Logging Life’s Ventures

Julie Allen’s 100 Year Dash

It’s my mom’s birth month. Her last twenty years were a master class in Life. It began with Dad’s cancer diagnosis; mom as caregiver would be home more. I took a risk and bought her an iMac loaded with a pool game (she was a lifelong player).

At 80, she learned how to use AOL, make greeting cards and surf the net. And she played onscreen pool every night for 18 years. We exchanged emails daily. After dad died, mom adapted. Healthy, energetic, active, she kept up her home, garden, lawn (electric mower), and even shoveled snow. Her friends and neighbors adored and admired her.

Mom’s mobile home park, twenty minutes away, had a community room/laundromat with a standard-size pool table! We did laundry once a week while playing high stakes 8-ball and a cutthroat game called Screw Your Neighbor. Never was laundry day so fun!

Mom was the epitome of “keep on keeping on”. As dementia slowly took over, her unquenchable spirit held on. Late one night, she had a hard fall (head injuries bleed a lot), and she cleaned up the mess herself. Not her first fall, this was the defining one.

We chose Laurels of Carson City because my granddaughter worked there. Of course, mom won everyone’s hearts. The facility was an hour away, but worth driving every other day for our tea parties and treats.

Despite close monitoring, there were other falls, the last a broken hip. Mom’s surgeon sacrificed a Saturday night to mend the “five-generation matriarch” he was so taken with.

Mom turned 100 during the lockdown. We couldn’t be there, but staff sent videos. There she was, stepping to her party with a walker. I took a part-time job at Laurels so I could see her. To the end, mom always knew who I was, even with my protective gear.

In 2021, Covid took mom’s life. I officiated her memorial because she had such a lengthy “this is what I want for my funeral” list, no stranger could have pulled it off. I think mom would be proud to know she was my inspiration to become a funeral celebrant.

© 2025. Leslie Charles. Celebrating the life of my mom, Julie Allen, loved and admired by so many.