Leaving a Legacy

Four years ago next week, my mom Claire Louise Bateman passed away.  At 86, she was reasonably heathy and active, always busy in her extensive gardens in the summer, shoveling her own snow in the winter.  The sole complication in her life was that she was losing her sight, due to a variety of causes.  Her main loves in live were gardening, reading and working on her Sudoku puzzles.  She decided that a life without vision was not enough of a life for her.  Always a determined free-thinker, she decided to end her life.

This was not a hasty, bitter decision.  It was reasoned over years, and had been telegraphed to us well in advance, without a final date.  At her previous birthday party, she had invited her many friends from all walks of life, gained through a lifetime of interest in others, a willingness to become involved in their lives, and her generosity.  I forget how it was phrased, maybe it was referred to as her last birthday party, but it was to give them a chance to say goodbye, to tell her what she had meant to them, what a difference it had made that she entered their lives.  What a gift!  How often do we let someone die without taking the opportunity to say goodbye, to tell us how important we were to them.  Sure, it was nice for my mom to hear it, but more than that it was a gift to her friends.

Mom’s plan was to take advantage of her diabetes, have a big feast with friends, eat all the sugary pastries she had been denying herself for years, excuse herself from the table to go lie down and slip into a coma.  With Covid raging, the dinner ended up being just family and a few close friends, for which I was grateful.  I was dreading the dinner… imagining a scene where your beloved host gathers you together, shares a meal, then puts a gun to their head at the end.  Not as messy for sure, but the same concept.  The dinner was much nicer than I had envisioned; sharing of stories, catching up with family I hadn’t seen for some time, being the sole west-coaster.  The desserts were amazing, and my mom went off to bed.

She woke up the next morning a little woozy and a lot unhappy.  “No matter”, she said, “time for Plan B.”  She stopped eating and drinking.  As I’ve heard happens, after a couple of days she looked 10 years younger.  But that quickly reversed as she shriveled before our eyes.  My brother Jeff and I, and our wives, were staying at the house, and our sister Kathrin was coming over when her own farm chores were done.  As I’m more of a morning person, I would go to bed early, and Jeff would stay up to keep vigil, until midnight when I would get up and come down to sleep on the couch right outside mom’s room.

When I was young, and sick with some fever, my mom would grab her big white furry coat, and curl up on the floor mat beside my bed to keep an eye on me.  This gave me a fright one night when I sat up, swung my feet over to get up, and she stirred… I thought I was about to get eaten by a polar bear!  For whatever reason, in the wee hours of October 30 as I switched with Jeff, I took a mat into Mom’s room and curled up beside her bed.  She was sleeping fitfully at this point, and I woke up several times as her breathing faltered, going back to sleep when it resumed.  Then it didn’t. And she was gone.

She left a rich legacy… the net zero house she built, the organizations she nurtured both financially and with her energy and expertise, her many friends, and her family. I am my mother’s son in many ways.  A few of the things that live on in me to some measure:

Generosity:  My mother led by example, sharing what she had. She always said Noblesse oblige; when you have much, it comes with the responsibility to share.
Health:  Mom was an organic farmer before that was really a thing.  We always had lots of fresh vegetables, homemade whole wheat bread, and lots of active time outside.
Self-development:  Always an avid reader, a searcher, Mom was always working to be better, to learn more, understand more.

What legacy are we leaving?