Later 1960's, Colorado Springs, Colorado. On Saturday mornings my mom would take me first to get my allergy shots, then to Winchell's Donuts, next to King Soopers for groceries, and lastly to the Chevron gas station to fuel up the small light blue Toyota Corolla of which mom was so proud. We'd arrive home to hear my dad directing my younger brother to the yard work, the Wide World of Sports playing on the most important piece of furniture in the house on North Circle Drive--the TV. I'd practice my ballet lessons (or, later, piano), and then head out on my bike, or to the treehouse in the back yard, or to my dolls to reenact a Nancy Drew Mystery. It's Summertime, so maybe dad is grilling burgers out on the backyard patio, maybe mom is making deviled eggs, or warming canned corn, but we eat inside away from "those bugs" at the huge round wagon wheel dining room table that substituted as tent support for my blankets and Barbies. Later, we'd watch Sonny and Cher and Laugh-In on that TV Box. Mom would laugh, and dad would growl, a little, and call them all Communists. Early 1980's, Salt Lake City, Utah and Colorado Springs. Dad's been gone for years, and mom is doing her level best to raise my younger sister on her own. And despite all of that weight on her shoulders, she helps me escape a violent marriage, fight to keep my twin sons, and care for a new baby while I claw my way though school. I could not have gotten through without her. I could not have gotten through without her patience, her intelligence, her cheeriness, and her generosity. She did not merely love my children, she stepped up when there was no one else to help me. She took me out dancing to Michael Jackson. She sent me home with food. She took us to Soda Springs Park. She loved us. 2008, Colorado Springs to Corvallis Oregon. Mom is getting older now and has survived cancer as well as a bowel resection, but it's time to move closer to more of a tiny family. My niece (really, my little sister) and I loaded up a 24 foot rental truck, put mom, Shelby, me (the driver), and Mr. Kitty in the front (Mr. Kitty was none too delighted), and drove to Corvallis. We had a blast. This was the hardest best thing I have ever done. Better school district, better social services for older folks, more family nearby. 1,326 miles of laughter, sneaking Mr. Kitty into motel rooms, gently telling mom we couldn't go through the drive-through at KFC with our giant truck. It was wonderful. I have spoken to my mom nearly every day of my life. When she fell at 89 and broke her hip and leg, Shelby and I solidified an already unbreakable sisterhood of alert pendants, labelled pill dispensers, furniture relocation, a wheelchair, improved nutrition. And we held on. And it was precarious, but OK, hard on Shelby, but OK. For awhile. Until mom was 92, and a stroke, a broken arm and shoulder, 35 days in hospital. Decisions. Shelby is the undisputed hero of this story. She fixed up mom's nursing home room so that mom always could look around and know where she was. Mom fell again, broke the other leg and hip. She turned 93, and WALKED. With a walker, but WALKED. Walked, talked, watched TV, suffered my nudging her to do her PT, loved milkshakes, loved Michael Landon and Little House on the Prairie. And even as her world became smaller and simpler, mom always knew me on the phone, always recognized all of us in the picture books I made for her and Shelby every year when I took us on vacation. Oh, the vacations. The Seattle Space Needle, the Bend, Oregon Indigenous History Museum, the Oregon Coast at Newport Beach, the Ripley's Believe or Not Museum, Avory Park in Corvallis, the Oregon Train Museum, the Albany, Oregon Carousel Museum, Mc'Donald's Frapes. We had the time of our lives. Sometimes mom thought Carley was still alive. Sometimes we decide to let things be for the sake of love incalculably deep and sparkling. I cannot begin to say how much more there is to say. Shelby was with her. It was quiet and without pain. Unlike the outrage I hear in my own head decrying the injustice of death. Mom would be 94 on April 22nd. Earth Day. Her ashes will be with dad in Colorado Springs--just as she wanted. The body may scatter and drift away. But the memory of those we love with our whole hearts becomes an indelible melody for our minds to play for others as the stories of our lives. I love you, Mom. I love you.