Perilous Codpiece Blæg

Mary B. Jackson, June 12^th 1952 – November 2^nd 2010.

My mom passed away a few weeks ago. I’m still kind of at a loss for how to talk about it; that I miss her beyond my ability to express in words goes without saying. She was such a large personality and presence the world seems so different to not have her in it anymore; just one example of her complexity would be that I’m not even sure how she best wanted her name to be. Sometimes she was “Mary”, other times “Mari”, yet other times identifying as “Prairie”. Her middle initial could be Beth, or it could be Brenneman. She was an artist in everything she touched, from painting to drawing to language itself. There are boxes upon boxes now in climate controlled storage of her work and photographs, some of her larger paintings have gone on to friends that (I hope) will respect them and keep them in good condition.

My last memory of her is her sitting up and looking cheerful in her hospital bed, as I had to leave due to the end of visiting hours. She looked hopeful, alive if a bit displeased with her surroundings. She passed on while receiving good care, in a good environment, and was sedated so she should have felt no pain or fear in her final moments alive. She had a first heart attack about eight weeks ago, and at least I was able to visit her in the hospital before she went. We talked and she seemed entirely in control of her faculties when she said she wanted a Do Not Resuscitate order in place; when she had a second attack I was called upon by the staff to verify and I could do nothing else than honor her wishes. She had spent decades in fear of dialysis, and when it became necessary I think the fear of it (no doubt amplified somewhat by her growing Alzheimer’s symptoms) probably put the stress on her body that lead to her heart attacks.

Most of her estate has been settled at this point. Mom wanted cremation and a simple memorial ceremony, both of which have been done. The only lingering aspect is a safe deposit box that I will need to probate her will to gain access to (it has some personal effects and such in it that I would like to have). That will take some time to organize (filing fee $279, plus whatever a lawyer will charge me for a simple probate app, plus a few affidavits from friends of hers of long standing that her handwritten will is in fact hers, plus travel expenses to get there and back). For now I’ve simply paid for another year’s rental on the box, and I have four years to probate the will itself. Next summer should be a reasonable time frame to get this settled. I should have my mom’s ashes by then, and plan on perhaps resettling them somewhere nice in the Texas hill country (an area she loved) during the same trip if possible… We’ll see I suppose, no big rush. Her beloved cat, Mr. Blackie (a gorgeous panther-like tom of indeterminate origin), has gone to be with my in-laws out in central Texas where he’ll have plenty of space to roam and will be well taken care of.

I keep wanting to give her a call and see how she’s doing, to share another laugh over the absurdities of politics. The image came unbidden into my mind when she passed of her and Molly Ivins laughing together over coffee in the afterlife about the latest activities of the political animal in this one. I can only hope that if there is a heaven, the two of them are there and will be filling in for St. Peter when the Bushes show up to try to get in. As the 2nd is of course Election Day, from now on every year I’ll think of mom and that image when I pull the lever for the biggest bunch of bomb-throwing liberals and yellow-dog democrats I can find on any ballot in front of me.