The world has lost one of its shining lights: my mother in law, Dorothy Jean. Words fail me or maybe they get in the way. I've heard some horror stories from friends about their husband's mothers, so let me tell you, I got incredibly lucky. Dorothy treated me like I was her very own daughter. She welcomed me into her home and her world, throwing me birthday parties and ladies luncheons and even a wedding shower. She made dinner for us every week. We were always foremost on her mind - even to her last breath. If I had any walls up she eased them down with an accepting, pure and unconditional love. I suspect she did this with many people she came into contact with and probably didn’t even know it. She was a living example of compassion and humility. I simply can't say enough good things about her.

In the last few weeks of her life, I was able to take her to several of her doctor appointments. We would go to the appointments and then have lunch either at Subway or Panda Express. She refused to try Japanese food. I told her the sushi was cooked; sashimi was raw. She was dubious.

Dorothy had a tumor in her throat that had been giving her trouble for years; causing her to lose one of her vocal chords many years ago. Over the past year the tumor had gotten considerably larger making it difficult for her to swallow or speak. Tuesday evening my father in law called to confirm that I was driving her to her doctor appointment the following Friday. Dwight, my husband had them on speaker phone. She wasn't able to say much so I briefly let them know I would be there Friday, not to worry.

The following evening Dwight and I arrived home from a free Los Lobos concert given at a record store near our place. We were in good spirits. Chitter-chattering as we always do, when my cell phone rang. It was Sarkis, my father in law calling to say that Dorothy did not fell well and could we please come over. I immediately got worried. Even with every physical ailment she had, she NEVER complained to us about how she felt. If she was in any pain, which she must have been, she never let us know it. She simply did not want to spend our time together discussing it. I could vaguely hear her whispering in the background. We got our bags together to stay the night. Weeks prior she'd been hospitalized for abdominal pain. A stool softener seemed to take care of matters. We assumed she was having the same problem again.

We made our way over to their apartment in the Valley. An ambulance was arriving at the same time. “Do you think that’s for Dorothy?” I asked Dwight. Still not really grasping the situation at that point, I guess. My heart started racing then. The ride in the elevator up to their apartment on the eleventh floor seemed to take forever. We dashed into their apartment, dropping our bags in the living room. Sarkis came out and lead us into the bedroom. Dorothy was slumped over in a white chair in the middle of the room, her red head at her knees, knuckles touching the floor. I touched her and said her name. No response. Dwight came over and shook her. Ma! Mama! Dorothy! Nothing. She was gone.

The paramedics and fire department came up a few moments later. We let them take over in the bedroom; we waited in the living room. I could hear them working in the bedroom for a short while. Maybe five minutes. Maybe seven. Maybe ten. “Should we call it?” one of them asked. “Yeah, about 12:20am,” another answered. The police arrived to the apartment because when any death occurs by law they must do so. Sarkis and Dwight described the events to the policemen. One of them told us we should call a funeral home to help dispose of the body, sooner rather than later.

Sarkis produced a worn looking newspaper clipping for a cremation ad from his wallet that must have been several years old. He said that’s what Dorothy wanted. No funeral. She wanted to be cremated and scattered near Catalina where she used to enjoy swimming. Dwight asked me to call them along with a few others just to compare them. We settled on the one from the newspaper clipping. While Dwight completed the arrangements with the funeral home, Sarkis asked me to help him in the bedroom. He wanted to remove Dorothy’s wedding ring prior to the funeral home arriving and was having trouble taking it off. I helped him, trying not to be horrified about what I might feel. Her hand still had a bit of warmth left. I pulled the ring from her finger and handed it to Sarkis who immediately slipped it onto his pinky finger. He pulled the sheet back over her hand and we left the room together.

The funeral home finally arrived. We directed the man to the bedroom, unable to say much; we were worn. It must have been 4:30 in the morning. We decided we would not watch the man stretch Dorothy’ body out on the gurney he brought. The process seemed to take an eternity. When he was finished her body was in a body bag and I noted how long her body looked there stretched on the gurney. The point in her life at which I’d met Dorothy, sclerosis had caused a severe curvature of her spine diminishing her statuesque 5’9” frame to about 5’3.”

Still, she allowed nothing to get her down. Still, years ago when her car was stolen she responded, “Their need is greater than ours.” She inspired her both her son and nephew to become teachers as she was one for about 35 years. She always said “There’s no such thing as a bad boy” and even her worst behaved students’ eyes would light up at the sight of her. She was an excellent swimmer and relieved her nephew from his fear of swimming in the ocean. She always continued to reach out to those who might reject her. And though she could barely speak in the last few days of her life, she called her prayer group leader to ask who she could pray for. That is just the kind of woman Dorothy was.