By Kay Heitsch
Right after Mother's Day in 1973, my mom called to let me know she was planning to have gallbladder surgery.
Mom said she had just had a complete check-up. Now, she was happy to report that her results showed she was in the shape of an 18-year-old person. Not too bad for being 61.
Since we lived in a different state, Mom said she didn't want us to come until after she was home from the hospital, so she could see Todd, who was now 18 months old.
The day of the surgery arrived, and I was wondering what was going on when the phone rang. I was expecting to hear that everything had gone well.
However, the doctor called and, in a hushed voice, told me everything did not go well. He said Mom had died in the recovery room. The anesthesiologist had put Mom too far under, and she never woke up.
All I can remember is that I screamed! This was not what I was expecting to hear.
We drove to Michigan, and as I walked into the funeral home, Mom's suitcase was sitting by the door. I'll never forget that. It seemed so bizarre.
I thought Bill's Dad and wife would send a card or something, seeing that my Mom was Todd's grandma. However, they didn't. Grandpa and Grandma Z. sent a card. I appreciated that.
"Write down for the coming generation what the Lord has done, so that people not yet born will praise Him." Psalm 102:18
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