Is This Really The Same Woman Who:

1. Grew up in Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Phoenix, Arizona?

2. Worked in an aircraft factory in World War II?

3. Gathered the neighbor kids for my back yard fifth birthday party?

4. Took me to the beech to get sand for my sand box?

5. Took me with her to get our first little puppy?

6. Made bologna sandwiches for me in kindergarten?

7. Watched me toboggan down a hill, and over a jump, in the snow?

8. Took me to special reading classes because I had difficulty reading?

9. Took me to the doctor for my constant tonsillitis?

10. Shared her country wisdom with me?

11. Packed me a lunch when I rode my bike 50 miles round trip to Irvine Park when I was only twelve?

12. Cooked me lunch and dinner every day?

13. Drove us all around town in a World War II Jeep as her only transportation for years?

14. Along with my dad, provided such wonderful Christmas and holiday memories?

15. Taught me all the old stories of her family, thus giving me the meaning and anchor of family?

16. Told me about the war, her contribution, my dad's contribution, and her family’s sad sacrifice at Manila in the Philippines in February of 1945?

17. Took me to church every Sunday?

18. Told me how important it was to learn how to type? (And she was so right about this too)

19. THIS NEXT ONE IS BIG: She never gave up on me even when I gave up on myself?

20. Was so proud of me for graduating from college?

21. Was so proud of me when I became an airline pilot?

22. Was so proud of me becoming a father?

23. Traveled with me to Arkansas when she was getting quite old. We went there to see the grave of her lost grandfather after I had located in a remote cemetery in the woods of the Southern Ozark mountains.

24. Came to watch my daughter’s softball games?

25. Was always someone I could talk to?

26. Had such a wonderful sense of humor?

When I visited my mother during the last six years of her life, and I would speak to her through her frequent confusion and deafness, I asked myself all of the above questions, and many more. I still do. She was my mom, Martha Ford Dill, and I feel that I did not do nearly as much for her as she did for me. About a year before my mom passed away, I drove to Southern California from my home near Redding, CA. I talked to the woman you see in this photo about her life, past and present. During this one conversation, perhaps lasting two hours, my mom was laser focused. She was not 93 anymore; more like 43. For this one day, her mind had flown into the clear blue sky of lucidity, and I was blessed to be there for the occasion. My mother told me about something I had never heard before. She told me with complete clarity of mind about the time she had accidentally cut the tip of her finger off when she was only about four years old. She showed me her finger. I had never known, nor noticed, my mom's missing fingertip in all my life. How is it possible that I did not know this? After slicing her fingertip off, her father took her into town on horseback to see a doctor. He even took the severed fingertip with him. My mom remembered every detail!

We talked about so many things, and I kicked myself for not videotaping the conversation. But it's all a memory now. I prefer to remember this occasion and the way my mom looked, and her clarity of mind, on this day. It wasn't her last day, but perhaps her best day during those last six declining years. And one last thing: My mother was not afraid of death at all. She was always ready. When my brother called me to deliver the news, I was genuinely happy. I knew my mom was home.