She wanted me to call her Rebecca.

I complied.

But not at the end.

 

Twenty-three years ago today,

My brother called.

She’d died of a stroke in the night.

 

“Mom’s dead?” “Mom’s dead?”

My then six-year-old son reported my reaction.

I have no memory of my words.

 

Only incredulity

Only dismay

Only shattering

 

How I remember her final words:

“You, your brother, and your sister are my

Greatest gift to the world.”

 

Mom’s final gift to me

A blessing without end

Rebecca’s memory a blessing.