“Orange or prune juice?”
“Orange”.

That was my last conversation with Mom.

Nobody picks prune.

But her hospice nurse suggested it.

My sister had a better last conversation.

She asked Mom if she still wanted to be here.

Hospice told us…let her know it‘s ok to go.

But my sister asked…

“Do you want to stay?”

Mom said…”Of course I want to be here, I love you.”

She passed away the next day.

But what a life…

When I went to middle school, Mom went to college.

So smart she skipped two grades in school.

But her dad died when she was young and she didn’t finish college.

My dad was the Chief of Police (what fun for a teenager) in Hampton VA.

So, mom enrolled in Hampton University, a historically black college.

She was a different coed in every way.

When we moved to DC, and I went to college, Mom went to college….with me.

I went to GWU.

She went to GWU.

She got her masters degree in art history.

As I assiduously avoided her on campus.

The guys on the basketball team (two of whom I dated) took art history for an easy A.

And who doesn’t want Mom in class with the guys?

She loved art, opera, and God.

Mom had more rosary beads than God.

She loved Shakespeare, Broadway and yoga.

She never (ever) left the house without makeup on.
And she loved the color pink.

Our homes were always painted pink.

Kids would say “I’m going to play at the pink house.”

How secure in his manhood was my Dad.

He loved her.

Everyone did.

She loved to travel and to teach.

She taught us to read before kindergarten.

And she was a substitute kindergarten teacher.

She once told a small student to sit down.

He said…”My dad’s going to kick your ass around the block.”

I don’t think Mom had ever heard such language.

Speaking of language….

She taught herself French.

She was a docent at the National Portrait Gallery.

Once she saw Robert Redford slip in.

Is celebrity sighting an inherited trait?

He was in DC researching All The President’s Men

She told the other docents.

They didn’t believe her until it was in The Washington Post.

She played tennis and bridge, rode horses and did crossword puzzles.

She made us matching dresses and Christmas cookies for friends (that she hid on a shelf we tried to reach).

She made us bring a current event to dinner at night.

She loved reading to us.

And reading by herself in the bathroom (perhaps seeking a moment away from us).

Occasionally she’d sneak a cigarette in the potty.

My oldest sister copied that behavior and nearly burned the house down.

Mom didn’t want the stray cat that wandered into our yard.

But when she no longer had us to cook for, she cooked shrimp and scallops for that cat.

She was a loving aunt, sister, daughter, grandmother, wife and mother.

She had three daughters, a sister, a niece and a grandson.

All of whom she adored.

A few years ago I took Mom to visit her sister.
They giggled about fights over clothes from 85 years ago.

And shared stories about their mother.

Grandma was a character.

She gave us coffee (as kids!) and told us (somewhat inappropriate) jokes that we were instructed to never repeat.

They all eventually moved to Florida (as east coast elders do).

But after my Dad passed, mom moved to Malibu to be with us.

She became another mother to all my friends.

They all called her Dorothy 2.

But wasn’t she Dorothy 1?

She was the OG.

She lived up the street & then downstairs at my house for 10 years.

In the last few years my sister and I took care of her

In the last few months hospice helped.

It’s hard when your brilliant mother doesn’t remember how to brush her teeth.

Or remember you.

Occasionally she’d say…

“Is this a hotel?”

When she was hungry…she’d ask for room service.

I was room service.

I made her three meals a day.

She should have spent more time teaching me to cook.

She was a great cook.

And kind of a health nut.

She wore yoga pants and drank celery juice before it was cool.

Yet put cinnamon and sugar on toast and butter and cream on everything else.

The one time she asked Dad to cook he put the entire can of tomato soup in the pot to heat it.

We were all (even the cat) spoiled.

The last week of her life I made her pasta with butter and cream and she had three helpings.

In the last three days her breathing was labored.

A heart that beats for over 90 years is overworked.

It was a spacious, gracious heart.

She was always volunteering for something.

Or volunteering us for something.

A few years ago she went to Mexico with Nash and me to build homes for the homeless.

She loved having a hotdog (or two) at Nash’s baseball games.

She loved arguing with Mr G over how long to cook the turkey.

She helped me cook Thanksgiving dinner on Good Day LA.

And came to work with me to meet Joel Osteen.

Normally you‘d get a quick hello in the green room, but there was breaking news so she spent an hour with Joel & Victoria.

Joel said he might stop the funny stories at the start of his sermons.

Mom said keep them.

And he did.

Everyone made a fuss over her at my show.

Steve Edwards called her Legs.

She had the best legs.

And liked short skirts.

Is that an inherited trait?

And did I mention she was gorgeous?

Before Covid she was with my sister at Starbucks and someone asked if Mom was an old time movie star.

She was everything but…

Early in life she worked in advertising in NYC (very Mad Men) late in life she got real estate license.

She was the first person I knew to have a PC and an email address.

She was the first person to tell me I could do anything in life.

And I believed her.

But with all she accomplished…

She always said…

“I just want to be the best mother in the world.”

She was.

It’s hard to say was.

It’s hard to say she’s gone.

But with the grief there’s relief.

She passed peacefully.

My sister and I were there.

Her nurse said…she brought you into this world, and you were holding her hands as she left.

She left.

It’s hard to write that.

When I was five I wrote a kids book (it’s about five pages).

It was called The Fish Who Became Famous

It’s about a whale who becomes a school bus.

A whale isn’t a fish, but you know, I was five.

She was so proud of my “book” she saved it, and gave it to me when I was forty.

She always wanted me to write.

So now I’m writing about you Mom.

The original Dorothy Lucey.

A woman so ahead of her time.

A woman who embraced all life had to offer.

Except prune juice