Carol May Westerman

Even with the COVID restrictions, Reston Hospital allowed her son, Jeff Westerman and daughter-in-law, Mary Westerman to be by her side. As hard as it was, it was a blessing to be with her and we were able to call all her children and grandchildren so they could let her know how much they loved her and say goodbye.  It was a beautiful source of comfort for everyone to have that opportunity.  She passed shortly after the last phone call. We all have stories to tell about what kind of woman and mother Mom was, but the following memories written by our brother, Andy paints the perfect picture of what kind of woman she truly was.

It is 1:45 am on 22 February 2021 and I’m sitting here thinking about my mom who died a few minutes ago. My brother Jeff just called to let me know. I got to say good bye by phone half hour ago. I told her “Mom it’s me, Andy. I love you Mom. Do Good. Bye.” He said she could hear me and moved her arm to acknowledge. It hurt and we cried. Jeff is now patriarch of our family. I had to make it short so my other brothers and sister could say good bye by phone calls.

My earliest memory is when I was 2 years old and my biological father left us when we lived in Charlottesville, Virginia. Jeff was 4 and Jill was 8 months old. We became desperately poor. My mother had never even had a job at the time. I remember she used to cry a lot. My father never paid any child support or visited us. I did not know him. We had a good upbringing in poor circumstances. We lived in someone’s tiny converted basement apartment and were taken care of by a wonderful matronly black woman while mom worked long hours. I think her name was Rose. I remember she smelled like a rose anyway. She always smelled of perfume. I know I loved her and it sure seemed like she loved us. She used to bounce me on her knee and hug and kiss me on my face leaving bright red lipstick marks.

When I was 4 we moved to Alexandria, Virginia when my mom got a job as a GS-1 at the Pentagon. It was a very low pay grade, but it was a promising job. She did her best for us with some help from her parents and her mother in law. We had a lot of love, but not much else. She kept Jeff and me in sports and scouts and summer camps for discipline and to get some male mentorship. Mom was able to do these things with no cost mostly due to her lack of resources. She took in another mom and children to live with us from time to time to help them through a rough spot. She would literally share her bed with other moms in need. Jeff and I would sleep head and toe on a bed so there would be a bed for the other mom’s child. This happened with a few other moms too. That is the type of person Mom was. All my friends were welcome in our home and Mom loved them. I can’t stop crying.

She worked extra hours as a hostess at an officer’s service club in D.C. where she met and dated Chris Westerman. They married when I was almost 13. We accepted him with no holds barred. He adopted Jeff, Jill and I so we would all have the same name. Then our brothers Carl and Eric came along. He was the best and only father I ever knew. He brought us out of the wilderness. It was a wonderful marriage until Dad died 7 years ago. She carried on until her wonderful heart finally gave out early this morning. She had a no resuscitation order in effect. Jeff and Mary have been taking care of her the last few years and have respected her wishes. The doctors tried to give her some meds to get her back home to have hospice help her pass in comfort with access to family. It was unsuccessful. Teresa and I visited her last week. We had no idea it would be for the last time. I had a dream a few months ago about Dad. I can’t remember much of it, but it seemed he wanted me to know he was worried about Mom. Maybe it was an omen. I don’t know. I can’t stop crying.

These are some wandering memories I’m trying to write down to ease my sadness at 3 in the morning. I’m sure my brothers and sister are probably doing the same about now. My children will cry tomorrow when I tell them about their Granny. I should call them immediately, but I just cannot seem to stop crying.