Here’s the memory book from celebrations of Anita Doherty’s life on August 9-10, 2014.

Click this link: anita-doherty.memory-book

On December 13, 2014, at the age of 78, my mother Anita Doherty passed away in Seattle, Washington, as the result of complications from Alzheimer’s and probably other dementia disorders.

Her life was cut short by this horrible disease, which continues to debilitate so many millions of elderly people. Nonetheless, she lived a long and fulfilling life.

Although she often joked about the difficulties of life, she was almost always ready to help others with a kind word or a supportive ear.

Growing up in a household that had fled and continued to flee as refugees from multiple wars and economic distress, she learned early on to save for the future and to be relatively frugal.

Although I didn’t know it until after she died, my mother received early training in the art of painting and drawing, which she continued throughout her life until her illness made it no longer possible. She, along with my father, encouraged me and her other children to listen to music and to play musical instruments, a very worthwhile pursuit which we have continued and passed on to the next generation.

I’m so grateful to my mother for raising me as a child. It took incredible effort for her, as a homemaker, to raise three children simultaneously. I thank her also for tolerating many of my excesses as a teenager and – after I had set out at a young age to live on my own – for welcoming me back home to recover from a life-threatening injury. I thank her for accepting me for who I am, unlearning the misgivings she had originally about my sexual orientation.

As an adult, I saw her less often than before, but our visits grew to be more and more special to me and I believe also to her. One year for her birthday, at a time while I was making a good high-tech salary, I offered to take her on a trip anywhere in the world she wanted. She chose Greece and we had a marvelous trip to Athens and various islands. She was generally an intrepid traveler, uncomplaining in the face of hardship. Not even the giant phallus statues at Delos deterred her. However, on the volcanic island of Santorini, she came close to her limit one day when we hiked down from the crater rim to the harbor, then had to ascend to return to our beautiful accommodations at the top. It was hot and dusty, the trail crowded with sweaty vendors hauling their wares on stinky donkeys up the steep hill. We were both very tired and thirsty. When she really started to flag and whined a bit, I suggested that she could ride a donkey the rest of the way. It was then that her stubborn side emerged: her mouth set in a tight line, she firmly refused and climbed determinedly with no further complaint to our destination. We celebrated with deletable drinks overlooking the deep blue Mediterranean sea.

My mother had made it clear that when she died she wanted us to gather to celebrate, not to mourn. I’ve done my best to honor her wishes. However, when I composed a piece called “Motherequiem”, some of my sorrow at losing her crept into the music. At the end of these spoken remarks, I hope you enjoy listening to some of the feelings about my mother that I couldn’t find a way put into words.

Over the last six months since her death, I’ve come to realize that, although her body and perhaps even her consciousness, soul, or spirit – whatever you chose to call it – may be gone, there still remains within me and within you the wonderful memories we have of my mother. These wonderful memories emerge from time to time, at moments both expected and unpredictable, as a wonderful legacy for a wonderful person. I love you Mom.

Here are some August 10 event photos.

Here are some August 9 event photos.