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Ramona

By JESSICA GILBERT

Ramona correspondent

(785) 965-2621

It's been awhile since I sat before my computer to write the news from Ramona. The first two weeks of January my sister and I were on a work project that took us out of town. Then we returned home to discover that our mother had died on the day we flew home, and this past week was consumed with preparing her memorial service and tending to the closure of her life. And here it is, already February.

The first week of January, a California client whom we've worked with off and on in the past 25 years, called us saying he wanted to undertake another writing project. We invited him here, so we could keep an eye on all our responsibilities, and he graciously declined saying he couldn't take the cold, but instead said: "How about flying to Key West — I'll take care of everything!" That was an offer we couldn't refuse.

For the past year Pat and I haven't gone out of state at the same time because one of us was always here in Ramona with Mom. I told Pat to go to Florida, and I'd stay here, but she protested since on this particular project, it required us both to be present — one person to interview (that's me) and one to write and translate (that's Pat) on our laptop computer.

We spent the mornings writing and the afternoons exploring and sightseeing. Our client, who also is a friend, arrived in Key West a couple of days before we did and proceeded to try all the major Key West experiences so he'd know if they were good enough to show to us. Within an hour of our arrival we were on tour trains, strolling Duval Street, which is where all the great restaurants are, and climbing to the highest building in Key West to view the sunset with a virgin pinã colada in hand.

Did I mention we were in paradise? Anywhere warmer than Ramona in January would be heaven, but add in swaying palm trees, 80-degree weather, tropical breezes, sun dresses, and frothy drinks, and it's paradise.

The food alone was worthy of write-up. We stood in a restaurant about the size of a closet — no tables in sight, just a ledge where you stood and watched two women making crepes and speaking French while they cooked. Voila! We were in Paris devouring banana crepes drizzled with warm, rich, chocolate sauce. Next door we found hamburgers at Jimmy Buffet's restaurant, Margaritaville, and up the block was Caroline's, an outdoor café sheltered by huge trees that had foliage descending low over our table like gigantic fans, while we devoured exotic, spicy, Cuban cuisine in the warm night air.

We learned history on a tour of the little White House where Truman came with his aides to hold meetings and play poker. We lifted solid gold bars in Mel Fisher's museum (he's a treasure hunter), we took a ghost tour where folks captured amazing nebulous images on their digital cameras, and on my birthday we took a biplane ride.

"I thought you hated flying in little planes," my sister retorted when I told her we were taking a biplane to an island off Key West. "I do hate little planes," I replied, " but we're not going far and I've always wanted to experience take off and landing on the water." The experience was magnificent.

Our aunt Frieda — Mom's sister — came to Ramona and stayed with Mom the first week we were in Florida. We actually planned to return Jan 14, but then the storms arrived here in Kansas, and flights through Atlanta were having layovers, so we decided to stay another couple of days. If we were going to have layovers we were going to be in the sun. We talked with Mom and she thought she could handle another couple of days — after all, Tooltime Tim was right across the street doing a major remodeling project. In addition folks all over town were "tracking" and checking in with our mother.

When we piled into Tooltime Tim's pickup to head to the Wichita airport Jan. 7 we waved goodbye to Mom and shouted "I love you," and my heart simply told me to take another look — to record this moment with Mom at the door, wearing pink, of course, her hair all coifed, her smile, her hand waving us on. "This may be the last look," my heart whispered.

But then, I've heard that reminder often because I live life as though it was the last conversation, the last meal — I live it with intense awareness. And because Mom was 90, I was especially aware that our time together was short. So I looked, I recorded the moment of Mom waving goodbye, and later came to cherish it, because our mother died in her sleep on the day we flew home from Florida, Jan. 18.

The day before we headed for home I made my usual morning and evening phone calls to Mom and she sounded chipper and eager to see us. "I want to ride to the airport with Tim when he goes to pick you up," said Mom. And then she added. "I just want you girls to know that I appreciate so much everything you do for me — I think I have just taken it for granted. I'm so anxious for you to be home again."

The morning of Jan. 18 Pat and I were up at 4:30 a.m., taking suitcases to a taxi and heading for the Key West airport. We couldn't call Mom then, it was way too early in the morning. We flew from Florida to Atlanta and finally were in a time zone that was similar to Kansas so both Pat and I tried to call Mom but there was no answer.

"Stop by and check on Mother before you come to Wichita to meet us," said Pat to Tooltime Tim. "I'm right here in front of her house and getting out of the car," he replied on his cell phone. We got on the plane, out of reach for emergency messages, and Tim opened the door to Mother's house and found Mom peacefully in her bed, snuggled under the covers — she had died in her sleep. When we arrived in Wichita he was there to deliver the news.

When we finally arrived back in Ramona we walked into Mom's bedroom and began trying to understand her departure. While she was 90, she was vibrant and active, and hadn't taken a single medication in years. We figured she'd be with us for another five years or more — after all, her older sister, Anna, is 100.

There on the night stand beside her bed was the glass of water she typically placed there before retiring — she always used a mason jar instead of a typical glass. Beside her pillow was the itinerary I'd left, reminding her when we'd be home. Next to the itinerary was her tape recorder because she went to sleep or napped with tapes playing — tapes she'd created during the 45 years of ministry with our dad, Laurel.

On the end of her bed was her polyester pink skirt and pink blouse, as though any moment she'd walk into the room and put them on. On her night stand were three cassette tapes wrapped in aluminum foil and the words "My Best" were written on them. Once more Mom was sorting and organizing the hundreds of tapes she had recorded in her lifetime of the church choirs she'd led, orchestras she conducted, or children's stories she loved to create.

Tape recording was one of Mom's big passions, and as technology changed — especially the change from cassettes to CDs Mom was baffled. "I can't believe dual tape recorders are no longer in stores," said Mom. "How do people listen to their cassettes?" When I explained that people use CD players now, she'd joke, "No cassette recorders? I just need to leave the planet."

When Mom moved into her new house a couple years ago and there were three computer buttons to push in order to start her oven — which used to be done with the turn of one knob — she'd exclaim in frustration, "I started cooking with a wood stove and end up with a computer! It's time to leave the planet."

When we took Mom shopping after she moved to Kansas, in hopes she'd try wearing slacks in the cold winter winds, she'd walk by the racks of clothes, shaking her head in dismay, "Does anybody wear dresses anymore? It's just time for me to leave the planet." (Mom wore only dresses most of her life.)

When Mom saw the price of a new suit — even suits on the half-off rack — she'd exclaim, "What? Ninety-five dollars for a suit — that's way too much. I just need to get off the planet!" (Mom made all her clothes in her lifetime. When we were children she made everything for us except Dad's preaching suits.)

Within hours of our return we were calling family and friends, telling them of Mom's death. When I spoke to my friend Darlene — she works in hospice in Oregon — and told her of Mom's sudden departure, she said, "Bless Martha's heart — she did that really well!"

Those words came to comfort me — each of us, after all, will be making this transition from one form of being to another, and our mother did it beautifully, easily and peacefully. As I tell people of her passing, the most frequent comment, after condolences, is "Oh, that's how I want to die."

Members of the Schubert and Fike families gathered at Martha's house in Ramona and had lunch together Saturday. "Folks offered to bring food for us," said Pat, "but we were comforted by cooking together in Mom's house."

Memorial services were held at 4 p.m. Saturday in Ramona at the Lutheran parish hall. Her minister from the Enterprise Seventh-Day Adventist Church, Pastor Mickey Sayles, and her Sabbath school teacher, Pete Resz, both participated in the service. My sister and I added stories of Mom's long life, and the music at the service was provided by Martha herself because she had boxes of tape recordings showcasing her beautiful voice.

The Ladies Aid Society of Trinity Lutheran Church, along with friends from the Ramona Senior Center, provided a lovely evening meal following Mom's service. It was the first time we were recipients of this Kansas tradition, and Pat and I were so grateful for this nurturing gift to our family.

I have often said, "When you die, die in Kansas, because the traditions here bring comfort." The moment people heard of Mom's passing, they were at our door with treats. When the Makovecs delivered two large trays of crackers, cheese, and salami, Pat and I each held one and wondered how we'd devour them. But then Tooltime Tim came over and gave us lots of help, since our extended family didn't arrive until the weekend!

So now we pick up our lives once more and carry on. We fly Mom's flag just by our living in the world, because Pat got her gardening skills and love of nature from Mom and I have the legacy of Mom's tremendous voice. We will adventure, play, and love until it's our turn to walk from this life to another; and may it be said that we did it well!

We're erecting another marble bench on Main Street in Ramona as a tribute to our mother's life. She said she wanted to be known as a caring and loving woman and no doubt she is gratified because that's exactly how folks remember her long life which began and ended in Ramona, a little town where a traffic jam has always been two parked cars and a dog in the road.

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