Betty

My mother was my closest friend, and the kindest person I’ve ever known. For fifteen years she was a widow, becoming my neighbor and a frequent subject.

In one portrait that I presented to her on her birthday, I had painted a lovely diamond ring on her finger. She and my father married just before he shipped out to fight in World War II, and she never received a diamond engagement ring—an impossible extravagance. Fifty-five years later, she laughed at my gesture, but said, “make sure your brother knows it’s not real!”

I was happy to become her caretaker toward the end of her life. I only wish I could have eased the passing of the person I loved most.