Last Tuesday, at approximately five in the afternoon, my wife Violet's mother Gizella Horvath passed away. She was 63.
She'd been in and out of hospital many times over the last few months, but on Christmas Eve she went to stay. Her condition stabilized but never improved, and on the Friday before last it took a turn for the worst. From what I understand, she had a bad heart. That led to many health problems, the final one being kidney failure.
Sadly, she'd just been discharged from her hospital and sent to a nursing home. She didn't even have the chance to sign in before being rushed to the nearest hospital to that home, where she was put on a respirator. She slipped into a coma, and it was clear she was never going to recover. She was taken off the respirator, and passed away minutes later.
The funeral was last Saturday. Many people came, both family and friends - far more than Violet and her sister Georgina expected. My parents came up from Ottawa to cook meals and help with the driving. Georgina came up from Brockville to host the reception and help Violet deal with the estate. My dad and I served as pallbearers.
The first time she met me, I was in my underwear. Maybe sometime I'll explain the context. It didn't put her off me, however - she looked so delighted when Violet and I announced our engagement. She called me Timmy. I called her Mummy. She loved to cook, and took great joy in watching us eat. In that respect, I was the perfect son-in-law; I always asked for extra helpings.
Now that the funeral is over and the funeral home has been paid, we have a chance to miss her. I try to keep Violet in good spirits. Sometimes I am successful, sometimes not. Either way, she has me. I'll do all I can to help her through this.
Goodbye, Mummy. We miss you. I miss you.