Bev and Shana,
I am so sorry to hear about the loss of your mom. Many of my fondest childhood memories included you, Bev, and your mom. She was always there to pick us up at school with impeccable hair and makeup sporting some kind of denim, driving that monstrous station wagon with wooden panelling—truly emblematic of the 80s—to drop me off at home or take me to your place. She treated me as if I were a part of your family. I was always welcome and had a sense of belonging. In fact, you were one of a select few places where my mom (your token social worker) trusted me to be. Perhaps that trust had to do with the fact that both your mom and mine were dedicated people trying to help others, so my mom always knew I’d be in safe hands. I can still hear your mom’s voice in that answering machine saying that we have reached your humble abode—and it was wonderfully humble. Perhaps your home was a more modest, humble home by today’s gluttonous standards, but it was a space overflowing with love, heart, warmth, laughter, conversations, and personality.
I know all to well how empty one can feel losing a mom. It’s a grief that can makes us feel groundless and emotionally paralyzed for a long time. But a new normal will form, and I hope that throughout this messy emotional journey and as you start to pick up the pieces in the aftermath, you can find some comfort in your memories of her to keep going.
That self written obituary is fabulous and so "Jill"...my condolences to family and friends and yet what wonderful memories you will have of this crazy lady to hold on to...I enjoyed my phone chats with Jill in our work interactions and will miss that. Will now try and light a candle...