My mother passed away in 1989. Almost 15 years now.
She died of AIDS. Given to her by her second husband.
Funny. I always feel the need to relate how she got it.
Sometimes, I want to say "Why does it matter how. She's gone."
But I never do. Somehow, that would tarnish her. And she was beautiful.

I sometimes run into people who knew her. I look like her. From a distance, I'll hear her name. Then someone touches my shoulder, and they realize it's me. They ask about her. I cringe inwardly. They don't know. I have to relive her death again, if only for a moment. And tell them she's gone.
I feel so bad. Like I should've told them before. Or they should've heard about it or something.

Do your family a large favor. I know it's dreadful to think about. But leave a list. People you would like notified in the event of your death.
I mean, no matter your age, you should have a health proxy, perhaps a living will. At the very least, someone should know what your wishes are concerning what you would like done with your body when you shed the mortal coil.
My mother died when she was 37. Not old at all. She knew she was going to die, I think. She told me her wishes about what she wanted done with her body.
She wanted to be cremated, and her ashes spread over the river. Mind you, she never said which river. But I found the perfect place. I sent her home, to her brothers and sisters. They took her to the river behind her grandmothers house in the same town, probably the same house she was born. It seemed fitting to send her home. My mother's life was very complicated. Maybe at some other time, I'll share pieces of it. But now...I just can't.

There are moments, it seems like yesterday. I'll hear a song on the radio. And I realize how much I really miss her. I have to fight those tears, not good for diving. 15 years later. It still hurts.
She was a fun mom. All my friends called her mom. They offered to trade theirs for mine all the time. She could be very silly. She'd play on the jungle gym with us. She worked too hard. Had a great sense of humor. She could be strict. Not that I ever listened. The poor woman. She had her hands full with me.

Well...there's another story from me.
Sorry if it was a downer. I was just thinking about her tonight.
Jim Croce does it every time.

Talk to you soon
Ali
The Misfit Chick