Mom died...

Anneliese Emma Pfeifer Miner died on August 1, 2010.

She's my Mom. She is still my Mom. Clearly it was her time and for her quick release from this world, I am grateful. Thank you God. I prayed that there was no fear and that all those things people say (from near death experiences) are true.

That Dad, Oma, Opa, Uncle Sylvan, Aunt Ilse, Pete, Stefan, Brandy, Uncle Bob, Aunt Edith, other countless friends and relatives were there welcoming her. That she wasn't afraid. I pray that she smiled at the end. That wonderful memories rushed past her, love surrounded her, and that she felt peace.

At 83 it would seem she had a good long life. She certainly lived longer than anyone expected. After a near death experience in 2003 -- each day was a gift. I was privileged enough to have her live with me. Not that each moment was treasured -- but I would not trade any of them. The time I had with my Mom was precious. I actually got to know her. Her true self -- not the made up stories of who we think our parents are. Small conversations caught between loads of laundry. Her outlook on life. Snips of stories of life during the war. Glimpses of my grandparents. Conversations that have been passed down generation to generation. Pictures of past life. Her capacity for forgiveness. Her faith. A level of intelligence I am happy to say I inherited. Her temper. Her generosity.

A strong sense of survival. Of doing the best with what you had. That complaining never changed anything. Oh she complained about how dry the chicken was -- but she never complained about having to leave her home, or that her children didn't visit or call enough. Well that's not true. I often heard from her that she missed me and she would ask if I was mad at her -- because I had not stopped to visit with her in days. Even though I lived in the same house.

I marveled at how she never cried. Never. She felt sadness but tears NEVER escaped from her eyes. We spoke of that a few times. She said she didn't know how to cry. How does someone not know how to cry? I don't remember learning how to cry. I assumed it came naturally. Not for my Mom. Not when her Mother died, her Father, her grandson, or her husband. No tears. I wonder if people thought she was heartless.

Far from heartless. A quiet person with few friends. An underlying insecurity permeated her life. That she wasn't pretty enough. She was gorgeous -- amazing skin and thick hair. She wasn't vivacious like her sister. No she wasn't and that was okay. (I found a letter from my Mom to her sister unsent where she expressed jealousy of not being more like her sister and how she had made her sister wrong.) Sometimes it's easier for one person to shine. She stayed in her marriage even with all it's flaws. She honored her vows. She kept her promises. Did she lie once in awhile -- oh yeah. Did she exaggerate? Yes. Did she want to be treated like a queen? Yes. Was she perfect? No.

She had a wicked sense of humor. Loved a good looking man. Adored cats. Prayed for her family and friends every night. She worked hard until she retired -- then she did what she wanted. Which was nothing. It was her retirement!

How does one measure a good life. By our standards or theirs? I would hope a combination of the best of both. Embracing our strengths and letting go of too much judgement by some of how one should live one's life versus our own condemnation of not having done or been enough.

My imagination has her sitting in a comfortable chair reviewing her life. A timeless review of all that she did in her body during her tenure on earth.

I wonder what kind of daughter she thinks she was. Does her opinion match her Mother's opinion? Did she and her sister embrace? Did Dad find out that she loved him? Then I wonder if it matters or does it only matter when you are alive?

Since I believe that we choose our paths before we are born -- what lessons did she want to learn and what did she learn? Did she accomplish her goal? I pray that she is pleased with the path her life took. She sees the contribution she made and how she impacted all those around her. That whatever lesson she was to learn that she did. That the next phase of her soul's journey is fulfilling.

I love her unconditionally. I know, unfailingly, that she loved me and did her best. In the end that is all any of us can do -- is our best. Thanks for doing your best.

I shall miss you the rest of my days until we are together again.

I love you.

With upmost appreciation, gratitude and love,

your daughter Renee