Her Final

Mom’s been gone a long time, but this time of the year still evokes memories of another December.

While the word Covid was still unheard, another word flu brought pangs of fear that bleak winter.

And it was validated when I fell victim and took to my bed. Our family lived in Nassau County, and my Mother and Aunt had recently abandoned their beloved Manhattan and moved to New Jersey.

We spoke daily, but it seemed as if they had relocated to Europe whenever we spoke. The two elderly woman spent their eight decades of life in the midst of Manhattan and found the quiet of suburbia disturbing. The daily phone calls were a lifeline for us, and I was surprised the day none came from my Mother especially since she knew I was ill.

Shortly before noon, I learned why. My younger sister called informing me both sisters had been hospitalized. Although Ellen insisted it was merely a precaution, we were both acutely aware of their vulnerability of age. After receiving an annual flu shot, the two women had developed a significant temperature and their concerned physician had both admitted to the nearby hospital.

If nothing else occurred, my sister believed they would be released the following morning. Ellen also provided a phone number for our Mother, and I quickly called her. Mom’s voice was strong, but anxious as she immediately inquired about my health. Then she told me that while her fever was not responding to medication, she believed she would be fine by morning. Those were the last words we spoke.

My Aunt was released in the morning, but my Mother never recovered from whatever invaded her body, either an unknown virus or reaction to the flu vaccine.

After the funeral service, my two sisters and I were given three identical packages, all gift wrapped with festive holiday tissue. It was unusual because in the years after Dad’s death, Mom had relinquished Christmas shopping and instead mailed generous checks to those she loved..

As we opened the tissue, we each found a soft blue robe, not identical but similar. We looked at each other and then my Aunt said, “I was surprised when she did this. I think now I understand.”

We took our gifts home that dark January morning. I never told my sisters, but I kept mine unworn in the tissue. It is still intact, and I open it often and remember so many things, but mostly the strength that Mom taught “her girls.” I know I need her gift more today than thirty years ago when she gave her three daughters their final Christmas present.

Perhaps I will finally wear the robe.