The Last Man (Woman) Standing

I've spent the past several weeks driving back and forth to Sonoma to assist my older sister, Diana, in navigating our mother's final stages of life. Suffering from acute COPD and degenerative heart disease, the goal was to make sure she stayed comfortable until the bitter end. (Kids, don't smoke!)

In a coordinated effort that took my sisters, skilled doctors, empathetic nurses, a respiratory specialist, and experienced hospice care, Ellen passed peacefully, in her sleep, last Saturday, in the wee hours. ​

"Mom's gone," Diana's brief phone call said the following morning, "Can you let the others know?" (Of course, I can.)

Sadly, my mother was the last remaining elder in our family. Cliff's parents are both deceased, and we lost our father right before COVID. Consequently, Mom was the last of the Mohicans. It's the end of an era to be sure, and while loss is inevitable - especially in your 90s - on the heels of Jill moving to Barcelona, I'm not sure I was quite ready to say goodbye, nor ready to assume the mantel of the "older generation." And while hardly unexpected, Mom's passing is going to take some getting used to; she was the linchpin in a complex family . . . .

"Goodbyes" are rarely easy, whether it's retirement, the kids going off to college, a change of community, the loss of a parent, the end of a marriage, or the sale of a home; all of it represents dramatic upheaval and adjustment. And like all adjustments, time is required to heal the wounds. In other words, there are no quick or easy fixes; there's just putting one foot in front of the other, and then moving through the transition, whatever that may be.

In the meantime, I'll use my time productively. I'll continue to work. I'll look for answers. I'll organize solutions. I'll settle the estate, and I'll bury my feelings until I'm ready to pull them out and dust them off (a less-than-desirable family trait). Such is the nature of the beast, and while I'm sure there are better coping mechanisms than cleaning out cupboards and organizing closets, there are also worse ones, If nothing else, the Shepherds are pragmatic people; no one more so than our mom, who was a "get up and dust yourself off" kinda gal, as were many of her generation (as is her daughter).

Taking a bit of the sting out of the loss, I've been the recipient of lovely emails, caring phone messages, and heartfelt texts that are not only life-affirming but genuinely kind. One friend left a goody bag on my porch filled with guilty pleasures, which I dug into immediately. (Chocolate rarely lets you down, but friends are even better for the heart.)

Working in an industry that facilitates "change" daily, I've come to believe that transitions are opportunities - welcomed or not. I choose to believe Ellen's passing represents new beginnings, and our mom would expect nothing less.

Here's my stab at distilling 93 years of my mom's life into a single paragraph: It can't begin to capture her impact on this earth, but I hope she would approve:

Early Saturday morning, October 4, 2025, Ellen Shepherd peacefully passed in her sleep. Born in 1932 in San Marino, CA, Ellen was married for 64 years to her husband, Harry, who predeceased her in 2020. Both UC Berkeley graduates, Harry and Ellen married right out of college, remained in Northern California, and had a long, loving and supportive partnership steeped in mutual respect and laughter. The mother of six children, she was a public-school elementary teacher for more than a decade, taught English as a second language, and continued to mentor others throughout her life. A grateful and vibrant member of the Sonoma community, Ellen is survived by her sister, Enid, five of her six grown children, 12 grandchildren, and 10 great-grandchildren. A consummate bridge player and an avid reader, she remained active in both her bridge and book clubs until the very end. However, her true passion, for the past 25 years, has been The National AIDS Memorial Grove in San Francisco, where she regularly joined other volunteer gardeners for more than two decades, to manicure the grounds, and remember their loved ones in a stunning, seven-acre sanctuary. As such, the family respectfully requests that any donations be made to the AIDS Grove in lieu of flowers:  aidsmemorial.org.
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Goodbye, Mom, you will be missed. Thank you for your love and support throughout the years. I couldn't have wished for a better mother, mentor, or friend.

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