I Miss You, Mom!

Rest In Peace

February 9, 1920 - December 14, 2006

Genevieve Evelyn Borden Deane, age 86, died at her daughter's home in Cedar Park, Texas on December 14, 2006, following a fruitful and fulfilling life.

She was born February 9, 1920, in Breeseport, NY
She was the Daughter of Myron Rockwell Borden and Orilla Brewer Davis

On May 16, 1937, She was united in marriage to James Deforest Deane in Port Allegany, PA.

Most of her adult life, Mrs. Deane resided in Niagara County NY where she and her husband operated their own business and later she worked for St. Mary's hospital in Lewiston NY. After retirement in 1980, the couple moved to Southern California and lived in Yucaipa, and Valencia, CA.

Mrs. Deane was a member of the Episcopal Church. And was a member of Gideon's International, Full Gospel Businessmen's Ladies Fellowship, and volunteered in the Ladies Auxiliary of Assembly of God San Bernardino California, helping to create quilts for the homeless.

Personally, her extended family included all the friends of her children who called her "Mom".

Among her interests, Genevieve was an avid seamstress sewing on her old Singer treadle machine, which later on was modified as an electric portable. She sewed by hand tiny stitches as her mother had taught her while quilting. But her favorite needlework was hand embroidery. Among pleasures in her life, she enjoyed gardening, antiquing, thrift shopping, yard sales, and swap meets, and collecting treasures such as sea shells and interesting rocks. She loved board games, cards, jigsaw puzzles and was an avid reader. In her early years, she wrote poetry which was recited on the WJJL radio station in Niagara Falls NY.

Genevieve attended Port Allegany High School in Port Allegany, PA and later graduated from Niagara Falls High School.

She is predeceased by her parents, Myron Rockwell Borden, and Orilla Davis Borden, her husband James Deforest Dean and sister, Carrie Borden Staples; brother, Alvin Borden, a son Lee Deforest Deane, and grandson, Raj Anil Megha.

Survivors include her four children, David, Lockport NY, Elizabeth Munroz, Watsonville, CA, Roger, Scottsdale, AZ, and Suzan Simpson of Cedar Park, TX. Her grandchildren include Christine Deane, Lockport NY, Laurie Blunk, Alta Loma, CA, Therese Burton, Chicago IL, Xavier Rodriguez, San Francisco, CA, Carl Deane, Niagara Falls, NY and Varsha Megha,  Austin TX. She is also survived by 17 great-grandchildren and 4 great-great-grandchildren who will surely miss her loving arms around them.

Great-Grandchildren include Moses, Brittany, Marquis, Andrew, Justin, Michael, Breanna, Chloe, Kezia, Moriah, Tiara, Kory, Storm, Jasmine, Sterling, Rain, Anjulique, Ashanti and Rajen

Great-Great Grandchildren are Daniel, Matthew, and Alexander


With special thanks and gratitude to my sister Suzan, who devoted herself to my mother that last year of her life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: new great-great-grandchildren, Rylee, India, and Raj have been born since 2006 with another one due any moment.

Mystery

 I look at the mess outside my back door the birds have made of the sunflower seed shells.  I'm responsible for some of that mess. I've been feeding them. But the possum has contributed too, trying to get to the bird seed, tipping over pots and stools and other garden paraphernalia. Not to mention his...  poop. Possum's poop a lot, and not just in one place but everywhere they go!

I'm sad. This mess is sad. It's a sorry excuse for a memorial ceremony location. I should clean it up.

Last year at this time, I was beside myself in shock. I had all the symptoms, rapid pulse, cold skin, perspiration, tightness in the chest, and an overwhelming sense of horror.

Who knew that loving someone so much for twenty years could bring upon such intensity?

I couldn't comprehend the possibility that I would remain sane. I sure didn't feel sane. That first six months was the most difficult. I went to bed at night and all I could think about was her. Not the good times we had. No. All I could think about was her death, and the things that led up to it.  I awoke in the same thought pattern day after day, night after night. I couldn't stop myself.

As clear as the moment it happened, I see her now, slipping out the door as I reach for the mail. She's plodding across the yard where her favorite plant grows... has been growing for years. Due to my recent surgery, I'm hobbling behind her. I liked to watch as she pads around her cat mint, and sniffs selectively until she finds that one perfectly formed leaf for her enjoyment. She nibbles. She lingers, waiting for my approach.

If only she hadn't.

I wasn't fast enough. The neighbor had let her dog out. He headed toward my house. I saw it coming. I tried, but couldn't run. There was no way I could have stopped it. It was instantaneous.

I heard a blood curdling scream as the dog's body slammed my little eight pound girl. It was me who screamed, but it sounded like it came from outside myself, as if the whole neighborhood had screamed. I saw her hurled away across the sidewalk.

It happened so fast.

I kept obsessively going over that in my mind, trying to re-capture that moment. It seemed she simply disappeared. Certainly she was suddenly not there.

My scream had startled the dog and his owner so much that everything shifted. For a moment the dog stood stock still and did not give her chase, but ran away. The neighbor and I had harsh words.

Since the door was still open, Keli made her way back inside before I got there. I examined her. No blood. She seemed herself. She seemed okay sitting there on her rocking chair, as usual.

It took two weeks as her life began to fade. I took her to the Vet, not relating the episode with the dog to her demise, because she was so old. It was the Vet who wrote in her chart about a mass in her adomen, the lack of bowel sounds. He asked if she'd been injured. Then, it all clicked.

It was too late to save her, he said. I could pay a thousand dollars and they would do everything they could, but he didn't feel there would be much hope at her advanced age, the fact she was dehydrated, etc. etc. I needed to let her go.

NEVER, NEVER, NEVER take your very sick pet to the vet without having a friend go with you!!! Driving home is extremely dangerous, for other drivers, as well as yourself. Several times, I had to pull over just to breathe. I was convinced I would pass out, but not within my senses enough to just stop driving entirely. Very dangerous.

Every night before I slept I re-lived the vet office visit, her looking into my eyes with such clarity that last moment. Every morning the same thing. I thought I would die from the grief.

So here I am a year later, and her resting place beside the back door is a mess with seed hulls and possum poop. Naturally, I got busy and started cleaning. I decided to go out to her favorite plant, her cat mint, dig it up and transplant it. Put it beside her. It gets such beautiful blue flowers on it.

Much to my surprise, I can't even call it surprise.

Just imagine ..... I find the location of Keli's cat mint and discover instead, a four foot circle of dead plant. All the living flowers and grasses surround that circle. But, nothing invades the space that once was the living plant my cat loved.

Today would have been her 21st Birthday

Keli Clementine

Beloved Friend

August 27 1989 to March 18 2009

First Anniversary

I look at the mess winter has created outside my back door. I look at the mess the birds have made with all the sunflower seed shells. I'm responsible for some of that mess. I've been feeding them. The possum has contributed, too; trying to get to the bird seed, tipping over pots and stools and other garden paraphernalia. Not to mention his...  poop! Opossum's poop a lot, and not just in one place. It's everywhere!

I'm sad. This mess is sad. It's a sorry excuse for a memorial park. A memorial plot, I mean. There's no honor here.

Last year at this time, I was beside myself in shock. I had all the symptoms, rapid pulse, cold skin, perspiration, tightness in the chest, and an overwhelming sense of horror. Who knew that loving someone so much for twenty years could bring upon such intensity?

I couldn't comprehend the possibility that I would remain sane. I sure didn't feel sane. That first six months was the most difficult. I went to bed at night and all I could think about was her. Not the good times we had. No. All I could think about was her death, and the things that led up to it.  I awoke in the same thought pattern. I couldn't stop myself.

As clear as the moment it happened, I see her now, heading out the door as I reach for the mail, She's plodding across the yard to the far corner where her favorite plant grows. I head out behind her, hobbling along due to my recent surgery. I like to be with her, watching, as she pads around her plant, and sniffs selectively. Though I worry, she avoids the bumble bees like an expert and finds that one perfectly formed leaf for her enjoyment. She nibbles. I'll catch up to her soon. I can break off a stem, carry her back inside.

This was not catnip. Though Keli enjoyed catnip, she also had a penchant for a closely related plant most of us call cat mint. She preferred it over regular catnip. She had passed up the big patch of catnip by the door in order to get to her special plant.

If only she hadn't.

I wasn't fast enough. The neighbor had let her dogs out and headed toward my house. It was almost like I saw it coming. I couldn't run. There was no way I could have stopped it.

It was instantaneous.


I heard a blood curdling scream as the dog's body slammed my little eight pound girl. It was me who screamed but it sounded like it came from outside myself, as if the whole neighborhood had screamed. I can't say I saw her hurled away. It happened so fast. Have I blocked it?

I kept going over that in my mind, trying to capture that moment. Was she under her own power in escaping? Certainly she was suddenly not there, and my scream had startled the dog and his owner, so much that everything  shifted. The dog stood stock still and did not give chase, but ran away. The neighbor and I had harsh words.

Since the door was still open, Keli had made her way back inside before I got there. I examined her. No blood. She seemed herself. She seemed okay sitting there on her rocking chair, as usual.

It took two weeks as her life began to fade. I took her to the Vet, not relating the episode with the dog to her demise. It was the Vet who wrote in her chart about a mass in her abdomen, the lack of bowel sounds. He asked if she'd been injured. Then, it all clicked. It was too late to save her, he said. I could pay a thousand dollars and they would do everything they could, but he didn't feel there would be much hope at her advanced age, the fact she was dehydrated, etc. etc. I needed to let her go. He was very kind. Seemed like he loved her as much as I.

NEVER, NEVER, NEVER take your very sick pet to the vet without having a friend go with you!!! Driving home is extremely dangerous, for other drivers, as well as yourself. Several times, I had to pull over just to breathe. I was convinced I would pass out, but not within my senses enough to just stop driving entirely. Very dangerous.

Every night before I slept I re-lived the vet office visit, her looking into my eyes with such clarity that last moment. Every morning the same thing. I thought I would die from the grief. I wished I would. I felt insane.

So here I was a year later, and her resting place beside the back door was... a mess. Naturally, I got busy and started cleaning.

I decided to go out to her favorite plant, her cat mint, dig it up, transplant it, put it beside her. It gets such beautiful blue flowers on it. The neighborhood cats wont disturb it. She was the only one who ever munched on it.

Much to my surprise, I can't even call it surprise, just imagine ..... well, you explain it.

I found the location of Keli's cat mint and discover instead, a four foot circle of dead plant. All the spring flowers and grasses surround that circle. But, nothing invades the space that once was the living plant my cat loved.

Can you explain it? How very, very odd.