Two years ago this morning my mum passed away after her long struggle with lymphoma. She'd lived well past the time she'd been given when the last chemo/radiation treatment failed her. The suffering she endured both personally and watching my dad before he died really tested her established beliefs. Sometimes she'd get so frustrated she'd take off her wig and throw it, but in the last few months she found and deeper peace with her condition and her God. Whether that was all spiritual or just the final stop on the Kubler-Ross Express is known only to her.

She lived a good life in service to not only her family, but also her patients. There were many times when my dad was drinking heavily that she thought about taking us kids and leaving him, but she stuck it out through all the broken promises and was eventually rewarded with my dad's sustained sobriety. She chose to work the night shift on the alcohol/drug detox unit at the VA (can you say "sublimation") caring for the patients when they came in drunk, belligerent and puking. She'd clean them up, put them to bed and in the morning work with the docs to get them transferred to rehab units or send them back out (when they didn't want rehab) with fingers crossed and the reminder of "I'm usually here on the night shift. You can always come back if you really want rehab next time." On more than one occasion we would be out in public and some unknown man would come up to her and say something like, "Hi, Ms. Quinn, remember me? I'm still doing great with AA (or some other program) and just wanted you to know." She'd always congratulate them on their sobriety and reinforce to them that it was THEIR victory. I had a chance to work on her unit in residency. I would come on in the mornings as she would be ending her night shift and I'd walk her to her car.

It doesn't seem like two years, but I, of course, still miss her terribly. Time has made it a little easier, but I spoke with my sister who still feels it more keenly since she essentially lived with her those last few years.  So I'll remember only the good today and as my Jewish friends at work told me, "May her memory be for a blessing".  I love you, mom, and miss you.