(By Richard Goodman, 27 November 2023)
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In the
middle of May, I’m in my office working.
It has been a quiet morning so far.
Then around 10:45, the power went out.
The lights, the electricity, the internet- everything shuts down. Since this happens occasionally in every
office everywhere, I do what I normally do, which is nothing. I take five minutes to walk around the office
and do some things that don’t require electricity. Surprisingly, the power did not come back on
during that time. Usually, it momentarily
blips and everyone panics then it comes back on after two or three minutes. Not this time. So I check my cell phone for alerts from the
property management company, or our I.T. company, or the Alexandria city
government. No notices at all so I check-in
again with the other people in the office. Still the same situation for them as well.
As the
company’s Operations Manager, I am in charge of power, internet, and all those
things that keep the company running although I have no special power over them
when they suddenly stop working. I called
our internet provider and they confirm that we are offline but that it is not
on their end. So I’m wondering what I
can do to fix the situation, and the IT company suggests calling the phone
company to see if they are doing work in that area and maybe cut a power cable. I might as well try that since I can’t do
anything else and my phone won’t stay charged forever.
Ping! My phone announces that a text message just
came in and since it starts playing “Rat In Mi Kitchen” by UB40, I know the
text is from my sister.
Susan: “Please
give me call when you are free.”
I don’t like
that message because my sister rarely calls during the workday. A text, sure, but not a phone call. Also, the day before she texted me something
about our Mom, who is in assisted living and has been slowly going
downhill. She texted an article called
“How to recognize that a loved one is dying” and said, “Mom has the mottled
skin now, is restless, and has rattled breath.”
As I said, I don’t like that on today’s text she asked me to call
instead of texting me like normal. I texted
her back.
Richard:
“I’m on the phone with our phone/internet company because our internet died so
no one can do anything. Is that an
omen?”
Susan: “Yes”
Richard:
“Damn it.”
Susan: “☹”
So the phone
company says that they will register my issue and get in touch with me if they
have any updates about work in the area that might be affecting our power or
internet service. In the meantime, they
will send a tech out to our site to troubleshoot the issue. After some back and forth, they agree to send
the tech today instead of two days from now.
I let everyone know this and they all decide to go home and work from
home since it isn’t a problem with our overall IT infrastructure because all the
remote staff are online and not having any problems. It is just the local internet in the office
because the power is out. While I wait
for the tech, I call my sister back and she confirms the worst. Mom passed away a little earlier that
morning, right around the time the power went out.
This is kind
of weird, right? The power goes out for
an extended time right when Mom is unable to fight anymore and succumbs to her
posterior cortical atrophy, dementia, and related medical issues. I think it was Mom giving me some time to
reflect and grieve. Sitting alone in a
dark office, with no distractions kind of forces you to think about things.
My sister
agrees that it is an odd coincidence. That was not the only one though. Three days later, on my birthday, Sweden won
the Eurovision song contest. Mom is a
proud Swede and have been thrilled to know that Sweden won the song contest for
a record-tying seventh time. Then when
Susan and I went to Florida to attend the funeral, we had the fun task of going
to the funeral home and making final choices on arrangements that Mom had made
for Dad and her at that cemetery.
We picked
out the actual spot where they would be buried, near the center where there was
a bench and flower bed since Mom liked to look at flowers. Then we went to a small grassy area to look at
the headstones the funeral home had on hand for immediate use. As we were debating if Mom would have liked
any of these headstones, we heard a really loud cracking sound and looked
across the yard to see that a huge branch just broke off a tree by the funeral
home. Susan and I glanced at each other
and decided that we would go inside the funeral home and look at other options
for headstones in their catalog. Mom
didn’t seem to want us looking at the ones out here.
After going
inside and looking at the other possible headstones, we found one that we
agreed on and thought Mom would like, and that Dad could tolerate because they
wanted a combined headstone for both of them since they would be buried side by
side. We ordered the one that felt right
for them and passed on some of the trinkets that were offered, like creating a
necklace with a loved one’s fingerprint on it or making things out of their
ashes. Next time we go down to Florida,
we can see the finished headstone that was placed there after it was
delivered. One thing we didn’t realize
until we discussed it with the funeral home director is that Florida does not
allow ashes to be buried outside of a container. If you are cremated, you cannot also have
those ashes in a burial plot unless they are in an approved container. Mom had specifically said that she did not
want to be buried in a box in the cold ground.
Even though
she did prefer cremation, she hadn’t expressed an interest in being in a
container sitting on a shelf somewhere so we had to make a choice on what she
would have preferred. Eventually we went
with an ash vault in a light Swedish blue color that would be buried in the plot,
and I asked to have a small container of ashes for myself. That wrapped up the funeral planning for
now.
The next
day, we went to have lunch with Dad.
Before knocking on Dad’s door though, I made a stop at the little garden
area where he did his daily walk. It was
a very small area but along the circular path there were several trees and
bushes, a little water fountain, and lots of flowers. I thought this would be a good place to
sprinkle the container of Mom’s ashes that I got at the funeral home the
previous day. I scattered some among the
various flower beds, at the base of the two trees, and underneath the shrubs
until the little container was empty.
There were a few ashes clinging to the plastic bag which I put back in
the keepsake container to take home with me.
As I finished up the scattering, rain started to sprinkle down, soaking
the ashes into the ground so they would not blow away. Now whenever Dad takes his daily walk around
the path, he will be with Mom and she will be part of the flowers and trees,
near her husband, and not just in a box in the ground.
Finally, Susan
and I met with the pastor to finalize the memorial ceremony. Or rather, I watched Susan and the pastor
confirm the songs, and readings that would go along with the service. Susan had worked on this before with the
pastor and now they just confirming everything, handing over the music that was
selected, and picking the order of the different parts of the ceremony. The pastor took us to view the chapel and see
how the logistics of the ceremony would flow.
On the way back to her office, the pastor saw us looking at a cardinal
on a tree branch. She said that there
had been quite a few cardinals appearing at the nursing home these past two
weeks, which was a bit unusual because they aren’t really that common in the
area. Susan and I looked at each other
with a little shiver because cardinals are very common in Virginia, where it is
the state bird and where our family lived for many years.
The pastor
had alerted the nursing home community about the memorial service and Susan had
already placed an obituary in the newspaper a few days ago to alert anyone else
that that may want to come to the memorial.
I made sure to search the local convenience stores in town for the
newspaper once we arrived- in the evening of the day it was published. At first, Susan wondered why I wanted to keep
stopping at convenience stores and grocery stores but then she realized I was
looking for the newspaper so I had a physical copy of it. I found what must have been the one remaining
copy in town.
We didn’t
think that the obituary, which was pretty expensive for a local paper, would
bring in a huge crowd, but we thought it would be nice to let people know about
Mom and what she had accomplished during her life and maybe say a prayer for
her, even if they didn’t know her at all.
She deserved to be noticed and appreciated.
At the
memorial service, things were kind of a blur as you would expect. Susan had arranged for a big picture of Mom
to be printed and the pastor provided the memorial program for the ceremony and
there was a flower arrangement too so that part was taken care of. Then people came in, the pastor spoke, music
played, we had a slideshow with pictures of Mom and her family, and then it
came time for the eulogy. There was no
way my Dad could do it- his memory issues are severe enough that he might
forget what he was doing at the podium midway through talking. Plus, he was emotionally distraught. He was
actually crying during the ceremony, especially at the slideshow. The only other time I saw him cry was at my
sister’s wedding. I’m glad he was able
to understand the significance of the event and be able to express his grief.
My sister
had said that she did not want to do the eulogy either because she did not
think she would be able to get through it.
So it fell to me, since I was the emotionless one, although I hated
public speaking. In the last year or so,
I had been thinking of what I could say about Mom when the time came and after
the power went out at work that day, I started gathering those thoughts and
putting them into a semi-coherent order that I hoped would do justice to my
mother. I got up and delivered the
eulogy, trying to impress on the audience how much she meant to me and our
family, and describe her involvement in the wider world. She made a mark and her absence will be felt
for a long time.
Mom had
outlived all her relatives and the one or two of her remaining close friends
were in Sweden. She took a trip to
Sweden about eight years ago, just her and my dad, to visit people and show Dad
her places since he never came along when Susan and/or I accompanied Mom to
Sweden. I think that was sort of a
farewell tour for her, to showcase her husband, say goodbye to friends, and get
a last look at her home country while she could still talk and move about
somewhat independently.
That is why
I’m glad Bill, my uncle, got up and said a few words about Barbro. He talked about what a smart, friendly lady
she was. He shared a story about how
when her vision started going and she couldn’t read a restaurant menu board,
she asked the counter clerk to read her the options. The clerk asked my aunt and uncle, who were
with her for lunch, if she was illiterate, to which my aunt replied, “Yes, and
she is illiterate in multiple languages.”
I didn’t
want to be the only one to commemorate her.
She should have had dozens of people get up and say how wonderful she
was but, in the end, it came down to those that were the most important to her-
her family. She would have appreciated
that the ceremony was short and sweet, and showed the love that we all felt for
her.
We didn’t do
much at the gravesite, other than put the ash vault in the ground and throw in
some ceremonial dirt. It was just my
Dad, my sister and I sitting there reflecting on what had occurred and
remembering Barbro. My aunt didn’t feel
up to it since she has been having some struggles of her own, but she got to
spend time with Mom during several bedside visits in those last few weeks. My uncle did the same, as he had for quite
some time, providing some mental stimulation to keep my mom engaged in the
world on his visits and also when he accompanied my aunt. I’m thankful for
everyone’s support during this time of grief.
It was easier to handle knowing that others felt the same way about my
mom and were there for her too. I hope I
don’t have to go through this again for a long, long time.
Below I
included the eulogy I wrote for my mom and delivered at her memorial ceremony,
in case you want to know what I said. You
can also visit the funeral home’s website through the link below and see the obituary
that was published in the paper or view the video slideshow we made for the
memorial. Love each other while you can
and think of them now and forever.
Barbro L Goodman Obituary -
Visitation & Funeral Information (gentry-morrison.com)
Eulogy For My Mom, Barbro Goodman
I’ve avoided writing a eulogy for my mother, Barbro Lindberg
Goodman, for years because I didn’t want to imagine there would be a time when
she wasn’t around. Mom inadvertently
enabled my procrastination by continuing to defy stubbornly the negative
prognosis she received. When doctors
diagnosed her with a rare affliction, Posterior Cortical Atrophy, she was given
an estimate of no more than five to seven years to live. Well, she surpassed that estimate and
stubbornly fought not just to stick around but to stay connected to the
world. When the affliction caused her
brain to stop processing images properly, it became difficult for her to
navigate and walk on her own or even recognize common items like a fork. For such an independent and capable person, I
can’t imagine how hard that was on her.
Rather than give up, she adapted and allowed herself to
depend on others, something she wasn’t used to doing. She accepted her husband’s arm on walks
around the neighborhood, trusting that he would guide her around safely. She listened to audiobooks for entertainment
since she couldn’t read the newspaper or magazines anymore. She was happy to be around other people and
soak up the conversations.
When additional ailments struck her, she lost the ability to
hold extended conversations. When a fall
put her in assisted living, she was basically bed-ridden and unable to see or
speak but she kept hanging on. During
our visits with Mom in her room, we had mostly one-sided conversations, but she
would occasionally make a short comment or murmur an acknowledgment that showed
she knew we were there and had been following the conversation. There were times when someone asked her if we
should go and let her rest, and she immediately and emphatically said
“No!” That melted my heart at the same
time it broke it. She knew we were there
and wanted us to stay with her.
My favorite recent memory was on a visit about five years
ago. Mom was still in the Florida house
with Dad, and I was sitting at the perpetually cluttered kitchen table with her. She couldn’t really see but when I told her I
was looking at some photo albums that appeared to be hers from when she was
growing up in Sweden, she wanted to “see” them too. I would describe the picture to her, and she
would tell me what was happening in her life at that time, who was in the
picture with her, and about what year it was.
I learned a lot about her childhood friends, her time in the Swedish
equivalent of the Girl Scouts, what her mom and dad were doing, what school
life was like, and what she wanted to study in college. That was an enlightening conversation and the
last lengthy one I remember having with her. Her ability to converse started fading shortly
afterwards.
In a sense, that is when I lost my Mom. The mother I had known for over 50 years was
gone. Instead, I would sometimes get
glimpses of the person she had been. I
treasure those little moments I got after she started declining and losing the
ability to see or talk. For instance,
when I agreed with her logic about delaying a surgical procedure until further
tests were done, and she said, “That’s my Richard!”, it brought me back to my
childhood where I enjoyed getting praise from my mom. When I came to visit her in her hospital
room, she sat up a little straighter when I was there and listened intently to
whatever silly story I was telling about what was going on in my life.
Some visits she was babbling and saying nonsense words, but
I would try to follow along and see if I could place myself in her stream of
consciousness. I would comment on what
she had said and she would respond and we had a conversation on the likely
imaginary story in her head but I always hoped it was a memory she was reliving,
and we were sharing a moment from her past.
In March, during my final visit with Mom, she seemed to be
in pain because she was moaning and agitated.
I told her I understood how difficult things were and that I wished I
could make it better for her. I put my
hand over hers and told her I was going to go, to go see Dad. She stopped making noises and looked in the
direction of my voice. I told her I
loved her. And that I would see her
again soon.
Two days later, she took a turn for the worse and was put on
“peaceful passage” status, a nice euphemism that the family should expect the
worst imminently. I was about to lose my
mom again, for good. But being the
focused, purposeful person she had always been, she rallied and her vital signs
improved enough that she was removed from “peaceful passage”. I had
even admiringly joked to Susan that Mom was like the Little Engine That Could,
she just kept going and going and was determined to succeed. Sadly, the engine ran out of steam in
May. Mom finally succumbed to her second
“peaceful passage”. I won’t say she
surrendered though because from what the nurse said, she was fighting to stay
around and draw another breath.
So now I’m doing something I never wanted to do. I’m still trying to procrastinate though
because now I’m stuck on how to celebrate someone who gave life to me and whom
I’ve known my entire life in just a few words.
Someone who made me the person I am today in every way imaginable.
I can talk about her accomplishments that the world
sees. A woman in Sweden who got a degree
in Chemical Engineering at the university in Halsingborg. During
a trip to Germany, when she was taking a summer break from teaching chemistry
and math, she met an American Army Officer, and after a short time they got
married and moved to America, where she raised two wonderful children. Not content to be a bystander, Mom went back
to school and did her degree again, in America, so she could get a job and put
her chemical engineering skills to practical use. She went to work for Philip Morris, the
world’s leading cigarette maker, and became an integral part of the company in
a male dominated profession. Along the
way, she was named on six patents for her technical innovations.
After retiring from Philip Morris, and moving to North
Carolina, she kept herself occupied by working for H&R Block doing taxes
until retiring for good to travel the world.
She had already seen some of the world as an Army wife, having lived in
Germany, Florida, Michigan, Maryland, and Virginia with her husband George, and
on trips to Europe and Scandinavia with her parents Margit and Lars, as well as
going to international conferences as a representative for Philip Morris. Now she was seeing more of it, along with her
family. Mom, Dad, and I travelled to a
dozen foreign countries before Mom’s medical issues became too unmanageable. We visited Iceland, Spain, Morocco, Serbia, Bulgaria,
and Hungary, among others. Of course, I
was also happy to join Mom whenever she wanted to go to Sweden and visit
Mormor, or to handle the affairs for Mormor’s funeral in 2008. I cherish those later trips when we got to
socialize as adults and spend quality time with each other.
So to the world at large, Barbro was a good citizen, a
successful worker, and a wonderful mother and wife. But that is not why we remember her and
admire her. We love her for the person
that she is. A shy Swedish girl with a
clever, inquisitive mind and an overwhelming curiosity about everything. Mom wanted to see everything, experience
everything, and taste everything.
The times I will remember most fondly were those when she
was just being herself, a logical person eager to experience new things with
her family. I love when she tells the
story of having me on a leash when I was a small child because I liked to
wander off and see things too, just like her.
Some shocked parent asked her why she was treating me like an animal and
keeping me on a leash. Mom explained the
practicality of the leash and body harness and how it allowed me to wander
around happily but not get so far away that I got into danger. She couldn’t understand why everyone didn’t
have their kids harnessed.
During summer vacations, Mom and Dad would take Susan and I
to destinations around Virginia. We went
to Williamsburg (Virginia), Kitty Hawk (North Carolina), Chincoteague Island
(Virginia), with Dad as the driver and Mom as the navigator, roles they would
continue to perform for most of their life.
We would frequently go to Sweden to visit her parents, and we loved
exploring the Swedish countryside with our Mormor and Morfar, seeing the giant Dala
horse at the Dala factory, visiting the shops in Falkoping, and getting candy
at the corner kiosk.
When Susan and I were in school, Mom would do all the mom
things you expected and that we took for granted. She would drive us to sports practices, take
us shopping for clothes, and drop us at a friend’s houses before we could drive
ourselves. She took me and my friend
John to our first comic book convention in Richmond. At the time, I actually remember thinking it
was an imposition on her but she said she would just go into work for a couple
of hours since Philip Morris was not too far from where the convention
was. Now I can look at that generosity
and know she did it because she wanted me to do something that I enjoyed, just
like her.
Even though she was actively engaged in our lives, she
taught us independence as well. Since
Mom and Dad both had careers, they weren’t home when school let out so for a
while we went to various babysitters after school and then later on we became latchkey
kids. It was a logical decision to
make. Since we were responsible enough
to be on our own, there was no reason to spend money on a babysitter. So being babysat and then being latchkey kids
taught us adapt to new situations and to be responsible for ourselves.
During Christmases, Mom would both delight us and torment us
kids. We were delighted to see all the
wonderful decorations, including things most American kids didn’t have, at
least not then, like straw rams, advent calendars, Santa Lucia decorations, and
a Christmas Eve present since Sweden celebrates on December 24th. She tormented us by wrapping wonderful
presents and then labeling them with secret numbering codes that only she
knew. So I didn’t know if the notation
R48 meant it was one of 48 presents for me or if it meant something else
entirely. I never did figure out what
the code meant.
At our various homes in Virginia, Dad always had a vegetable
garden in the back and Mom had a flower garden in the front. She loved to plant flowers and shrubs. For one of her birthday’s when we lived in
Chester, Virginia, she asked for a hanging plant holder and I thought she was
wasting a birthday present by asking for plant stuff but I got her a macrame
plant holder and she loved it. I was
amazed at the joy she could get from something so practical and
unglamorous. That taught me that
listening to what people want can create a special moment. She also loved to look at flowers. During her travels, if there was a flower
garden or flowerpot, she would stop to look and take a picture. I think flowers reminded her of her childhood
in Sweden and being outdoors. Her
parents also had lovely flower beds, bushes, and trees shrubs around their
house. Plus rhubarb plants which were
made into a rhubarb pie that Mom loved but none of us shared her delight at
that so-called treat.
When home computers started becoming affordable, Mom got one
for our family. The same thing happened
when VCRs came out. I have an audio
recording from the 1970’s when Mom used a cassette tape recording to document a
Christmas in Florida. She was curious
about new technologies and wanted to see what they were like. At different points in her life, Mom was a
gardener, Red Hat Lady, a bridge player, a witness in a landmark lawsuit, a
member of her neighborhood community committee, a community cookbook contributor,
a fan of the television shows Survivor and Big Brother, a Girl Scout, an MBA, and
a patent holder.
If you will please indulge me for just a couple more stories
about my Mother because I haven’t mentioned one of the most amazing things
about my mother, which is her unending capacity for delight. On our first river cruise trip together,
there was a day in Hungary when we had a free afternoon. We decided to walk around and just look
around at the town we were in. It was a
pretty town but a sudden rainstorm drenched us since we didn’t have umbrellas
or raincoats. We scurried into a nearby
shop and it turned out to be a bakery so we got a pastry and drink and sat at
the table talking and watching the rain fall on the square. I loved that afternoon as much as any of the
“important” sites we saw on the trip.
Then during a trip to Sweden, we did something similar. On an overcast day, we were walking around
Falkoping, because we were both in the mood for Princess cake, a very Swedish
confection of angel cake, crème, strawberry jam, and marzipan. We stopped by several shops until we finally found
some and took it back to where we were staying and ate cake while talking about
our trip.
You might see where this is going. If you know my Mom, you know she loved pastry. Any pastry really. If you set a slice of pie, Princess cake, a
Danish, a coffee crumb cake, a muffin, a doughnut, any baked good really, her
eyes would light up. No matter what was
going on at the time, how tired she was, how much she had already eaten, she
retained a childlike delight at the chance to experience something
amazing. Every pastry was a chance for
something wonderful, the possibility of experiencing something new and
unknown.
If you dared to have eat a pastry in front of her, you
better have something for her as well or she would have one of her rare moments
of hurt and disappointment. I always
felt terrible if I caused Mom any hurt.
I still can’t believe none of us made any special fuss about that
birthday thirty years ago. Since then,
at least I’ve learned to always bring a treat for Mom.
Being the practical person she was, Mom passed away May 10th,
2023, on the cusp of Mother’s Day, and today she is being celebrated on her seventy-eighth
birthday so we will always know when to celebrate Mom’s life and her
passing.
Thank you for bearing with me while I worked through this and
for overlooking my lapses using past and present tense incorrectly while I let
this settle into my brain. This has
helped me process things. Following
specific steps and analyzing a situation is something I got from my Mom and I’m
happy I did. Being curious, eager,
optimistic, enthusiastic, logical, practical, and organized are gifts. What she gave me, by birth and by example, is
something I can never thank her enough for.
As I wrote this, I looked back at some of those pictures from
the Swedish photo albums I discussed with her five years ago and I’m now struck
not by the stories that we shared then but by how many more photos there are
that I never got a chance to ask her about, all the other stories I didn’t get
to hear. Seventy-eight years was not
enough time to appreciate what a remarkable person she was. Thank you for being here and sharing this
difficult experience with me and for celebrating this remarkable person.
In the end, I want the same thing everybody wants – to spend more quality time with the people they love, even if it is just doing something ordinary like sitting at a table trying a new pastry and talking to each other.
