When I Sleep…

My mother, Carol Saling, died September 27, 2018. She was born in East Liverpool, Ohio, in 1924 and would have been 94 this Christmas. Her dying, which was unexpected, followed a stroke that had occurred several days before. There was some lucidity for a day or two that brought about a rush of hopeful optimism among my brothers and me. But I think we recognized it for what it was and weren’t surprised when it proved itself short-lived.

Mom died in the hospital. But the house where she was living when she died is the same house she’d bought with my father 54 years before. It was the first house they’d bought since before I was born, and, for all I know, it was the only house either of them had ever owned. My father died in 1999, and for the 19 years following his death, she lived by herself in that house.

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Getting On

Yeats was a golden doodle who died too soon. A member of the family, my daughter called her Sister and told her daughters Yeats was their aunt. It was meant to be fun, but it was also befitting. She was the third member of our household — Sandy, Joe, Yeats. She completed us.

She was born, as close as we can tell, December 8, 2008. She died September 20, 2018. Nine years 9 months. Too soon. She is missed, but she will always be a part of who we are.

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