Mom...written to remember
My Mom, Irene, would have been 87 today. She has been gone nearly 10 years now and I still talk to her. We miss her, of course. Her life force was still there, even at the end, yet her life quality was certainly not. As many know, dementia takes it all in the end anyway. We continue to love the bits and pieces that remain, learning to live with less and less each day. Our love stays with us, even after there are no bits left. Irene was a force to be reckoned with, even when young. Tomboy doesn't begin to define her. She spent the first few years in Queens, NY, in the bosom of her extended family, with relatives from that big wild Irish family all around, going to Rockaway/Breezy Point on the regular, sleeping on the decks of the family houses there - the Irish Riviera. A fish in the water, she fit right in, and was loved by the cousins as well. Her aunts and uncles ignored all the kids, as was the way in the thirties and forties. As the family got bigger and she...