The Circle Of Life

There is nothing quite so beautiful - and nothing quite so devestating - as the circle of life.  When we are born into this world - at least for the vast majority of people - it's a beautiful, happy time.  As we live our lives, choices are made for us in the beginning, and eventually we make our own choices and our own way.  But one day, we will die.  Most of the time, we won't know how it will happen, or what the conditions may be, but it will happen.  It is part of the natural order, and nothing will stop it.

This all comes to mind now as I sit in a hospital room next to my mother.  She is 86, and gravely ill.  She knows I'm here, but she can't communicate other than to look my way at times.  Her doctor contacted me today and told me there's nothing more that they can do for her other than what they've already been doing, and she isn't improving.  So my choices are to continue treatment, or send her to Hospice.

My mother - Loretta Moeller - was born in the City of St. Bernard, a suburb of Cincinnati 6 miles north of Downtown Cincinnati on I-75.  December 14th, 1923 to be exact.  She lived in a large red house on Church Street, a block from St. Clement's Church, with her Sister Margie and her Brother Robert, her mother and grand parents.  She told me once she never knew her father - that he was an alcoholic and had left early in her childhood.

She met my father - Earl F Questa of Latonia, KY - while she worked at the Willis Music Company in downtown Cincinnati.  They were married at St. Clement's church, and purchased a house in the South East corner of St. Bernard, which is where they - and I - lived for most of our lives.

Mom gave birth to a little girl - Donna Marie - who died a couple of months after birth from a staff infection.  Two years later, she gave birth to me.  Both of my parents sacrificed to send me to private schools and always nurtured my musical talents.

When I was 10, my father had a heart attack, and a few month later, had a stroke.  It was at this point that my mother demonstrated her incredible love for my father - and for me.  My dad was an incredibly active and accomplished member of the community - member of the health department, then member of St. Bernard city council for a few years - all the while working for Proctor & Gamble.  But this stoke meant he could no longer work.  My mother was instructed to put dad into a home, she took the vows of "for better or worse, in sickness and in health" very much to heart.  For the next 11 years, she would care for my father like a nurse (even though she never had any nurse training),  and continued to care for him until his health diminished after his 3rd stroke.  He died at the hospital 9 days after being admitted, and she was then on her own.

During this time, she found a way to put me through catholic high school, got me to band performances, paid for drum lessons as well as music lessons (as I continued to play the organ and piano through school).  She worked odd jobs, delivered phone books and laundry detergent samples to earn extra money.  Through all of this time she took care of dad as well - and yet I never wanted for anything.  She was truly a stunning example of a wife and mother.

She was always proud of me in whatever I did.  She didn't agree with everything I did as an adult (could never understand why I wanted to play that loud rock and roll), but she never stopped loving and supporting me.  Everyone should be lucky enough to have that kind of parent.

So now I sit in a hospital room, preparing to talk to someone from Hospice, and try to determine the best course of action.  I hope that the decisions I make now honor the decisions she made for me while I was growing up.  I love you mom - I hope you know how much...