Old white woman

My mother was 94 years old when she died. She was an old white woman who sat in her room and read all day. She didn't do anything famous. She didn't die from a gunshot wound. She didn't catch COVID.

The world will not mourn her loss. There will be no public funerals or protests against her death. No eulogy will be shouted from the courthouse steps. The flag will not fly at half staff.

And yet, her passing marks the end of a remarkable life. She knew princes and Queens. Ran for political office. Walked the hallowed halls of embassies halfway around the world. 

She designed and built 4 houses. Managed her own restaurant. Ran the kitchen for countless delis and restaurants. Saved more than one business from financial ruin.

She could paint. She was a visionary potter. Her gardens were always lush and fruitful. Her animals were always healthy.  Everywhere she went, she created a sanctuary.  That was her gift.

This unassuming, average woman will remain anonymous. But it is she, like others of her ilk, who deserves to be honored with grand ceremonies and public displays of grief. For these stoic wives and daughters are the backbone of every nation.