On this day, back in 1942, my mother was born. Her mother was a floosie who ran off with just about every door to door salesman that stepped upon their porch. She was raised by her grandmother, who was abusive to her, both verbally and physically. She met my father when she was 17 years old. She was a carhop at the local drive in, he was 7 years older than her and just home from the navy.
In April of 1960, he took her away from the abusive household and made her his wife. In 1962, their first born son arrived, my oldest brother Rob. Then, just a little over a year later, the middle son, Steve showed up. Then finally, five years later, they tried for a daughter. But, to their disappointment, they had me.
My parents had a wonderful marriage. Seems like they never had an argument. Oh sure, they had their share of disagreements, but they never lost their tempers nor said or did anything harmful to each other. I grew up basically getting everything I wanted. Dad worked nights, but was a good provider. He was home most weekends. We took vacations most years to neat places. We saw museums, Disneyland, the Grand Canyon, Nashville, four different oceans/bodies of water and even Old Faithful at Yellowstone National Park. The three of us boys went to school, played various sports, chased girls, drove nice cars, never did without and lived a typical life with both a mother and father, like God intended.
In 2016, at the age of 81, dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Being her knight in shining armor, my mother realized that the end was near, because my father did not want to be treated with any kind of chemo that would make him sick. She knew she couldn't bear the thought of being without him, so in June of 2018, when my father was finally finished and on his death bed, with literally days left to live, my mother contracted a urinary tract infection. She left it untreated which caused it to go septic. She had a DNR, so this was her way of going (she hoped) about the same time he would.
She died on Sunday, June 10th. My father died exactly 10 days later. I miss 'em both every day.
In April of 1960, he took her away from the abusive household and made her his wife. In 1962, their first born son arrived, my oldest brother Rob. Then, just a little over a year later, the middle son, Steve showed up. Then finally, five years later, they tried for a daughter. But, to their disappointment, they had me.
My parents had a wonderful marriage. Seems like they never had an argument. Oh sure, they had their share of disagreements, but they never lost their tempers nor said or did anything harmful to each other. I grew up basically getting everything I wanted. Dad worked nights, but was a good provider. He was home most weekends. We took vacations most years to neat places. We saw museums, Disneyland, the Grand Canyon, Nashville, four different oceans/bodies of water and even Old Faithful at Yellowstone National Park. The three of us boys went to school, played various sports, chased girls, drove nice cars, never did without and lived a typical life with both a mother and father, like God intended.
In 2016, at the age of 81, dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Being her knight in shining armor, my mother realized that the end was near, because my father did not want to be treated with any kind of chemo that would make him sick. She knew she couldn't bear the thought of being without him, so in June of 2018, when my father was finally finished and on his death bed, with literally days left to live, my mother contracted a urinary tract infection. She left it untreated which caused it to go septic. She had a DNR, so this was her way of going (she hoped) about the same time he would.
She died on Sunday, June 10th. My father died exactly 10 days later. I miss 'em both every day.
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