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MY MOTHER’S OBITUARY

Friday, November 19th, 2010

The night after my mother passed I woke, sat up in bed and began singing “Somewhere Over The Rainbow.”

I sang it over and over in the dark, wondering why I was doing it as I am not a good singer and I certainly never wake up singing in the night! In the morning, I realized that this song is my mother!

We will be playing this recorded version at at her service and I have asked my daughter Summer to also sing the song, in her own way.

Margaret McWhorter, age 20

MY MOTHER’S OBITUARY

As beautiful as a movie star and as unaffected as a flower, our Mother, Margaret Jane Woods-Lange McWhorter died Tuesday evening, Nov 16th, at the age of 88 after having well-lived ten years with lung cancer. When sometimes asked how she stood the pain and fear of cancer she said, “I just make it neutral.” She also told us she had made friends with her cancer. (more…)

The Little Pink Dress

Tuesday, June 8th, 2010

“THE LITTLE PINK DRESS”

(Hanging In My Art Room Minding It’s Own Business.)

I’m having a family party at my house. My sister, sitting in a chair on the patio, leans over to me sitting on the chair next to her and says, “Venus, someone has to tell you. Never wear that dress again. Go look in the mirror at your butt.”

I look at Polly, agast.

“That dress ripples all up your butt. Go look. You’ll see.” (more…)

Blessings Of An Unusual Kind

Tuesday, April 6th, 2010

My mother, who is 87, has been talking lately about the tea kettles.

“The tea kettles are doing this, the tea kettles are doing that.”

It took me awhile to understand that she is talking about the recent American political group, The Tea Party! I had been thinking, ‘Why? Why are tea kettles out doing things?’

My mother and I are sitting on her deck, watching the cars go by on the road on the other side of her wide field. My mother smiles broadly and her white hair glistens in the sun. She’s wearing her little red, dog-hair decorated sweater over her blue, green and purple top with the coffee stains on the front, with hot pink sweat pants and high rider tennis shoes.

“You look good, Mom,” I say. “I’m glad you stopped that cancer medicine. You don’t look terminal to me.”

This is the medicine that cost $4400.00 (!) a month and caused Mom’s nose to swell to the size of a small potato.

I had come over to visit her after she had been on the medicine for a few days. I kept looking at her face. Something wasn’t right, but what was it? She didn’t look like my Mother. I had studied her, carefully.

“I think your lipstick is wrong,” I said. “It’s going up over your top lip somehow and it seems odd.” (more…)


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