Mary Ann Krehbiel, rest in peace

My mother died Tuesday night, mostly from complications of liver problems that I suspect were caused by her doctor prescribing too many medications. Medicine can be a blessing and a curse.

It’s hard for me to write about my mother. It’s as if I have all these thoughts and feelings, but they can’t make it across the corpus callosum into the executive language functions. I find myself falling back on specific things about her, but none of those things do justice to how I feel about her.

We like to remember the good things about people who have passed, and while I used to dislike that custom — it didn’t seem honest — I think it’s right and proper. We need to have models and guides in our lives. Things to strive for. And my mother provided more than her share of admirable traits for which she’ll always be remembered.

Neither of my parents went to college after high school. My dad went into the service, and they got married. But they always emphasized education. The talk around the dinner table was usually about some interesting intellectual issue — never sports or anything like that.

My mom’s life revolved around her kids, and she was very involved in our lives. After she raised us, she went back to school and studied psychology, eventually getting a doctoral degree. She worked doing psychological testing for the Navy, and became an expert in administering standard psychological tests, including the Rorschach (which I always thought was stupid until she explained how it worked).

As a kid, I disliked and resented psychology, for complicated reasons, but now I find myself fascinated by it, and I spend a lot of my time reading about and listening to psychologists.

At her retirement, I learned how much she had accomplished professionally, and how all the interns looked up to her and relied on her for training. But psychology was merely an interest. Her vocation was her family.

Mom never wanted people to make a fuss over her. She was always self-deprecating, and putting others first. As a very trivial example, when she was in the hospital, she had a very hard time understanding some of the doctors who were not native English speakers, but she didn’t want them to feel bad, so she told them she was a little hard of hearing. When my father went through his long decline, my mother cared for him without complaining.

She had enough money to get by, but she had to keep a close watch on her finances and would worry over small expenses. She nevertheless bought presents for all her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I don’t know how she kept track of all the names and birthdays. Her five kids had 18 kids, and I don’t even know how many great-grandchildren she has.

Recently I’ve had to go through her records to figure out her bills. Despite her tight budget, she always gave to charities.

Grandma was the glue of the family. She loved to have people over, and sometimes she was a little manipulative about it. She’d buy a lot of food and plan an event on the chance that people would come by over the weekend. She’d work hard to have appetizers and drinks and more food than anybody could need.

She was raised in a different world, and had strict moral standards, but managed not to be judgmental. You knew where she stood, but she didn’t lecture or judge. She accepted everybody.

We all have strange connections with our parents that we never really understand. I find that I get choked up about certain things, and I’ve never been quite sure why. I’m not generally a crying kind of a guy, but some things — usually things having to do with loyalty or bravery or self-sacrifice — make me tear up, and it was only in the last few years that I realized Mom is the same way. I don’t know if I inherited that or learned it from her.

I feel that anything I write is inadequate and can’t express the depth of what she meant to me and to the whole family.

Last night I had a chat with some of my kids, and this morning while I was preparing breakfast some little detail came to mind, and I thought, “I need to tell Mom about that.” Then I realized that I couldn’t, and I was tempted to be very sad about it. Instead, I think I’ll just continue to talk to Mom about the minor doings of the family.