Donna Gail Wilcock: June 18, 1952 - Oct. 26, 2011

My mother held me when I took my first breathes in this world, and I held her hand as she took her last. Yesterday on Oct. 26, 2011 shortly before 5 p.m. my mom, Donna-Gail Wilcock, passed away.

To me she was mom, to many others she was DG, Donna-Gail, Donna or that lady who can't order something simple off a restaurant menu but has to have everything customized. She liked what she liked, wanted what she wanted and made no apologies for it. 

She pushed me to think and live outside the box. One rainy summer day when my son Jared was about two, he wanted to take off his clothes and run around outside in the rain. As he kept stripping down and heading for the door, I kept pulling him back in. My mom was there and she said "Just let him, it sounds like fun." She took her naked grandson's hand and ran around outside dancing in the rain with him. She kept her clothes on, thank God as they were in the front yard. They both came back in soaked but giddy from their adventure.

My mom loved a good laugh and was a good sport when it came to laughing at herself. She appreciated my sense of humor and brand of humor. Whether I was throwing fake dog poo at her or covering her car with magnetic bullet holes, she laughed with us. Often after yelling "What is wrong with you?," but she did laugh.

She loved traditions, her own traditions of course. Every year on the day of the first snowfall she and I go to a coffee shop for a decadent drink. Sometimes it's hot cocoa, a mocha or a chai latte. Just a few weeks ago she reminded me that I better not forget to pick her up and take her to the coffee shop on the first snow day. 

Seven years ago my mom had kidney failure and underwent a kidney transplant using one of my kidneys. She did well for years but struggled with a suppressed immune system due to the anti rejection drugs she had to take. A few weeks ago she became very ill with respiratory issues.

She went to the hospital, where she was admitted with a lung infection. Several days later she was moved to the ICU, where she went onto a ventilator. Despite the amazing care she received by teams of medical professionals at the University of Minnesota Medical Center, her infection spread throughout her body, her organs started to shut down and she went into a coma.

My mom made it clear to my sister, myself and her husband Corey that she did not want to be kept alive on a machine once we knew she was not going to recover. I'm so thankful that we had those conversations with her when we did.

Yesterday I woke up, and before I could open my eyes I had a vision of my mom as a tiny fairy trying to fly away, but she couldn’t because she was chained to a body, her body. My mom loved fairies, and I know it was her way of letting me know she was ready to be free and that I needed to hurry up and come to terms with it because she had things to do. As usual, my mother had her own schedule.

When my sister and I got to the hospital yesterday it was made clear to all of us that she was not going to make it, no matter what medical treatments were done. We gathered our family together including her four grandchildren and spent the day together with my mom.

We played Hawaiian music in her room, we gave her a manicure and pedicure. Her granddaughters painted her nails one last time. I brushed her hair and gave her a headband with a flower. At first I put a blingy rhinestone headband on her but heard her voice in my head saying "Do I look like Paris Hilton to you?" Bling is my thing, not my mom's.

We shared stories about my mom and other life adventures. We cried together and we laughed. We had a beautiful day saying our goodbyes and letting her know that we would be okay. We let her know that we were so thankful for the time we had with her. 

Shortly before 5 p.m., while listening to Iz Kamakawiwo'ole sing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," surrounded by her husband, her daughters and our families she passed away without pain, enveloped in love.

My mother made it clear that she did not want a funeral but would allow a Celebration of Life party. We are celebrated her life on Saturday at my sister's house in Excelsior.

We can honor my mother by living outside the box once in awhile. Dancing in the rain, having breakfast for dinner, or befriending a hitchhiker as she did on our trip to South Dakota in June.

Mostly we can honor her by spending time with the ones we love, not letting our differences keep us apart, or getting caught up in conflicts. Everyday we have with a loved one, no matter how imperfect it is, is a blessing. Everyday is a new day, never touched, still fresh in the box. Open it, step into it and make it your own as my mother did.