My mother-in-law died this evening. She was in hospice care and had told us she didn't want to get well, but death is never easy even when you expect it.
I've gone through something similar with my mother. Two days before she died, she told me "I want to go." My mother Miriam and Barbara were both widowed, in their nineties, and tired of being tired. Barbara had the added burden of dying in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic, when family visits were difficult if not outright prohibited. Jeff and I hadn't seen her since last Christmas.
I always said that I lucked out with Barbara as my mother-in-law. She accepted and welcomed me to the family, when others may have paused because I am seven years older than Jeff. Yes, there were times I found her annoying. I didn't always like how she treated Jeff--he was always her baby. We disagreed on pretty much everything politically. In one of our last conversations, she lamented that Joe Biden was being manipulated to appoint a diverse cabinet, but apologized because she didn't want to hurt my feelings.
Barbara was thoughtful, loving, and caring. Every time I walk into our condo, I see the Raoul Dufy print she and Jim (my father-in-law) bought for us. I like to think that one reason they selected this print is because Barbara always remembered my love of calla lilies.
Barbara is the last of Jeff's and my parents to go. Her children, Jeff, Melissa, and Thea believe she held on because she didn't want to leave them on Christmas: her last thoughtful act.
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