Yay for Horses

We had just returned from the kitchen carrying the lit cake. My mother, wrapped in a heated blanket, smiled as we started singing the birthday song. When we reached the final line, she waved her arms and sung, “to horses” instead of “to me.” Then added, “Yay for horses. My wish is that all the horses in the world would be healthy.” A blouse adorned with horse heads sat atop torn wrapping paper at her side. The candle was horse-shaped. Overhead, a stuffed horse peered down approvingly from the headboard. Afterwards we draped the blouse across the back of a chair with a pair of jeans she liked. She was ready, she said. Just needed to get a little better first.

In 2011 we were told that her life would end within a few years. Pulmonary fibrosis is a progressive, incurable disease with a dismal life expectancy. She survived for thirteen instead. The horse cake would be her final birthday celebration, her 90th, which she received in bed with a cannula strapped around her head. At her side, a large oxygen concentrator purred like a cat. 

It was agreed that we’d blow out the candle on her command. But after cueing us she blew it out herself. Three weeks later I stood at her side as she exhaled one last time. It was raining. My dad lay on the bed next to her, my wife sat at her feet. We told her it was okay to leave her failing body. And she did. I brushed her hair afterwards and kept talking to her until the funeral home arrived. When they did, I stood on the lawn looking down the hallway behind the front door. It led directly to their bedroom. Then the hearse disappeared down the street. Forty four years after moving into this home, she had left it for good.

I will write more another day. For now, I just want to say, Hooray for Horses and Hooray for You, mom. I miss you already.