Wally Spiers: Mom’s passing was like a snowfall in spring

When the phone rang at 5:30 last Sunday morning on the first day of spring, it was my sister telling me I had better come to the nursing home where Mom was dying.

My wife and I drove the 5 miles from the farm outside Wellsville, Mo., where we were staying, to the local nursing home through a blinding snow that slashed through the headlight beams.

I stood by my mother’s bed, waiting for her last breath. My sister held Mom’s hand as the nurse checked her heart and quietly told us she was gone.

She would have been 95 on Saturday. Instead, we buried her next to my father in our small town’s cemetery.

After the nurse said Mom was gone, she turned and hugged my sister and me. It was a touching gesture, as are most of the things the people who work in the nursing home do for the residents.

As a big part of our lives departed, only a few feet away life went on as usual as residents gathered for breakfast, one of the highlights of the day for people who are resigned to a way of life that none of them would voluntarily have chosen.

So many of my friends have been through this before, but I was at a loss. My mother had never died before and when my father died, my mother took care of him until the end.

For some reason, I thought of the words of poet Emily Dickerson.

“Because I could not stop for Death

He kindly stopped for me.”

Emily could have been talking about my mother, who always was too busy to be bothered by ailments.

She was busy raising a family of four children, rising at 5 a.m. to fix breakfast for Dad and then riding to work with some other women at the Bobby Brooks factory in a nearby town, later running her own restaurant six days a week and taking care of everyone.

When the nurse left the room and closed the door, we were alone and unsure what to do. We knew the nursing home would call the funeral home and arrange for the pickup of her body.

“You all come out to the house and we’ll eat and talk about what we are doing,” my sister said.

And we did. Mostly about Mom, but also about some of the decisions to be made, when to hold the funeral, who to notify and who would be pallbearers.

We decided that what was supposed to be a birthday party with kids, grandkids, great-grandkids and great-great-grandkids coming from several states, instead would be a funeral.

There were tears, but also funny stories. Mom usually seemed to find the humor in almost any situation. A couple of weeks ago, as a nurse came out of Mom’s room, she shook her head and laughed as she said, “She is such a hoot.”

By the time everything was settled last Sunday and my wife and I were driving home, the sun was out and the snow had disappeared, leaving us just the memories. Sort of like Mom.

This story was originally published March 26, 2016 at 6:46 AM with the headline "Wally Spiers: Mom’s passing was like a snowfall in spring."