Becky Kaiser - Sitio Web Conmemorativo En Línea

Born on November 25, 1950.

Passed away on March 24, 2010 at the age of 59

This is my story... by Cara

Rebecca Ann Kaiser hated her first name. She always would rather be called "Becky" and cringed when people called her "Rebecca." Had someone called her "Rebecca" on the phone, she already knew it was a telemarketer and Mom would hang up. She was a feisty woman with a heart of pure gold.

Growing up, my mother was very crafty. She would make me puff-paint shirts and sew me clothes from patterns. Little did I know I'd break her heart in 4th grade when I told her I couldn't wear the items she made me anymore because I was getting made fun of at school.

Mom has never been one to tell a lie. Her entire life, Mom was known to be very blunt and very truthful when giving her opinion on any topic- which was both taken as sometimes unwelcome, and most times refreshing. I've always jokingly said my mother had no tact. I'd rather she have no tact than lie to my face.

Mom and I didn't really have the greatest relationship growing up, but she was always there to support me. And during the time she supported me, she found a place where she, too, could make a difference. Mom was the one who got me into theatre at the age of 8. Through the years, she ended up being a costume mistress, a makeup artist, and a wig stylist. She even got Dad involved in set building. I remember nights where Mom and Dad would be up until 2am painting and building sets for my shows.

Mom was the one who insisted I join Girl Scouts and later became Service Unit Leader for Santa Clara County. She never was able to half-ass any activity. Mom always saw volunteer opportunities and dedicated her opinion, her heart, and her life to every project.

And then there was the time that I broke Mom's heart when I refused to participate in the St. Mary retreat to Asilomar for my confirmation. Mom was so dedicated in the church and hoping so much for me to continue in her footsteps... the day I told her I wasn't going to get confirmed she cried. I had never seen her cry outwardly because of something that I had done. Mom gave me the infamous silent treatment for nearly a week. By the end of the week, I was begging her to speak to me because I missed her voice and her hugs. And of course, she embraced me as she always did and we talked. I was always quick to argue in my youth, but Mom was always first to want to talk about things.

I was a jerk during high school. But I assume every teenager was to their parents. Even through my search for my biological parents, the teenage angst I went through, and those crazy boyfriends I brought home, Mom was still there to help me keep petty secrets from Dad and to slip me some money when I was in need.

And then I had my first child. Out of wedlock. Oh, but Mom was just so happy to have her first grandchild... she was my birthing coach in the hospital room and man, was she great. She never complained that I squeezed her hand too hard and she was there in perfect time to give me ice chips and rub my aching back.

Mom was in love with Emily. As unbiased as she tried to be, I knew she always had an extreme affinity for Emily. Emily was the first grandchild, and Emily was the only grandchild that she ever spent any active time with. By this time, Mom had been secretly suffering from various cancer treatments for nearly 3 years. But some years were better than others for Mom. And she definitely took advantage of when she felt good.

It wasn't until after I had my second child, Samantha, that I finally felt like I was friends with my mother. Mom and I could finally have adult conversations. As my husband put it, Mom and I had finally fallen into our roles as "Mother" and "Grandmother." There was more trust, and I respected my mother much more than I had in the past. There was no power-struggle, only grandchild spoiling and trips to the beach. Right when things got to be very comfortable for us, Mom's condition began to decline.

Mom and I talked forever during the past year. If I didn't hear from her one day, it was because we had already spoken earlier. I had made it a point to go and see her moreoften, volunteer at her library a bit more, take her to her appointments, speak to her about her condition, the troubles she was having with coping, funeral arrangements... We had finally gotten to the point where we could completely trust each other, and then...

I can't lie to any of you. I am sincerely pissed. I finally had the relationship that I had always wanted with my mother, and now I feel that has been ripped away from me. Not only me, but from my girls as well. I feel shafted. I had no clue she would be dying this year, and I feel lucky that I had just integrated myself into Mom's everyday life during her last year seamlessly. Would I have done anything differently had I known she was going to pass on? Probably not. And that's what I'm most thankful of. Being able to say I was able to experience the best type of relationship I could have had with my mother for a whole year before she died. And I have no regrets.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about Mom. I feel her soul has been gone from this earth for weeks, and finally her body was laid to rest. No amount of years working hospice ever made me prepared for this. But I'm willing to accept her death as long as I know she is no longer in pain and that she is watching over us.

As with any serious situation, I have a tendency to make light of the conversation by joking around- a trait I learned from my father. Two weeks ago I was watching "The Ghost Whisperer" with my mother, who at the time was completely cognizant, and we had a brief conversation. The episode featured the typical scenario of the souls not being able to pass because of some "unfinished business," and I turned and ask my mom with some sadness, "So, are you going to haunt me after you die, too?" and she laughed and said, "Absolutely! After all the hell you put me through in your teenage years, why wouldn't I?"

And that is how I'll remember my mom. Truthful, thoughtful, and funny when you least expect it. Mom, I will always miss your amazingly comforting hugs, I will remember you every time I smell Ivory bar soap or Jergens lotion, and I will always prefer cats over dogs because of you. I will always love you, your crazy watches, and your love for every life you touched. You are amazing.