In Loving Memory: Edith M. Grant

Much of what we are, who we become, is due to our parents.

My brother, sisters, and I were blessed with great parents who raised six healthy, happy, productive children – despite, in my case, my parents not having great material to work with.

In memory of Edith, today I would like to share some of the qualities that defined my mother.

Creative

You may not know that Edie had a creative streak that was most certainly the source of my creative side and is also passed to my children and many of her grandchildren. If Mum had not chosen to devote nearly all her efforts to building the family, I could have easily seen her as an author or artist.

Family

But for Edie, it was all about Family. When we were young – six kids, often ready to kill each other – I remember her saying “Someday, your brothers and sisters will be your best friends. Other good friends will come and go but your siblings will be friends forever.”

At the time, it sounded mad; but she was right. Today all six children, 12 grandchildren and two great-grandchildren enjoy wonderful relationships and regular family gatherings. Mum fostered in each of us that strong sense of family that is foundational in all our lives.

Selfless

My mother was unselfish – almost to a fault; I can never remember a time she put her needs or wants first. She always wanted to help her children, her husband, and her friends. She was a very trusting, generous person and sometimes people took advantage – which hurt her deeply. But it never changed her cheerful, optimistic view of the world.

Strength

To me, my mother’s most defining characteristic was her strength.

Edie had determination, as you would expect of someone who successfully raised six children, and one husband.


My father told me that it was Mum’s idea for him to go back to college and earn a degree – he was making a good living at Yellow Cab in Pittsburgh, two children, more coming every year or so. She was determined to do the best they could do for their growing family; good enough was not acceptable, it had to be the best they could do.

Of course, sometimes that determination was exhibited in other ways. Like when we were young, it was not terribly unusual to go to bed with a room colored beige and wake up with it being freshly painted green – always green.

This inner strength, this determination, was passed through to the children, including me. Edie would coach us: “You can achieve anything you want to achieve”, “Don’t let anyone tell you that you are not capable”, even the somewhat biased “You are better than anybody else.” More than just words, Mum made you believe. She made you believe in yourself. There is no greater gift you can give to your children.

In addition to Mum’s inner strength. She was physically strong. If not for Alzheimer’s, I am certain my mother would have lived well past ninety years.

When Mum entered hospice, the attending physician came in to take a medical history on Mum. All the kids, Dad, and Mum were packed into the little hospice room, just like our family room in Liverpool 40 years ago. As the doctor clicked through all possible medical conditions, heart disease, lung disease, cancer, diabetes, etc., the answer was always the same, no, no, no. The doctor completed his history and stated, “Well, with the exception of Alzheimer’s, I guess your mother is a perfectly healthy.” Yep.

Nevertheless, the unfortunate medical prognosis was that Mum would only be with us a few more days – seven at most, but it could be anytime. However the doctors did not know of Edie’s strength, and as Mum’s determination carried us well into the second week, the doctor’s stopped trying to predict and just said, “It is up to Edie, she is in charge.”

Two weeks ago, all the children and Dad were lucky enough to be with Mum on the last day she was awake and alert. The amount of joy I felt when she smiled brightly in response to my “Hi Mummy!” is indescribable.

Last week, my father asked the doctor if there was any chance Mum might open her eyes one more time. I happened to be with Jean and Dad via Skype as the doctor explained why that it was no longer medically possible. The disappointment in their faces as the reality of the doctor’s words sank in was heartbreaking.

Yet the following day, Thanksgiving Day, Dad went to Mum’s side, took her hand and said “Hi Edie”, as he often did. My mother opened her eyes and looked at Dad; then her eyes fluttered closed. It was the last thing she did.

I don’t know how it was possible for Mum to connect with Dad one last time in this way; maybe it was the sound of my father’s voice, her husband for 56 years, that gave Mum the strength to say “goodbye”.

Edith's Tribute Fund at Alz.org
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