knew she was putting the onion in her mouth like she was smoking a cigarette. She had quit smoking by then a loooong time. Of course she didn't realize what she was doing. It was only when she would catch her husband and children choking back the laughter that she’d realize she was doing it again, it never failed. When we saw the green onion come out, we all stayed at the table until Mom smoked her green onion.
My parents had that kind of marriage that everyone wants. You could just feel their love. Their looks at each other spoke volumes. They just understood each other and loved each other to the end. I moved to Louisiana in 1973 and the boys had scattered all over the country, so none of us had visited her grave since her headstone was installed. So in 1992 when Dad died, we all gathered together to say one last goodbye. All of a sudden we were overcome with laughter. To others it must have seemed bizarre but we all understood without words what was so funny. My father never forgot my mother’s birthday. On May 27th every year, without fail and with great fanfare he would wake her up with some carnations. Mom loved carnations you’d think he was giving her diamonds. She always beamed her love at him. It was always a touching moment. What started the laughter? At the grave on the card on Dad's one of us actually looked at the dates. My mom's birthday was on May 25th. What other woman, but my mother, would let her husband miss her birthday for twenty years and still give him that wonderful smile.
Ruth Rodgers Plaisance
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(BERTHA L.)
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