Death by Rheumatoid Arthritis

My Mother

Digging through all my paperwork after she had died I needed to find it. Social Security needed to know the cause of her death. After wading through old cell phone bills and greeting cards, there it was. Tucked in a yellow manila envelope, I found her Death Certificate. I knew what she died from, but it was still strangely confusing. Were they looking for something more technical? Opening it carefully, I read Celia Veno's death certificate, "Cause of Death: Rheumatoid Arthritis" She died from complications, due to the arthritis that deteriorated her cervical spine, causing irreversible spinal cord damage.

Celia Veno was my mother and my best friend. The kind of mother every child dreams of having: loving, kind, encouraging, and gentle. Exceptionally calm with a disarming smile, the medium built brunette of Ukrainian lineage had a graceful demeanor and a quiet tolerance for the adversities life would hand her. Being a content soldier in her own personal war, she was extraordinarily selfless and giving.

Life had not been easy for my mother, a daughter to a family of ten. Her father, Stanley, left his poverty stricken home in the Ukraine in 1921 for the promised land of America. His hometown, the city of Kiev was then a founding republic of The Soviet Union. Ironically, her mother Veronica was on the same ship. Shortly after meeting, they fell in love. Two weeks later, they married.

This tall, lean, strong man with milky blue eyes would land in Olean, New York and find a job as a laborer in a poisoned, air-polluted glass plant moving lime from boxcars to the warehouse. In the process, he withstood unendurable lime dust, a destroyer of lung tissues and a breeder of silicosis.

Stanley and Veronica were quiet, loving, mild mannered parents. They weren't given to yelling and cursing. They were a happy bunch, older children helped care for the younger siblings. During balmy summers, Mom would sit on her father's lap while he read the paper. Children scattered about, playing in the yard, dancing in the sunlight.

For her daughters, Veronica would hand weave together clover crowns made of the flower and a few spare bobby pins. Neatly she'd tuck the small crown ends behind the girls' ears. This family ritual of "crown making" would be emulated by generations yet to come.