My neighbor, Momma Co, is probably the best person I have ever met. In the 3 1/2 years I have known her, she has been the living epitamy of love, kindess, and wisdom. She is a true lady and has "class" written all over her.

Momma started out scrubbing people's floors on her hands and knees, washing their clothes, and diapering their babies. She worked, put up with an abusive husband, and raised three children. Momma also put herself through school and went on to become a supervisor at a hospital. She went back to the same school and became an adult class teacher.

Momma is a pillar of the community and is so beloved at church and by all who know her. I am so proud to be called Momma's baby, even though she is not my real Mom.

I am so blessed to have had her sweet, but firm influence in my life these past three and a half years.

Momma's health has been declining. She just worked too hard for too many years. I have found her and had to call the paramedics several times.

This Thanksgiving Momma went with a friend to visit the friend's relatives in Maryland. Thanksgiving night Momma got up in the night and became confused. She fell down the stairs and suffered horrible injuries.

I received a call this morning from the family. The only thing keeping Momma alive are the machines. Momma never wanted to live that way. They are going to turn the machines off soon, and Momma will pass.

When I am feeling especially small and afraid, I go to the cupboard and get out an old, scratched melamine bowl that Momma let me have. I eat something out of the bowl and think of what advice Momma would give to me about whatever's bothering me and I always feel better.

After the funeral, after the family comes and takes all her things, I will still have my little, beaten up and scarred bowl, and more importantly, I know I will still have sweet Momma Co in my heart.

Jan
the grieving