It is often during times like these that we ask ourselves "why"? Why Larna? Why now? For some the answer is that it is God's plan or will, while for others the answer is that this is how the universe will unfold. The true answer may only be known by those who have pierced the veil of time, and traveled beyond this mortal coil. Voltaire once said, "To the living we owe respect, but to the dead we owe only the truth". What is the truth of a life? Like any other soul who has ever walked this earth, and all who ever will, Mom had her good times and bad, aspects of her character which were both divine and profane; the demons and angels of her nature. Mom's life began in 1946 in Mexia, TX. She was the youngest of three children born during and after a time of great trial known as WWII. During her early life she developed a deep love of music, and a talent for drawing, and art. She also developed a deep love of family. She would, in the fullness of time pass her artistic talent on to her own daughter. Her love of music, and family she passed on to all of her children. In her teenage and early adult years she honed vocal talents that would induce envy in the angels. I first met her in 1974 after a very trying 21 hour labor. Her second child came along in 1975, and She did her best to entreat us to get along, but boys will be boys. This was a rough time for Mom as she had two young children to raise and marriage which had all but dissolved. She made it through by the grace of her God, and with the help of those who loved her. Her third and fourth children came a bit later, in the mid-eighties. Even though there was some turmoil surrounding those births, there was never any lack of love from Mom. My Mother would, throughout the course of her life symbolically adopt any person, child or adult, who would hang around long enough for her to share her love with them. This never took very long. My own favorite memories of Mom were her love for campy old horror movies, and the times when as a special treat she'd let me stay up late with her and watch the Carol Burnett show. Mom often sang or was asked to sing in church and at public venues. She was a bit shy and self-conscious singing in public though, but sang beautifully in spite of it. Her best "concerts" however were when she would sing in full voice at home along with one of her many records or a capella. I recall many times when the weather was temperate we'd leave the windows and doors of the house open, and Mom would be singing to one or other of her records, mostly gospel, and people in our small neighborhood would stand just outside the house to listen to her singing unconstrained by shyness. Even those who did not normally like gospel, or the Statler Brothers, or Olivia Newton John would come, young and not so young, and stand enraptured by Mom's voice. My mother was never an educated woman, but in spite of this had a great love of reading books. She was never successful financially, but would always find a way to help those even less fortunate than she was. As human beings are wont to do, Mom would often falter in life, but would always forgive and encourage to betterment those who faltered around her. In her time she knew the heights of ecstasy such as the births of her children, and the depths of despair when she watched people close to her wither and die. On the morning when I recieved the call from the hospital, knowing with every fiber of my being what the contents of that call would be before I even answered it, I thought of Mom not the way I had left her a scant twelve hours before, broken and suffering, but I thought of her smile, and the warmth of her embrace. As I walked with great trepidation down the hallway to see her mortal remains, I did my best to hear her voice in my head. Looking down at the shell which had once been my Mother, I quoted a familiar epitaph to my wife who was crying even more than I was: " As you are now, I once was. As I am now you will some day be." So what is the truth of a life? The truth of a life is this: we celebrate the beginning, and we mourn the end, but it's everything in the middle which is truly important. Mom lived.