Son Steve's Posting on December 4, 2023:

Yesterday, at the beautiful College Manor nursing home in Lutherville, MD, my mother, Mary Alice Tate Bender ("Allie"), drew her last breath. She was 101. I am sad, but I do not mourn. Our family is a pragmatic lot. We value quality of life over quantity. And while she lived much longer than most, her last year was a downward spiral. She had trouble seeing and hearing, couldn't walk by herself or use the telephone, needed assistance in eating, bathing, getting dressed, etc. and her short-term memory had vanished. Her caregiver told me that in these last days when she was awake, Mom would stare at a point in the ceiling. When asked what she was looking at, she replied, "My mother." Someone to lead her home.

Mom was the youngest of six children born to Robert and Caddie Tate in Southern Pines, North Carolina. She was quite athletic and loved riding and jumping with her horse, Reba. It was in Southern Pines (if I recall correctly) that she met my father who was playing in a tennis tournament. Mom was a looker; my Dad looked. I refuse to lower myself and use the pun "love match" (tennis people will get this), but they got properly married and had three sons – Edward Jr, myself, and Chris aka "Mondo." I will not countenance any discussion of the 60s sitcom, "My Three Sons." My father, a devout Catholic, had no use for a pipe.

Mom soon took up tennis and became very good, renowned for her pile-driver forehand modeled after Chris Evert's. Tennis was on the telly quite often. She referred to tennis stars by first names only as if they were family – "Chris," "Martina," "Jimmy," "John," "Billy Jean." Disturbing her watching of Wimbledon was a capital offense. She played tennis every week into her eighties, finally quitting when she could no longer keep up with youngsters in their sixties. She consoled herself by keeping handy a jug of awful Paul Masson red wine, a fixture in the refrigerator. She also partook of a little brandy after dinner.

I last saw Mom at the nursing home on her 101st birthday on September 7th. She was happy to see me and stunned when I told her my age (47). Before I left to return home to AL, I kissed her on the head and said, "I love you, Mom." She said, "I love you too."

At her passing, it occurs to me that death need not be solely tragic. Death can be joyous too. For at this moment, Mom is in the arms of God in the company of her husband; my late brother, Chris; her parents and siblings; late aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and many friends. There is no pain or regret. Only happiness.

Have another brandy, Mom. Tell God I said it's OK.

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Son Ed Junior's Postscript:

Brother Steve's words truly capture the personality and spirit of our mom.  I have a few other memories I would like to share:

After Dad retired in 1982, Mom felt she needed to escape the house periodically, and volunteered as a weekly meal deliverer for Meals on Wheels.  She often regaled us at the dinner table with stories about the various greetings she received when she knocked on recipients' doors.  Even though she stopped doing this over 20 years ago, guilt over supposedly missing a delivery appointment started to plague her in recent years.  When wife Donna and I visited her, she would often start asking us in the late evening about whether she had accepted an appointment for the next morning.  It did not help to remind her that she had not done this for many years.  This question would often recur only minutes later.

Along with Dad, Mom was an avid fan of the local Baltimore sports teams, and always made sure we didn't miss any of their radio and TV sportscasts.  Interestingly, in the early 1960s she started chatting with an across-the-fence neighbor who was living in an adjacent apartment building.  This person turned out to be none other than the wife of then Baltimore Oriole Dick Williams.  At one point, the entire family attended an Orioles game as his guests.  We continued to follow his career through his stint as manager of the Boston Red Sox.

Mom was a master of Southern cuisine, and her fried chicken/okra and green beans were always hard to beat.  She grew as a cook as the years went on, and evolved from broccoli drizzled with Velveeta to the lighter, more healthful styles of the 1970s.  Her Beef Stroganoff, Chicken Cacciatore, and Swiss Steak set high bars.  Mom also mastered the holiday turkey dinner, complete with her sweet/tangy sauerkraut that was a favorite in the Baltimore area.

In her childhood years, Mom was plagued with "sour stomach" issues, and threw up a lot.  She told us that once she inadvertently overheard her mother chatting with neighbors about this.  Upon hearing a graphic listing of Mom's symptoms and episodes, a neighbor remarked something like "Too bad…I don't think she is going to make it."

Mom, did you ever make it!  I'm willing to put your 101 productive years up against anyone's.

It was still too short for me.

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