An Anniversary Story

This morning, I was reminded of this story I wrote on February 18, 2015, days after my mom passed away.

My parents have been married for 17,512 days, just 8 days shy of 48 years. Tonight we were supposed to be having their anniversary dinner.

In January 1967, my parents were stationed at Ft. Hood, Texas.  Lieutenant Marlene A. Leeder, 27, was a flight nurse. Captain Edward L. Riceberg, 25, was a medical doctor.  They met in the hospital but not the way you think.

My dad’s buddy was called to go to Vietnam and told my dad that his friend was in the hospital with kidney trouble and could he please go check on her.  My father walked into her room and was immediately smitten.  She had long jet-black hair, large brown eyes, and full lips that framed her wide smile.  She lit up the moment this handsome stranger entered her room because she literally recognized him, as the man she had been dreaming of and knew she would marry him.

However, the doctors warned she wouldn’t live more than 10 years and suggested she not to have children, as it would create added stress on her small 5’1” body.  Despite this news, they married within 3 weeks of their meeting. They decided to have 1 child.  I arrived 2 years later.

Thankfully my parents didn’t heed the doctors’ advice but her longer-than-expected-life was filled with various medical conditions.

When I was 3, my mom’s brain stopped communicating with her legs.  She was unable to walk.  I have memories of her parents being in our house and my Grandfather yelling at me because I kept going into the refrigerator to snack.  I didn’t understand what was going on just that everyone was so angry.  She had been diagnosed with MS and slowly recovered her ability to walk with the aid of a walker.

When I was 16, I often missed Saturday beach days with friends because I’d have to rush her to the ER for a shot to ease the horrific pain caused by migraines and cluster headaches.

She suffered from kidney stones too and sometimes would lose her balance and fall over. Later doctors realized it wasn’t MS that affected her but couldn’t figure out why she short-circuited.

My mom lived with the fear that she would never live long enough to see me grow up.

She insisted that I have the best education available.  She enrolled me in ballet, tennis, art, and guitar.  She dragged me to Hebrew school and insisted that we go to museums and art shows.

She taught me the importance of manners though I often fail at writing thank you notes, despite having a store filled with them.  She encouraged me to travel and to beat to my own drum.

She loved to quote Robert Frost:

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

     I took the one less traveled by,

     And that has made all the difference.”

She made me feel special and accept that it was okay not to be like everybody else.

She never judged my running off to live in DC, Prague, NY, or Stockholm nor my returning to LA brokenhearted. She always welcomed me home and let me work in her store, which led to my opening my own.

She filled her life with passion.  She could always be found in her backyard tending her orchids that she raised in the tall pines trees, or in the kitchen cooking nightly gourmet meals for her family or her over-the-top dinner parties.  She held a landscape architecture degree and would always point out trees to me on our walks to collect leaves for her chocolate desserts.

She would never do anything if she didn’t give 100% to it. When I bow presents in my shop with such care and attention to detail, I know that is my mother.  

Mom had the most fabulous store, Tesoro. Just today I was walking along Madison Avenue with my friend Harriet.  We bumped into her neighbor and I revealed that I was visiting from LA. She let me know that she lived in Brentwood for 30 years. I asked if she remembered my mom’s store. She squealed, “I loved that store. I still use a bowl and platter from there.” Her store closed 11 years ago.

To honor my mother today, I got lost in The Met searching for exhibits she would have enjoyed.  I traveled in space and time for a few hours.  I looked at French cameo glass, which my parents used to collect and saw Ennion’s blown glass from the 1st half of the 1st century A.D. I admired a Tibetan skeleton costume used in a funeral dance in a monastery and came across Tara, the Buddhist Savior statue from the 14th century. My mother loved the Tibetan breed Shih-Tzu, which was AKC recognized in 1969, the year of my birth. We’ve only had Shih-Tzus and Patty Hearst won Best of the Toy Group with hers at the 139th Westminster Dog Show this week.

Our pets were a great comfort to my mom in these last years. She had been diagnosed with Dementia and 2 years later, Alzheimer’s.  I made the decision to live at home to spend as much time as possible with her while she would still recognize me. I am grateful that she passed knowing us.

Losing her suddenly was shocking but she wasn’t supposed to live past 1977.  She was gifted life for almost 40 years. She made sure Dad and I knew love, friends knew appreciation, and strangers knew kindness.

We would often joke about my getting engaged so quickly (5 times since I was 21.) I told her it was all her fault.  She met and fell in love immediately. I was simply optimistic that I would have a similar love story.