For those of you who knew my mother, Deona Premazzi, you know that quiet graciousness was her specialty. My mother knew how to let go, and yet remain grounded in who she was at all times. Even in her later years, with dementia creeping in, she never lost sight of who she was and what and whom she valued.

I believe this started as the child of immigrants. Her Italian parents immigrated to Canada and eventually the United States‰Û_ teaching her that letting go was indeed also moving towards something better.

My grandfather, Frances Clause lost his first wife, and remarried a woman nearly 30 years his junior, Tomisina Rossi. She became my grandmother on November 2, 1922, in North Bay, Ontario, Canada. Eventually they found their way to Portland, Oregon. My mother adored her mother and father, and her brother Edmund. Her half sister, whom I knew as «Tatella», was close to her mother’s age. Tatella’s daughters were like siblings to my mother. Tomisina died when my mother was in her early 20’s‰Û_ a sensitive time for a young woman to lose her mother.

My mother continued to live with her father, Frances, a tailor and a cobbler. I remember stories of him making her riding boots, even though she didn’t have a horse. He made her coats and dresses and suits. She spoke of loving to watch him iron the crease in his pants. She lost him in her early 30’s.

I remember stories from my mother of walking many blocks to see a 10cent movie, or riding to the beach in the rumble seat of the neighbor’s car. I remember her stories about dragging her typewriter in her little red wagon many blocks to go take the civil service test. Passing with flying colors, she began working for the Corp. of Engineers, a profession she had for almost 20 years.

My mother was always dressed to the 9’s in those days.. perfectly coifed hair, matching shoes, purse and coat and of course, high heels. She rode the bus to work each day with a young lady, who later became my Aunt Evelyn. One of my fondest childhood memories was pulling out and trying on all her beautiful high heel shoes. Packed neatly in her bottom drawer, and in boxes, she rarely wore them anymore, but they were there.. and I adored them and her.

She met and married my father, Lee Premazzi in 1959. Resigning from her job and selling her childhood home, she embarked on another letting go and moving towards. Soon, my sister Tina (now Sister Louismarie Premazzi) was born. Less than two years later, I came along (now Andrea Premazzi-Bauer), and again, less than two years later, my youngest sibling Sandra Renee’ was born.

Born with a congenital heart defect, the death of my youngest sister, at age four presented perhaps the most difficult letting go for my mother‰Û_.a process that lasted many years‰Û_ In this, her moving toward.. was toward God. Always a very devout Catholic, my mother became even more devout, praying daily, and attending daily mass if she could.

As life does, my sister and I grew up and had our own lives, my mother adapted again to a new letting go‰Û_, my father’s Alzheimers disease. Undiagnosed for years, she slowly let go of who he was; and at the end; of the person she married who no longer recognized her. Losing my father and that letting go only gave her more grit and persistence to move closer to God and to her children. She moved towards remembering the independent young woman that once was, and incorporated that independence once again. Traveling with my sister was one of her favorite pastimes. I think they drove every road in Oregon. She became a guide at the Old St. Peters Church in The Dalles and a very active member of the New St. Peters Church.

In 2001, at the age of 78, she survived an accident that surely would have killed most anyone else. With a torn aorta, two dislocated shoulders, two collapsed lungs, multiple broken bones, and contusions, she drove herself home! Two surgeries, nine months and multiple interventions later, she rose from the ashes to once again live independently. She earned her nickname, The Phoenix.

The next letting go and moving towards was selling her home in The Dalles, where she lived for 45 years. My mother was the queen of cleaning out and getting rid of stuff, thank goodness. Paring a three bedroom home down to a one bedroom apartment was challenging. Our mantra became‰Û_«do you LOVE it? If not, let it go». Three more moves over the next decade, a few more medical issues, and always the grace with which she faced it all, landed her at Gilman Park Assisted Living facility, where she spent the last five years of her life.

My mother, in all her letting go was always simultaneously moving towards something. As her years went by, the moving towards became more intangible. Stuff mattered less, relationships mattered more. Fear, judgment, intolerance always gave way to appreciation, love, and faith. Even with the last bit of energy she had, she expressed appreciation and love above all. If I learn nothing else in my lifetime, I pray that I learn the graciousness of my mother; the grace in letting go and moving towards, with appreciation, love and faith.

My little mama, the Phoenix, rose for the last time on October 30, 2015. This time she rose to the highest heights and will always be an angel on my shoulder.

This letting go moved us all toward the heart.