Love Lived In Her Eyes

One year ago today, my sweet Mommy left this earth, leaving behind a quiet in the air that still feels unnatural.  My life has forever been altered, and my days will never be the same. It has taken me a year to write anything about her, and even now, this post will not be adequate or contain all I want to say about my mother. But what remains untouched is who she was - a spectacular human being whose love shaped so many parts of me.

I was the firstborn – first child, first daughter, first granddaughter, first girl.  It was my mother and me in the beginning and my mother and me at the very end.  She brought me into this world, and I cared for her as she left it.

My mother and me.  She was pregnant with my brother.  I was first.

On March 19, 2025, my mother had a stroke.  I found her on the floor when I went to pick her up for a dentist appointment.  Seeing her there took my breath away.  I was scared, but that quickly shifted when she looked up at me.  Her eyes searched mine, and I was overwhelmed with emotion as I spoke to her, telling her she was okay, I was there, I was going to take care of her, and help was coming.  I was thankful she was alive, but I wasn’t sure she was aware of what was going on at that moment.  Help did come, and she was immediately whisked to the hospital.  Three days later, they sent her home with me.  She couldn’t speak or walk – she had right-side paralysis from the stroke, so only her left arm and leg worked – but she had me.  And I had her. 

Those first few weeks were incredibly difficult.  I didn’t know what to do.  It was like taking care of a new baby, something I had never done.  I struggled with trying to determine if she was hot or cold, comfortable or in pain, happy or sad, hungry or tired.  I watched her like a hawk.  I was afraid she’d fall out of bed, especially the times she wound up crooked in the bed, with her leg hanging over the side.  At night, I would put the chair up against the side of her bed so she couldn’t fall out.  I set my alarm and got up to check on her hourly.  I got no sleep.

I was feeding her ice chips and water with a tablespoon.  I mashed up flavored ice pops to give her a bit of sweetness, but all the while she was eating just ice chips and water I was thinking that she was getting no real nutrition.  Hospice nurses suggested not giving her anything if she didn’t ask for it.  How the fuck could she ask for something if she couldn’t talk??? I was furious with that suggestion.  Honestly, Hospice wasn’t much help.  Their stance was “do whatever you think is best,” but I didn’t know what was best.  I didn’t know what to do.  I was in control of someone’s LIFE.  Me.  I was making decisions as to whether someone would live or die.  It was overwhelming and sad and difficult and confusing and made me feel like throwing up.

My father, mother, brother, and I on vacation in Freehold, NY

Needless to say, I am still infuriated with the healthcare system and the inability to get speech and physical therapists out immediately, at the very time she needed the most help.  And I’m disappointed in Hospice, not because they don’t do a good job with their end-of-life services, but because they don’t DO anything if someone is still actively living. They were helpful with supplies, baths, and nursing visits, but when something seemed medically wrong, they weren’t the people to call.  They’re just not in the business of saving people. I still think if we had speech and physical therapy from the very beginning, there may have been a different outcome.

The six months she spent with me after leaving the hospital were life-changing for me.  I cared for her twenty-four hours a day until she died.  I did not leave the house for four months.  My first time out was a doctor’s appointment I couldn’t miss, and even then, I rushed home because I couldn’t bear to be away from her.  The only thing I wanted to do was to keep my mother alive.  I wasn’t ready for her to leave me. I wanted to take care of her.  I wanted her to get better.  I wasn’t ready to let go. 

My mother, at 15 years old.

I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing her face or smelling her.  But I also wondered if keeping her in the state she was in was the right thing.  Then the better she seemed to get, the more she ate, the more she responded, the more she “talked”, it gave me hope.  It made me think that maybe she could come back.  I never thought she’d go back to what she was, but I thought maybe she’d get to the point where she could talk more and communicate better.  Even if she had a bum leg and had to use a wheelchair, I thought maybe she would be okay that way. She could still have a life. 

My mother and my stepfather, Frank.  March 1981.

I’ve lived near my parents most of my life, especially my mother.  I moved away a few times – Kentucky, California, Tennessee, Washington, Virginia – but I always came back to wherever she was.  We were close, and I liked being in proximity to her.  That’s not to say that we always got along, but even through the teenage outbursts and adult arguments, we came back to our core.  Our unbreakable bond.  She was my home.

Those six months now feel like a blur.  Taking care of her was unlike any experience I’d ever had, and I honestly never thought I’d be in that position.  Oh, I knew I’d take care of her until the end of her life; I promised her I would, but I thought she’d simply grow old and pass away in her sleep, like my other relatives.  I never, EVER, thought she’d have a stroke.  We never talked about it.  I didn’t plan for it.

Her wedding day to my father, October 1963

What I didn’t know when she was in the hospital, with the doctors saying she wasn’t going to make it, was that I was going to have six more months with her.  Six months of her in the middle of my living room, greeting me in the morning with her smile and kissing me at night when I tucked her in.  It took weeks for her to relearn how to purse her lips for a kiss.  I talked; she listened.  She laughed.  She loved.  Even in her most vulnerable moments, she was who she’s always been – gentle, expressive, and full of love.  She was in there. 

That time with her is now priceless.  It was personal and important but also upsetting and guilt-inducing for me.  I have always spent a LOT of time with my mother.  I included her in every aspect of my life.  But at that time, I felt bad that I was hugging her more in those six months than I did in the six months prior. Although I talked to her daily, I now think I should have visited her more often when I was home.  I often let my annoyance at cat hair getting on my clothes, the hassle of getting dressed and going out in the heat, or just the inconvenience of leaving my home, override the importance of sitting with my mother and just being.  I knew she missed me.  I knew she was lonely sometimes.  But I justified it because we talked daily, I could see her all throughout the day on the security cameras we installed in her house, and she told me she was okay.

My mother and father dancing at our house in New York, May 1973.

One of the saddest things for me was that, even though I still heard her voice - first as “nah nah nah nah nah” in the rhythm of a sentence, and later as “Yeah,” “Yes,” or sometimes “No” - she never said my name again. She never called out to me from another room. She never said, “Good morning, sweetheart,” or “Goodnight, baby.” We practiced “I love you” in a sing‑song way, and she could repeat it, but she never said it on her own. I knew she loved me - her smile carried decades of devotion, and she always answered “Yeah” when I asked if she loved me - but I missed hearing the words. She tried to speak. But mostly, she just listened.  As she always had, with love in her eyes.  

December 1968, 26 years old.

When she first came home, I didn’t think she was going to make it through the week.  The hospital gave us such a dire prognosis that I remember telling someone, “She’s not going to make it.” But she did, and she even improved, and I started to feel a little better.  Everyone worried about her aspirating food or drink.  But they didn’t know my mother and how much she loved to eat.  I started with liquids and soft foods, then moved to regular meals.  She ate with enthusiasm.  She ate everything - oatmeal, fruit, grilled cheese, soup, pasta, chicken, hamburgers, ice cream.  In one video, she was eating yogurt, and when I asked if she liked it, she said, “I’d like some more, Nee.”  I almost fell off my chair.  She didn’t speak much, so hearing that was incredible.

My brother, me, and my mother on my first day of school

Once I settled into a routine of feeding her, getting her ready for bed, and learning how to care for her, I felt more relaxed. And when she began to “talk” to us - first with those “nah nah nah’s,” and later with more “Yeahs” in response to our questions and interactions - it felt as normal as anything could at the time. It became our new baseline.

The Three Musketeers - Ed, me, and Mommy - always together.

I’m very grateful for those six months. They helped me be more okay with the idea of her one day not being here.  A few times, I went to bed saying to Ed, “If Mommy doesn’t wake up tomorrow, I’ll be okay.”  I felt the need to say that out loud, to know that if she did go that I would be able to go on.  I knew that she would be in a better place, not having to live her life from a hospital bed, unable to speak.  I often wondered what she was thinking, whether she fully understood what happened to her.  I’d tell her, “Mommy, you had a stroke.  It hurt your brain, and now some things are difficult for you.  But we are going to work on your words and help you communicate.  Do you understand what I’m telling you?”  And she would say yes.  I think she did understand.

My mother with her favorite cat, Maezy.

When she had her stroke, everything changed, but her essence didn’t.  Even when words were hard for her, she communicated with her eyes, her smile, her facial expressions, her spirit.  She still responded with love.  She still recognized all of us.  She still tried.  She still fought.  She still showed us who she was.

Mommy and Ed

I want to say something about Ed.  My mother loved him like a son.  She loved his gentle nature, kind spirit, and was proud of his accomplishments.  She felt safe with him.  She saw how he loved me - his generosity, honesty, and integrity.   She appreciated everything he did for her, and she told him often.  He treated her like his own mother, maybe even better.  He loved her tenderly.  And he did SO much for her.  Always. He was respectful, generous, helpful, and present.  When my stepfather died, Ed helped me look after her.  He helped her around the house, with her phone/TV/remote controls/gadgets, installed Alexas in every room so she would be able to call for help if needed, took care of household chores, helped set up her new townhouse, bought her a car!! He took her on trips with us, was always open to her coming to our house or going out to dinner with us, and he often called her from the road while he was driving just to see how she was doing.  He went above and beyond.  Everyone should have a son-in-law like him. 

My mother and Ed, her seeing us off on our cruise.

He was by my side every day from the moment of her stroke.  He arrived at her house before the EMTs.  He spent endless hours at the hospital with me, drove me back and forth, and did everything I needed outside of the home because I didn’t want to leave the house and be away from her.  He cooked, cleaned, and did laundry.  He set up the room for her when they first sent her home from the hospital – even going to her house to get her big Jesus picture, family photos, set up a TV, and advocated for the low-air-loss mattress from Hospice so she wouldn’t get bedsores. He helped me move her, held her hand, talked to her, made her laugh, preserved her dignity, practiced speech and physical therapy with her, sang songs, and did exercises.  His contribution was unconditional and priceless. We were lucky to have him. 

My mother's big Jesus picture that Ed retrieved from her house to
hang in our house, where she could see it every day.

My mother was a spectacular human being – loving, kind, funny, smart, talented, creative, forgiving, generous, and a good listener.  She was an extraordinary mother. We always knew how loved we were.  She didn’t hold back.  She always told us.  She always praised us.  She always let us know she’d be there for us. She was patient and always gave us unconditional love. 

My brother Michael, my mother, and I.

She taught me how to read before I even went to school, taught us crafts, cooked with us, played in the yard, and even went in the pool, never expressing fear to us, which was a big deal because she couldn’t swim.  She taught me how to sew, do macrame, and paint with watercolors.  She encouraged our interests and was always our biggest fan. She loved us deeply.  I know I will never experience a love like hers again.  She gave joy, laughter, and love freely.  She was one of a kind. 

My mother and I reading, April 1969.

I’ve been looking at the photos and videos from those last six months, and they make me smile and laugh.  I keep going back to them when I’m feeling sad because they lift my spirits.  They remind me of her humor, her sweetness, her stubbornness, her spark.  They remind me of the sound of her voice, even when it was just her saying, “Yeah.”  After she died, I started sleeping with “Bunny,” the stuffed animal my sister-in-law Pam bought her for Easter.  I spritzed it with my mother’s signature scent, Shalimar.  That scent is so powerful, and I loved getting a little whiff of her.  It brought her back to me in an instant.

December 1984

I have cried almost every day since she’s been gone. Grief rises like a tide; it’s unstoppable.  It bubbles up when I least expect it.  Something I see or hear or smell makes me think of her.  I still can’t fully grasp that she’s gone.  It feels like I’m living an alternate life, next to the one I used to live in when she was here. 

My mother's first art show at Sugar Loaf in Chester, NY. September 1979.

All her possessions are now in my home.  I have touched every single thing that belonged to her.  I’ve gotten rid of a few items - Dollar Store trinkets, Walmart pots and pans - but I’ve kept the pots she used for decades, her wooden spoons, and clothing with stories behind them. These things feel like pieces of her, reminders of the woman who shaped me, loved me, and stayed by my side from my first breath to her last.

Me in the seat with my mother, and my brother just behind her in the wagon with my cousins.
My mother crocheted the poncho she's wearing.

As I go through her things, I am still learning about who she was.  But what I do know for sure is that her love was steady, generous, and transformative.  I feel a deep sadness that I can no longer share everything I do with her, but I know she’d want me to do everything I can.  She loved hearing about our travels, reading things I wrote, looking at the photos I took.

My beautiful mother and my stepfather, Frank, in 1981.

I miss her every day, but I carry her with me, in the way I think, the way I love, the way I move through the world.   I see the parts of her that live in me, even as I know I will never reach the quiet greatness she embodied.  Everyone who knew her knows she was a once-in-a-lifetime soul.  You were lucky to be loved by her.  She was the warmth in every room and the love that shaped my life.

First day of school.  September 5, 1973. 

She was my mother.  My rock.  My first and purest love.  My biggest fan.  My whole heart.  And she will live on in every breath of the life she gave me, in the deepest part of who I am.

In the airport on our trip to New York, November 2023.

I love you, Mommy. Today, tomorrow, always. I will miss you forever. 

You can see more posts about my mother HERE if you're so inclined.  

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
2025: The Purest Love You Can Find
2024: One Of The Boys
2023: Sorry, no post on this day.
2022: Sorry, no post on this day.
2021: Sorry, no post on this day.
2020: Sorry, no post on this day.
2019: Sorry, no post on this day.
2018: A Little Bit Of Emotion
2017: Rainy Arezzo
2016: Snippet Of Texas
2015: Half The Size, Twice The Violence!
2014: Wildly Fierce Candy Cactus
2013: How I Spent The Day
2012: From Farm To Table
2011: Ups And Downs
2010: Three Men, Two Generations, One Passion
2009: Miss Tooth Reigns Supreme
2008: And This Is Why She Will Always Be A Maid At A Hotel
2007: I’ve Been Everywhere Sunday
2006: Family Reunion Rules
2005: Chillin’ In Anchorage

Pretty In Pink

Today is my mother's first birthday in heaven. She would have been 84 years old if she were still here.

I'm sure she's having a big time with all the rest of the good ones who are now gone, and she's probably thrilled that she finally got God to come to one of her parties!

This photo was taken at a family friend's house in Wurtsboro Hills, New York. The year was 1980. She was 38 years old. My mother had that scoop-neck t-shirt in every color, and she looked stunning in each one.  

Happy Birthday, Mommy!

You are loved and missed.

Here are some other birthday posts from over the years:

2024  2018  2017  2016  2015  2014  2013  2012  2011  2010  2009  2008  2007  2006  2005

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
2025: Sorry, no post on this day.
2024: Two Years Into Being An Octogenarian
2023: Sorry, no post on this day.
2022: Sorry, no post on this day.
2021: Sorry, no post on this day.
2020: Sorry, no post on this day.
2019: Sorry, no post on this day.
2018: The Spirit Of '76
2017: When The Years Have Been Good To You
2016: Birthday Star
2015: Look At Me. I'm Three.
2014: Made In 1942
2013: Her Happiness Is OUR Reward
2012: A Student Of Life
2011: There Is No One Alive Who Is Youer Than You
2010: The Serious Bather
2009: There's More To The Woman With The Mona Lisa Smile Than Meets The Eye
2008: Blond Bombshell Birthday
2007: Milestones And Yardsticks: How To Measure A Good Life
2006: The Roaring Twenties
2005: Escape

The Year My World Came Crashing Down

The sculpture my brother welded for me, made out of utensils. 

2025 has been the worst year of my life, hands down.

My mother had a stroke in March, and then in September, she died. I can’t believe I even have to write that sentence. It just doesn't feel real.   

My life is forever changed.

I wasn't able to publish this post on December 31st as I usually do because I couldn't bring myself to write it.  But my mother was my biggest fan, and she loved the year-end memes, so I have finally gotten around to writing it, and I'm backdating it to the 31st so it stays in the 2025 rotation.  It's definitely not going to be as interesting as past years, and I'm anticipating it might be a little sad, but I'm going to push forward anyway.

Here we go....

1. What did you do in 2025 that you’d never done before?
I killed a rattlesnake.  This one.  He was very big and waaaaay too close to me.  Ed was out of town, so I had to wield a shovel and take him down myself.  He had to go.

I attended a timeshare presentation in Las Vegas.  I can confirm it's a hard sell, but we were strong and didn't buy anything.  But we did get to stay at a very nice Hilton property while we were saying no for seven hours.  

I celebrated my husband's 50th birthday with balloons, cake, and gifts (thanks, Amazon!).  Woo hoo!  He's still a spring chicken!

I saw a rocket dance across the sky.

                   

I visited the birthplace of Johnny Carson, the television icon I grew up watching with my grandparents.

And then, something I've never done before, and probably the most life-changing, heart-wrenching, overwhelming job I've ever had: 

I became a caregiver for my mother.

On March 19, 2025, I went to her house to pick her up for a dental appointment and found her on the floor.  She had a massive stroke.  That event was the beginning of the end. For the next six months, I was her primary caregiver, 24 hours a day, until she passed away in her sleep on the morning of September 9th. I was, and still am, devastated. 

I’ve helped my parents and my in-laws for years in ways that made their lives easier. I made doctor's appointments, managed medications, helped with gadgets and electronics, drove them places, washed dishes, took out garbage, tidied their homes, etc. But this year, in my job as a round-the-clock caregiver, I finally understood what it was like to be a parent.  Sleepless nights, constant worry, wondering if you're doing it right, feeling overwhelmed as you work, hoping you don't do anything stupid to cause harm, sleeping when the baby sleeps....I was essentially in the role of a mother.  

My mother's stroke rendered her unable to speak or move her right side. She understood everything we said, but she couldn't speak as she always had.  She would respond non-verbally - big, happy eyes when I asked her if she wanted watermelon - or by saying "Yeah" to most of the comments we made or questions we asked of her.  Some of those "yeahs" meant "no," but we quickly learned the difference.  

My mother, happy as usual, with "Bunny", the stuffed animal
my sister-in-law bought her for Easter.

I've always advocated for her, but this was completely different.  Now I was responsible for her.  Actually, I was responsible for everything.  When they released her from the hospital, she came to my house.  I set her up in the middle of my house instead of my guest room.  I wanted to see her at all times, and I didn't want her to feel alone.  I wanted her to see and hear Ed as we moved through the house, and I wanted her to know we were there for her.  It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.  If you know, you know.  Ed was a Godsend and helped me whenever I asked, but it didn't make it any easier.  It was mentally, physically, and emotionally draining.  But also oddly rewarding. 

Former First Lady Rosalynn Carter famously stated: "There are only four kinds of people in the world: those who have been caregivers, those who are currently caregivers, those who will be caregivers, and those who will need caregivers."

I wish none of it ever happened, but I will be eternally grateful that I got to spend every day with my mother in the last six months of her life.  Even during that time, in the condition she was in, my mother was always happy and full of joy.  I would be lucky to have one shred of her heart and soul. 

2. Did you keep your New Year’s Resolutions, and will you make more for next year? 

I didn’t make any. But for 2026, I plan to go back to the plant-based diet and try to drop more weight. That means more days that include my phenomenal lentil soup, seen below.

My delicious lentil soup.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
No. My close friends are my age and older, so not really the childbearing age anymore. 

4. Did anyone close to you die?

Yes. My mother. Devastating. Heartbreaking. Life-changing. Barely able to think about it.

5. What countries did you visit?

None.  But we did go to Texas for Ed's niece's wedding.  And Texas is kinda like another country.

Ed at his niece Carrie's wedding

6. What would you like to have in 2026 that you lacked in 2025? 
Travel!  Better numbers in my bloodwork.  And loads of money when we get back to work!

7. What dates from 2025 will remain etched in your memory, and why?

March 19th, when my mother had her stroke, and September 9th, when she died. No other dates in 2025 mean anything to me.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Taking care of my mother, first and foremost. Surviving. And then, in light of everything I was dealing with, not gaining back any of the weight I lost in 2024.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Most of my year was consumed by taking care of my mother after her stroke, up until her death, and then after, taking care of everything that comes with losing a loved one. This question doesn't fit the reality of what this year demanded, so I have no real answer.

Our neighbor John and Ed, in this year's El Tour de Tucson.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? 
I had a right thumb trigger finger and carpal tunnel in my right wrist. So far, a steroid shot for both has temporarily decreased the pain. 

11. What was the best thing you bought?

This electric knife sharpener, these great pants, these Tabi socks (because you can wear them with flip-flops!), and my favorite kitchen gadget - this Maestri House Milk Frother. It's amazing!!  You need one, trust me.

Ed and I enjoying the new Fontainebleau in Las Vegas.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

The behavior worth celebrating is my husband Ed’s. He supported me with my mother in ways I never imagined would be needed. He was proactive, compassionate, loving, and consistently went above and beyond anything one might expect a man to do for his mother‑in‑law. I’m genuinely grateful for his devotion and the depth of his contribution.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? 
Most of the people I dealt with in the healthcare industry during this crisis with my mother. I’m absolutely appalled by what I had to deal with. I can’t imagine how someone without my resources would be able to deal with this fucking horrible system during a time when you need it the most.  

14. Where did most of your money go?

Food. Amazon. Gadgets that Ed bought.  

Ed riding bikes with his buddies in Long Beach, CA

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Excitement wasn't part of my year.  Instead, my energy went toward caring for my mother and being fully present for her, and that became the center of everything for me.

16. What song will always remind you of 2025?

"Row, Row, Row Your Boat" because that's the first song Ed and I sang with my mother as part of our speech therapy with her.  We read that singing was often easier than talking for people with aphasia.  We did other songs, too, but this one is the first and the one she was the most successful with.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: (a) happier or sadder? (b) thinner or fatter? (c) richer or poorer?
Significantly sadder, same weight, and probably a bit poorer because we have only worked one month this year.

My mother's cat, Dexter Gray

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

Language learning. I’ve been invested in Duolingo for 1,770+ days (completed the Italian program and now doing Spanish), but because I haven’t focused on actually speaking, I don’t feel confident using the language. I can read a lot of it, write a lot, and answer written questions, but I can’t really speak it. 

 

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Wasting time on the phone with people from the healthcare industry.  It's bad enough making these calls during normal situations, but during a healthcare crisis like the one I was in with my mother, the amount of time spent on the phone is absolutely inhumane and borderline criminal.

20. How did you spend Christmas?
With Ed and my father-in-law. We went out to lunch and then drove up to Mt. Lemmon.  Probably one of the worst Christmases in memory for many reasons.  But I did bring myself to decorate, so that made me feel a bit better.

21. Did you fall in love in 2025?

Nope.

22. What was your favorite TV program?

I watch a lot of TV. I’m pretty easily entertained, but I watch most things as background entertainment while I scroll on my phone. This year I watched the entire “Alias” series.  I love Jennifer Garner!

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

Not really. I generally hate the same people this year as I did last year. 

24. What was the best book you read?

I didn't read any books this year.

Ed at the December 2025 Run Run Rudolph 5K. 

He came in 2nd in his age group.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
My first discovery is November Ultra (real name, Mélanie Pereira).  Born in France to Spanish and Portuguese parents, she sings in French, English, Spanish, and Portuguese.  She has a delicate, comforting voice that can lull you to sleep with the right song. 

I love her version of Elvis' They Remind Me Too Much Of You, and of my favorite songs from Wicked, For Good.  Listen to her sing in French, Spanish, and Portuguese. 

And then, I came across this guy on Instagram.  Kentucky-raised singer-songwriter Zach Day. describes his style as y'allternative, a mix of Appalachian folk storytelling with modern alternative pop and soul. Described as a queer Appalachian kid raised among coal mines and church pianos, his gift cannot be denied.

Listen to him cover Willie here, Norah Jones here, Linda Ronstadt here, and his take on one of my favorite songs by SWV here. 

26. What did you want and get?

I wanted a knife sharpener, and I got it. I didn't have many requests this year.

27. What did you want and not get?

I wanted my mother to recover.  Every day I was with her, I was hoping for that.  But it didn't happen.  It was the one thing that I wanted more than anything I've ever hoped for in my life, and the one thing I just didn't get.  But, we were the Three Musketeers to the very end - me, Ed, and Mommy.  Always.

28. What was your favorite film of this year?

I don't have a favorite, but I did like these four lighthearted flicks:  My Oxford Year, The Life List, Nonnas, and The Thursday Murder Club.

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 58 this year and went out to dinner with Ed at Charro Steak. 

Ed and I celebrating my 58th birthday at Charro Steak in Tucson, AZ

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
The only thing that could have made my year more satisfying would have been more time with my mother. Caring for her was the center of my year, and nothing compares to that.  This year wasn't about satisfaction; it was about showing up for my mother.  The one thing that would have changed everything is something no one could give: a different outcome.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2025?

Literally, whatever was clean.  Pajamas, leggings, t-shirts, nightgowns.  I barely left the house this year.

One of my whole-food plant-based breakfasts.

32. What kept you sane?
My Aunt Joya and Uncle Vinny. Through the entire ordeal with my mother, they were there for all of it. Hours on the phone. Listening to me crying. Giving me advice. Helping me sort through life stuff. They were invaluable.  I will never forget how they came through for me. 

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

I’m completely in love with everything Nabela Noor.  I've been following her for a long time and have watched her evolve, and it's just glorious.  I love her personal style, her home, her husband, her two girls, her parents, and her soothing voice.  I asked AI to help me come up with a description for her voice, and the response couldn't have been more perfect:  "Her voice is like warm chai being poured into a ceramic cup — fragrant, calming, and full of gentle sweetness that settles you from the inside out.  It’s not just soft; it’s intentional. She speaks the way candlelight glows: steady, warm, and quietly reassuring."  Check out her website at the link above and her Instagram account here.
 

A tile seen in the restroom at FlatOut Sim Racing in Salt Lake City, UT

34. What political issue stirred you the most?
I’m repeating my answer from last year:  I'm still going with the demonization of immigrants.  I live in a border state, in a town that's almost 43% Hispanic or Latino, and have never had a problem with these people.  Ever.  NEVER.  EVER.  The ones I have worked with, socialized with, have done business with, or have had any kind of interaction with have always proven the same thing - they are hardworking, family-oriented, kind people who are just doing their jobs and living their lives like everyone else. Donald Trump, people like him, his supporters, and the right-wing media continue to relentlessly stir up fear and hate towards the Hispanic and Latino population, in addition to members of the Muslim communities.  They cause these communities of people harm.  And it needs to stop.

35. Who did you miss?

My mother. My first birthday without her.  My first Thanksgiving without her. My first Christmas without her.  Boom! Boom! Boom!  All in a row.  I miss my mother so so so so much. I can’t text her. I can’t call her. I can’t ask her questions. I miss her hugs and her smell. It’s just devastating. I have never, and will never, miss a person as much as I miss her.

36. Who was the best new person you met?

Dr. Dipendra Dahal.  He isn't a friend; I'm not close to him, and we don't have any kind of relationship.  He was one of the doctors who cared for my mother when she was in the hospital, and he was just a wonderful human.  Smart.  Compassionate.  Good listener.  Explained everything in terms that were easy to understand, and he had so much palpable empathy; I just wanted to hug him.  He made that hospital visit a lot easier by being so present and available to fill our needs.

Ed and his father at my brother's auto restoration shop

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2025.
That no matter how much you’ve done for them, or with them, or how much time you’ve spent with your parents, it’s not enough. Never enough.  Do more.  Pop in for a visit.  Call them.  Take pictures and video.  Lots of pictures and video.  Record their voice.  Document the time they have left.  You will be so glad you did. 

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

I carried my mother through the hardest chapter of her life, and the hardest chapter of mine, and then I lost her.  I don't know that there's a song lyric that can embody the grief and heartbreak that it brought me, so I can't really come up with anything at this time.

And my slogan for the New Year...

Prioritize far-away family and friends. 

I plan on making time to visit aunts and uncles, cousins and friends who don’t live in Tucson. People whom I don't see often because I'm on the road.  I vow to use my time in the next year to make an effort to get where they are and carve out time for visiting. Connecting with family has always been important to me, but now that my mother is gone, I'm craving it more than ever.  I need people to fill my soul with love and laughter and memories and joy.  

Ed's bike jersey for the El Tour De Tucson.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
2024: Ending The Year Lighter Than I Began
2023; Adéu, 2023. Bon Dia, 2024!
2022: Ending The Year Intentionally Unemployed
2021: Christmas All Day And All Night

2020: Contained
2019: Sorry, no post on this day.

2018: The Most Exclusive Rooftop
2017: Cell Block 8
2016: The Price Of American Made
2015: Sunset In The Brick City
2014: The King Of Light
2013: The End Of WiFi???
2012: Through A Canopy Of Oaks
2011: Clap Your Hands
2010: Wishing For A Blizzard But Will Settle For Flakes
2009: A Hideous Thief Exposed 
2008: Southwest Sunset
2007: Subtlety Is SO Not His Middle Name
2006: Bridging Chicago
2005: Oxymoronic Holiday