by Susan Elizabeth Wiggins

Created on: July 21, 2009   Last Updated: August 24, 2009

Mama died on a Monday. It was in January, the seventh, to be exact. A new year, a new week; a new role in life for me, as I was now a motherless child. If I was, in fact, to be totally honest, it has been more than thirty years since my childhood. Young or old, I still miss my Mother.

Actually, Momma left us a few years before her death. She didn't purposefully desert her family, it was more like she was abducted.... yes... that's definitely what I'd compare it to, a kidnapping.

Momma's abductor, went by the name Alzheimer's Disease, a cold hearted thief which, bit by bit, steals everything, with the exception of a broken, beating heart. You wait, day after day, but never receive a ransom note, or anything to make a deal with. Each day you wait, but at the day's end, still no news; no deals.

For nearly five years I watched the steady decline of this beautiful lady, as gradually, my mother and I exchanged roles. She was, and still is, highly revered amongst those of us who had the good fortune to have our lives touched by her.

When I was a small child, Momma spent hours reading the stories to me from our collection of Little Golden Books. Many more hours were spent in her warm comfy lap while she rocked me in her rocking chair and softly sang lullabies. Momma had seven children, and each received the same pampering, in their early years. As we grew we each formed our own special bond with Mama. I realize, I was so blessed to have a mom who was a good, and loving mother.

Before the "abduction", my mother was a lady of refinement, or as my dad said numerous times, "A classy chick." That is the best description I can think of. When she went out her purse matched her shoes, her shoes matched her dress. She always wore beautiful jewelry, although most of it was costume but, she usually wore the whole set, earrings, necklace or brooch, bracelet and ring. Whatever she did, she did it up right. A stark contrast to the confused person who couldn't even dress herself.

My dad has shared stories with me of my mom since her passing. My favorite took place on Momma's fortieth birthday. Daddy jokingly said, "Polly, Now that you're forty, I've been thinking about trading you in for two twenties." Momma didn't bat an eye or, miss a beat as she replied, in a matter of fact, manner, "Dear, you are not WIRED for 220!" (I can almost hear the rim shot every time he tells that one.)

She was a woman who had confidence in her own charm yet she didn't make demands. Yup, she

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