After a long battle with illness, my mother passed away this evening. It was for the best at the end, she was in a great deal of pain. She was 66 years old.
She was around for most of all the fun times I write about on this blog. She was the silent presence in the background telling Grandpa John when to put on a clean shirt (without grease) and when to stop for gas on the chopper.
"I hated those stupid little gas tanks. We were always running out of gas because they were so small and your father was too cheap to buy much gas," she said several times.
She made all the home-cooked meals that Ed "Big Daddy" Roth ate in our kitchen (boy could he eat).
She was there when David Mann told their landlord off at the community swimming pool resulting in my parents subsequent eviction.
"Dave was the first person I ever heard use the F-word. I thought he was a horrible man. He really made the landlord angry. That plus your father was parking his chopper in the living room of our apartment so that didn't go over well either."
Good bye mom, I hope you have found peace.
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