I was walking through Williamsburg yesterday when I noticed two lines of firemen, standing in salute outside of their station. A man in a wheelchair was passing between them. When I inquired as to the occasion, I learned that it was a common practice for the firehouse to invite wounded veterans to lunch.
My mom died last night. I held her hand as she passed peacefully in a hospice in Tucson. I will miss her forever. We took the photo above at the Brooklyn Museum back in March. Walking through Williamsburg that day we passed a man in a miniskirt. “I love New York,” I remember her saying. “Everyone is free to be what they want to be here.”
My mom loved to play tennis and sing in the church choir. She loved to travel, and her favorite cities in the world were Paris and Vouliagmeni, Greece. She loved to read and talk about books. She loved Christmas. She loved to laugh. She was kind and forgiving and empathetic. In her final hours, a nurse at her bedside said my mom was “literally the strongest person I’ve ever had the honor of caring for.”
She lived a life full of love and gratitude. Several days before she died, she took a few moments to stare out of a window at the bright, warm morning. Someone asked her what she was thinking about. She said, “How lucky I’ve been.”
If you’d like to read more about her, I wrote about her once here.