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My mother was born Heilman Chandler Brenaman April 1, 1914 in Iowa to Harry and Omah Brenaman.  During the Great Depression, the family traveled to Oregon.  She had three younger brothers Al, Ralph, and Lester that she loved and looked after.  Her odd first and middle name came from relatives.  She was known as Sue.

She married my father Grant in Oregon and had my older sister named Sharon (she now goes by Alex), and I.  We were well cared for and brought up to become more or less successful adults.  In order to get out of the house or to make enough money for our college expenses, stories vary; she worked hard at the local Jantzen Knitting Mills when clothes were still widely produced in the USA.  Her task sewing bras into bathing suits led to her bowling teams name “Three Ts”, for titty tackers.

Sister Alex ended up in Oak Park, Illinois, and I in California.  In 1997 my elderly mother had no relatives around, so for her support and to make money selling our house, we moved close to her.  Over the next several years her health declined, but she still got around some and had her wits about her.

By 2009, she was in poor shape.  She insisted that we get her to the Oregon Health & Science University quickly after her death because she was in a brain study which required an examination of her brain as quickly post-mortem as possible.  Before her ninety-fifth birthday, she called me from her apartment and asked me to take her to a hospital because she was sick and vomiting.  I didn’t have the car, so I told her to get someone else to take her.  Later when my wife got back with the car, we visited with her at the hospital.  We were told we could take her home or leave her until the next morning, implying she would make it.

Late that night we got a call.  We assumed that she had died, but it was a call about her medications.  The next call announced her death.  It was something like the book “The Postman Always Rings Twice”.  When you think it will be all right, you find out it isn’t.

The autopsy showed signs of mild dementia, a subdural hematoma, and a back injury.  She had kept some of her falls a secret from us.

Sue lived a tough life and outlived all of her younger brothers.  I think that she would have made it to her hundredth birthday except for her cigarette addiction that lasted more than seventy years.

This was a rejected story with the theme “Rememberance”. Can’t think of any other place for it now.