My Mom loved me. I miss her.
She told me many times what a blessing my birth had been in 1949. Medical drama played out at Mercy Hospital in Toledo, Ohio on that September 13 such that two odd sorts became parents. I was along for the ride, but not ungrateful for the gift of life.
I would be the only child entrusted by God to the care of Virginia and Virgil Warn. They did their best.
My early life gave me anything I wanted if I just cried for it. Pretty efficient system. It took me awhile to unlearn that lesson as I grew up.
The world as I knew it consisted of Mom, Dad and our Irish Setter Ringy.
Mom was always my best friend and protector. She solemnly recounted to me how badly she wanted my birth in the years leading up to it. She left no room for doubt.
I grew up in the 50s knowing the USA was number one. My parents took me to the movies in the mid 50s and when the newsreel told us about the Vice President being attacked in South America, Mom leaned over to me and confided to me about the man on the screen that his name was Nixon and we did not like him. My five year old self stared at the bad man and digested my first political lesson.
Mom was a Democrat and taught me how Republicans always favored ideas that would hurt Democrats.
In 1960, I was proud to go with Mom to the Toledo Democratic HQ and volunteer for John Kennedy over the evil Nixon!
I still smile whenever I remember riding the school bus in the days following the election. Some kids were very sad Nixon had lost because their parents told them Kennedy was dangerous. Others, like me, were overjoyed with the new President!
Mom was happy so I was happy.
Mom liked people and they liked her back.
In 2003, sitting with her at the hospice in Perrysburg, I remember a steady stream of strangers visiting her to pay their respects. One young woman drove several hours to seek her mentorship on crocheting.
Mom had esophageal cancer and lost the ability to swallow just like my Dad did two years later from ALS. She begged me to bring in her favorite Chinese food, egg foo yung, so she could at least taste it before spitting it out. We shared many hours looking over family photos, remembering better times and cherished memories. I pushed her around the beautifully landscaped grounds in her wheelchair and took a photo of her sitting in front of a giant yellow metal butterfly. When I told her the butterfly wings made it look like she was already an angel, she beamed!
After about a month, she seemed to be improving and I was getting antsy to drive back home to Los Angeles. Since April, when I arrived in Toledo following my work on the Oscar telecast, I moved into Moms home near South and Broadway and began taking her to chemotherapy and multiple doctors appointments. By the 4th of July, I felt the growing need to seek out a new gig, so I told Mom I was leaving. She understood, but was sad.
I left her house at 7am Sunday with my two dogs and two cats, stopping off first to say good bye at the hospice. She asked me if she had done something to hurt me and I reassured her that she had not. That was the last time I saw my Mom.
I drove straight through all day and night that Sunday and again on Monday—stopping only for gas, to walk the dogs and short naps—pulling into my LA home around 1am Tuesday morning, a new road trip speed record!
Moms doctors sent her home too, but she was returned to the hospice after one week.
She did not die until July 31,2003.
I still regret allowing my innate weirdness to push me away at such a time. Knowing Mom was my source of that weirdness only makes my searing guilt understandable.
It seemed like the right thing to do at the time so that’s what I did.
Our final phone conversation on July 30 felt like it when she ended it with her last words to me,
”Bye-Bye”
