When your mother dies on Groundhog Day…
1
When your mother dies on Groundhog Day, her passing is always associated with Punxsutawney.
2
When your mother dies on Groundhog Day, her passing is always associated with Punxsutawney.
You don’t relive the day, not exactly, but it has similar beats.
3
You don’t relive the day, not exactly, but it has similar beats.
In the hospital, you think that she is in great distress, so you ring for help, and a troop of nurses run in before they notice that she has a DNR.
4
In the hospital, you think that she is in great distress, so you ring for help, and a troop of nurses run in before they notice that she has a DNR.
One nurse scolds me, “She has a DNR.” I knew that but didn’t know what somebody sounded like before they died.
5
One nurse scolds me, “She has a DNR.” I knew that but didn’t know what somebody sounded like before they died.
She’s not in great distress; it’s merely the death rattle. Sorry, nurse, this is my first time seeing someone die.
6
She’s not in great distress; it’s merely the death rattle. Sorry, nurse, this is my first time seeing someone die.
Mom passes.
7
Mom passes.
There’s no point in calling your sisters, who are already en route. One of your sisters says, “Oh, she’s sleeping,” and you say, “Umm, no, she passed.”
8
There’s no point in calling your sisters, who are already en route. One of your sisters says, “Oh, she’s sleeping,” and you say, “Umm, no, she passed.”
You have to make decisions about the “disposition of the body,” and you’re annoyed because you’re still in the shock and grief section of the process.
9
You have to make decisions about the “disposition of the body,” and you’re annoyed because you’re still in the shock and grief section of the process.
You all leave the hospital, and you don’t rush to worry about what the plan is for the funeral. We already know what the plan is going to be.
10
You all leave the hospital, and you don’t rush to worry about what the plan is for the funeral. We already know what the plan is going to be.
She’s going to be cremated and buried next to her husband of 50 years in a North Carolina military cemetery.
11
She’s going to be cremated and buried next to her husband of 50 years in a North Carolina military cemetery.
We tell Trudy stories.
12
We tell Trudy stories, well-worn tales about her making a meal, which we have always described as tasting like the green bleaching crystals of the laundry detergent called Oxydol. It was awful.
13
…well-worn tales about her making a meal, which we have always described as tasting like the green bleaching crystals of the laundry detergent called Oxydol. It was awful.
Then we remembered how much she loved Nat King Cole, not just his voice but his looks, and it made us happy that she had this crush on the man who wasn’t our father, oddly enough.
14
When your mother dies on Groundhog Day, her passing is always associated with Punxsutawney.
You don’t relive the day, not exactly, but it has similar beats.
In the hospital, you think that she is in great distress, so you ring for help, and a troop of nurses run in before they notice that she has a DNR.
One nurse scolds me, “She has a DNR.” I knew that but didn’t know what somebody sounded like before they died.
She’s not in great distress; it’s merely the death rattle. Sorry, nurse, this is my first time seeing someone die.
Mom passes.
There’s no point in calling your sisters, who are already en route. One of your sisters says, “Oh, she’s sleeping,” and you say, “Umm, no, she passed.”
You have to make decisions about the “disposition of the body,” and you’re annoyed because you’re still in the shock and grief section of the process.
You all leave the hospital, and you don’t rush to worry about what the plan is for the funeral. We already know what the plan is going to be.
She’s going to be cremated and buried next to her husband of 50 years in a North Carolina military cemetery.
We tell Trudy stories, well-worn tales about her making a meal, which we have always described as tasting like the green bleaching crystals of the laundry detergent called Oxydol. It was awful.
Then we remembered how much she loved Nat King Cole, not just his voice but his looks, and it made us happy that she had this crush on the man who wasn’t our father, oddly enough.
Gertrude Elizabeth (Williams) Green, known as Trudy, was born November 17th, 1927, and died February 2nd, 2011.
Before getting into the 1915 #1 hits, I should note how the charts were compiled per Joel Whitburn’s A Century of Pop Music. Talking Machine World published monthly lists of the best-selling records as provided by the major record companies from 1914 to 1921. Billboard offered a weekly list of the most popular songs in vaudeville from 1913 to 1918. ASCAP published a selected list of the most popular songs in its history. 
Recently, I posted on Facebook a cartoon called Bishop Takes King, drawn by David Cohen, “an Asheville-based artist/musician and resident of over forty years. He primarily draws editorial and commissioned cartoons for various outlets and companies.”
Why Your Brain Blanks on Familiar 
My wife and I went to the Spectrum Theatre in Albany to see A Complete Unknown at a Saturday matinee in late December. I asked the cashier whether people approached them and sang the title. They said a few did because they were trying to remember the film’s name; rather than saying, “Oh, the Dylan film,” they dug up the line from Like a Rolling Stone. The theater was quite full, with most patrons appearing to be eligible for Social Security.