Little Frances

My mother died on Tuesday, July 13, 2010 after a long illness. As a child, she was called little Frances, because her mother's name was Frances too. I was named Jacqueline for my dad and Francine for my mom. My dad cared for my mom at home in Florida, and he recently had triple bypass surgery, so my 80 year old aunt came to help my mom, while I was at home in Alaska. What's wrong with this picture?

I have been unable to visit my parents since 1997 due to chemical injuries that developed over many years until I finally became housebound. I have improved somewhat over time, so that I have more mobility--I've even been to Japan to visit my son. Some call it the Land of the Rising Sun, but I call it The Land of Clotheslines, as opposed to brain-numbing dryer exhaust that is almost inescapable in the US. I'm just not strong enough to endure an onslaught of petroleum-laced yard, home, and personal care products in a town with two paper mills and mosquito spraying that you can call in like an airstrike, not after flying, and not while driving a toxic rental car, and most important, not while being misunderstood or even criticized for being ill.

I will be writing a tribute to my mom, but I wanted to begin with why this kind of venue is necessary. Anyone who has not faced a physical barrier to family participation, cannot imagine the isolation. But even more painful than an isolated life and the challenges of illness, is the judgment and cruelty of people who lack compassion for anything outside their own experience.