My mom in her last days of hospice showing off her "crazy quilt" which she knit during her time there for my son.

Mother's Passing

Louise Downey

May 14th, 1946-June 23, 2008

What do I say now that my mother is gone? That it has taken almost a year to revisit things--to look at these photos of her. My mother was a larger than life personality. Passionate. Loyal. Determined. But these are mere words and limited. How do I illuminate her onto the page? Do I use her words or mine? Is there a difference? All I know is that when I pick up the phone to call her I am stunned anew that she is no longer walking quickly somewhere carrying her Yak-Pack which keeps her "phone handy". My mother who died only believing only in molecules and refusing last rites--I pray--that perhaps within their mystery there is a place--in the depth of my DNA where we will forever meet--generation after generation. Where I can dial in and she'll say, "I knew it was you."

My mom's favorite photo of herself, right before she was diagnosed with breast cancer

BURLINGTON (WOODSTOCK), Louise Downey beloved mother and Omi (grandmother), died peacefully at the Vermont Respite House in Williston on June 24 th 2008 surrounded by her loving family after a spirited four year dance with breast cancer. She lived life to the hilt�grooving, kayaking (sometimes nude), and delivering brownies to Green Mountain Trails for weary hikers. She will be remembered for her love for the natural world, her quest for knowledge and healing, and the song in her heart.

Louise was born May 14, 1946 in Orange, NJ to parents Edward F. And Irene G.(Hoffmeyer) Downey. The oldest of five siblings, Louise grew up and was educated in New Jersey. She graduated from Bernards, High School in Bernardsville, NJ in 1963 and went on to graduate from Georgian Court College in Lakewood, NJ. As part of job training, Louise took courses toward an advanced degree in the emerging bio-technology field. Her primary mission at this time was to facilitate the removal of phosphorus from the waste streams feeding the Great Lakes and Lake Champlain.

But the corporate world paled and Vermont beckoned. In 1982 Louise opened the Rathdowney herb shop in Bethel, Vermont. At one point there were additional retail locations in Vergennes, Bridgewater and Newfane and Hanover, NH. Rathdowney products were sold in gift shops and at craft fairs all over Vermont and the United States. Rathdowney closed for business in the fall of 1993. Louise continued as a clinical herbalist and went on to become a certified massage therapist which she enjoyed until the onset of her illness at the end of 2003. As well as a busy private practice, Louise offered chair massage to the employees of Cabot Creamery for 6 years.

Louise is survived by her parents, Edward and Irene Downey of Woodstock, VT; her son, Christopher and his wife, Debra of Nantucket, MA, her daughter, Annie and husband, David of North Ferrisburgh, VT and her daughter, Maggie of Clarksville, TN; her five grandchildren: Iris Downey and Oskar of North Ferrisburgh, Brittany and Sumner and Lucas of Nantucket; her four siblings and their families: Peg Carton of Bernardsville, NJ, Catherine Downey of Kilaua, HI, Jim Downey of Norwich, VT and Tom Downey of Stamford, CT.

Though a recent arrival to the Burlington area, Louise was active in the First Unitarian Universalist Society of Burlington.

A memorial service will held to celebrate Louise's life on August 9th, at 11:00 a.m., at the First UU Society of Burlington. Anyone wishing can make contributions in Louise's memory to the Vermont Respite House, 99 Allen Brook Lane, Williston, VT 05495

My Mom. 1962

Journey to Mother, A Daughter's Diary

Reflections on my mother's battle with breast cancer

My Birthday

Febuary 6, 2004 Originally published in Vermont Woman Magazine

To read more of Journey to Mother by Annie Downey go to: Vermont Woman Magazine

wedding dress

I have a deal with Mary. This is my deal. If I wear my wedding dress for ten days my mother will have a miracle. I wrote this down in the miracle book at the Mary Queen of the Universe Shrine in Orlando. On the fly. After having failed to pick up a blond wig at Dolly's Stampede for my mother's pending chemo.

My aunt wakes me. Her voice is akin to my mother's. yet it is not my mother's. My mother having already left in the dark to the hospital with her new husband of a year. It is early, early--light just touching the edges of the window. It is my birthday. I am thirty-four. Sleet, rain, and snow. The sky damp gray. An omen to the beginning of beginnings.

I have no battle cry.

On the table is an inherited piece of jewelry. A shiny gold bracelet that I would slide up and down my arm throughout my innocence and place carefully back in my mother's jewelry box.

Mother. I breathe her name. Hold.

There is a note. A note telling me to hang on to two more years. I fold it and tuck it into my purse like a lullaby savior. If only. If only I could hope and believe for her. In those two years. Yet.

As I clamp bracelet to wrist my mother is being prepared and wiped down for palliative brain surgery--to relieve pressure of spinal fluid and sdisperse low levels of chemo to stop the rapid progress of a paticularly invasive breast cancer now throughout her brain. Terminal. No cure. No nothing. Just a "maybe" year. A "normal" three-to-five month diagnosis. Days, weeks, months. I calculate. It is like opening a box and only finding styro-foam peanuts. Dig, dig, search,search. There has to be something I am missing.

My aunt and I head down my grandparents' drive--past woods and onto the main road. A soft blanket of snow covering--wind blowing it in snake-like pattern. I have my mother's knitted shawl around my shoulders and her bracelet on my wrist. It is funny how we start to believe in anything in despair. Everything holds secret meaning. Prayer inevitable. So I do this. I pray.

Mom, 1976

Folk Fest

August, 2006

The kids and I just returned from the Berkshires. It was our first time back to the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival since my mother's breast cancer diagnosis two years ago. My mother use to run the craft/vendor part of the festival and I was part of her volunteer crew. We all used to camp under a big tree in the middle of the field, right between the main stage and the workshop stage, and at night my children and I would fall asleep listening to the sounds of folk artists such as Greg Brown, Dar Williams, Eddie from Ohio, or Ani Defranco. It was a wonderful way for my children and me to go on vacation for very little money. This year, I decided to go back. I don't know why, since my mother was not going to be there. But it was something I needed to do, to claim on my own. Some part of me that I needed to recover, or to unveil anew.It was as I drove down Rt. 7 toward the Berkshires and the festival that I began to remember who I was before my mother's cancer diagnosis--this free-flying single mother equipped with a tent and sleeping bags--my kids cozily surrounded by pillows and fleece blankets--the windows rolled down. I blasted the Dixie Chicks new album. It was like I was awake for the first time in years. Suddenly, I had all this courage. So I decided to stop at bookstores along the way, introduce myself, and hand-deliver Hot and Bothered postcards. I felt like a real writer and at the same time I felt like a good mother. The folks at the bookstores were so nice and welcoming -- all smiles. It was a wonderful five hours en route. Then we landed. The cabin I rented smelled like pee and propane, and was so tiny that my kids and I could barely move. We then discovered that the festival location had changed, and now looked completely different. We saw no familiar faces. Then whoosh.. down came the rain--we dashed--ducked--to no avail--we were soaked through and had to wade through puddles of water to the car.. my son began freaking out that he always hated Falcon Ridge--then my daughter started crying because she wanted to stay and watch Eddie from Ohio--and I unraveled...and my mother wasn't there with her helpful suggestions or her extra pair of hands. But then, am I imagining something that was never there, yet I miss it all the same? My mother was always busy with working the festival--she had few moments to help me--and her suggestions often annoyed and pissed me off. Yet, it was just her constant, unwavering presence that was my source of knowing the world around me. What is it about her dying that makes me so afraid--so timid--so unsure of myself? I feel like a pre-teen with braces and awkward stance--not a woman in her mid-thirties who is a mother, a wife, and a writer. I keep waiting to join a group, and run with a bunch of awkward misfits like myself. But instead, I find these two pairs of eyes looking at me--waiting for me to make a decision--to say-- we can't stay or--yes--we can. I am their world. I am their constant. And yet I can't make this decision, because either way one of them will be unhappy--and all I want is for them to be happy--to feel sure and good because I myself feel utterly lost in this space between who I was before my mother's illness and who I am now.

Understand? By Annie Downey, 2004

Email from My Mother

August 20, 2006

What an amazing summer it has been. Warm days, soft nights and always a breeze off the river. And I have felt just great. I do believe my neurological oncologist is putting me on 'call us if you need us' basis. I simply haven't changed in 2 years. What a miracle. I swear it is the sun. I have now come to crave it and spend hours in the garden - which has fed us very nicely since May. (And a few of my friends, neighbors, etc.!)