Valentine

Summary

Criminal Podcast Episode Summary: "Valentine"

Podcast Information:

• Title: Criminal
• Host: Phoebe Judge
• Episode: Valentine
• Release Date: October 18, 2024
• Description: "Valentine" is a deeply personal episode where Phoebe Judge shares the poignant story of her mother, Valentine Judge, who battled pancreatic cancer. This episode marks a departure from the typical true crime narratives, delving into the intimate struggles of dealing with a loved one’s illness and eventual passing.

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Introduction

In the milestone 100th episode of "This Is Love," Phoebe Judge steps away from the usual storytelling format to narrate a deeply personal account of her mother's battle with pancreatic cancer. The episode intertwines elements of personal loss, familial bonds, and the emotional toll of witnessing a loved one's decline.

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Diagnosis and Initial Reactions

On December 14th of the previous year, Phoebe and her long-time collaborator Lauren Spohr were preparing for an interview about the last decade of "Criminal" when Phoebe received life-altering news. While waiting for their interview at a PBS station in North Carolina, Phoebe was informed that her mother, Valentine Judge, had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer—a diagnosis with dire prognosis.

Phoebe Judge [01:14]: "It's hard to be told that there's nothing anyone can do."

Phoebe contrasts this with her father's previous approach to his cancer diagnosis, where he proactively sought treatment through clinical trials. The sudden and bleak news about her mother left Phoebe grappling with helplessness and fear.

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Immediate Aftermath and Coping Mechanisms

Despite the grim diagnosis, Valentine appeared outwardly resilient. Two days after receiving the news, Phoebe visited her mother, who seemed more cheerful and unaware of the severity of her condition.

Valentine Judge [04:11]: "Phoebe, I love you and I'm so glad you came to see me."

This visit marked the beginning of Phoebe's journey in balancing her professional responsibilities with the emotional demands of her mother’s illness. She describes routines they established, such as daily phone calls at 4:30 PM to check on her mother’s well-being, reflecting both a desire for connection and an attempt to maintain normalcy.

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Supporting Mother During the Tour

As Phoebe embarked on the 10th-anniversary "Criminal" tour, she ensured her mother’s presence despite her declining health. Valentine attended the Boston show, where Phoebe meticulously arranged accommodations to ensure her comfort and participation.

Valentine Judge [08:02]: "Yes, that would make a big difference."

Valentine’s active involvement in the tour provided Phoebe with moments of joy amid the hardship. Valentine’s occasional laughter and critical feedback during the performances highlighted her vibrant personality, despite her illness.

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Progression of Illness and Family Dynamics

As Valentine’s condition worsened, Phoebe and her family confronted the harsh reality of her prognosis. Valentine's ability to maintain a sense of normalcy—whether through singing, joking, or engaging in everyday activities—demonstrated her resilience and desire to cherish each moment.

Valentine Judge [11:49]: "Two different faces. But in tight places, we think and we act as one."

The episode delves into the emotional complexities within the family, including interactions with Phoebe’s father, who remained a supportive presence despite being divorced from Valentine. The narrative also touches on the passing of Phoebe’s sister, Chloe, and how it intertwined with Valentine’s battle, adding layers of grief and familial attachment.

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End-of-Life Care and Final Days

Phoebe recounts her meticulous involvement in her mother's care, from managing medication schedules to ensuring Valentine’s comfort. The establishment of routines, such as morning runs and shared meals, underscored the deep bond between mother and daughter.

Phoebe Judge [19:07]: "You must know what the answer is. And you just want me to say it."

As Valentine’s condition deteriorated, Phoebe faced the heart-wrenching task of easing her mother’s passage. The episode poignantly describes the moments leading up to Valentine’s death, highlighting the serene and dignified manner in which she departed.

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Passing and Aftermath

On May 15th, Valentine peacefully passed away, with Phoebe present to comfort her in her final moments. The episode captures the profound sense of loss and the struggle to cope with her absence.

Phoebe Judge [37:36]: "When they opened the door to bring my mother out, the whole staff and all the volunteers were lined up on both sides of the hallway wishing my mother a good journey."

Phoebe describes the funeral arrangements, where personal touches, such as dressing Valentine in her favorite butterfly skirt and incorporating her requested obituary photo, honored her mother's memory. The memorial service in Sudbury, Massachusetts, served as a heartfelt tribute to a woman who cherished beauty, humor, and family.

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Reflections and Conclusion

"Valentine" serves as a testament to the enduring strength of familial love and the profound impact of losing a parent. Through candid storytelling and emotional vulnerability, Phoebe Judge invites listeners to empathize with her journey, illustrating the universal experience of love, loss, and remembrance.

The episode concludes with a recreated interaction between Phoebe and her mother, symbolizing the enduring connection that transcends death.

Valentine Judge [41:30]: "Hi, darling. How are you?"

This intimate portrayal not only honors Valentine Judge's legacy but also offers solace to listeners who have navigated similar paths of grief.

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Notable Quotes:

• Phoebe Judge [01:14]: "It's hard to be told that there's nothing anyone can do."
• Valentine Judge [04:11]: "Phoebe, I love you and I'm so glad you came to see me."
• Valentine Judge [11:49]: "Two different faces. But in tight places, we think and we act as one."
• Phoebe Judge [19:07]: "You must know what the answer is. And you just want me to say it."
• Phoebe Judge [37:36]: "When they opened the door to bring my mother out, the whole staff and all the volunteers were lined up on both sides of the hallway wishing my mother a good journey."

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Conclusion

"Valentine" stands out in the "Criminal" series as a deeply personal narrative that transcends traditional true crime storytelling. By sharing her mother's story, Phoebe Judge provides a raw and heartfelt exploration of love, loss, and the indelible bonds that define our lives.

Transcript

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[Phoebe Judge]

This week we released our 100th episode of our other podcast, this Is Love. To mark the occasion, we've done something very different. A story about my mother Valentine, who died this spring. We wanted to share it here too. On December 14th last year, Lauren Spohr, who I've made these shows with for the last 10 years, and I were driving to the local PBS television station in North Carolina to record an interview about the last 10 years of criminal. I remember we decided it would be a good idea to go to a hair salon that morning and have them try to do something with our hair. We never do this, and when we do, we're never happy with how it comes out. But we tried. We went to the hair salon at 8am we were on our way to the interview by 9:30. I like to be early everywhere I go, so we got there early. We were sitting in the car in the parking lot waiting. In two minutes, before we were supposed to walk in, I got a phone call. My mother had gone to have a CAT scan of her stomach a few weeks earlier because of some issue with gallstones. Her gallbladder. Nothing serious. But during that scan they had found something else on her pancreas. Pancreatic cancer. I remember sitting in the car listening to the woman and thinking I needed her to stop explaining things for a second. I couldn't catch up. The options weren't great. My mother at 73, had had some health issues and was not a good candidate for the long and invasive surgery that could be done. Putting her through radiation chemo treatment would be hard and probably wouldn't add that much time to her life. Pancreatic cancer. I didn't know much about it, but I'd always heard that it was the worst. It's hard to be told that there's nothing anyone can do. When my father was diagnosed with cancer a few years ago, I got on the phone and he was sitting with an oncologist. A week later, making a plan, signing up for the newest clinical trial. And so this news to be told that this was. It was odd. Lauren and I walked into the studio and started our interview with pbs. I remember being asked questions about how I felt about true crime media and what makes a good story, and thinking, none of this matters at all. Two days later, I flew to Massachusetts to see her. I remember walking into her room and realizing that this cancer hadn't taken over yet. She seemed great, happy, hungry. It was that first trip to see her after I found out that I started recording. Okay, would you introduce yourself?

[Valentine Judge]

My name is Valentine Judge. I'm 73 years old, and I've been living in Chicago for about 25 years. And now I've come back here close to Phoebe and close to the many humorous acts that we will perform in Massachusetts. I think they know that now.

[Phoebe Judge]

Oh, they do. Okay. Anything else you'd like to say while we're recording?

[Valentine Judge]

Phoebe, I love you and I'm so glad you came to see me, and I hope you come back again soon.

[Phoebe Judge]

Well, I'll be back in tomorrow and then next week. Okay, well, we're gonna say over and out for now, and we'll bring it back out.

[Valentine Judge]

Okay. Au revoir.

[Phoebe Judge]

I remember meeting with the hospice team. I just started asking questions. My main one, always with the caveat I know you can't tell me exactly was what they had seen with pancreatic cancer and how long people lasted. One of the nurses told me, I've seen people live a year and a half, and I've seen people eating a bag of Doritos today and then dead tomorrow. But I'd say your mother has about six months. And then she told me how to get something they called a comfort care box, which is an actual locked box full of drugs, morphine and Ativan. I told the nurse my mother had just eaten a pound of onion rings and was in no pain at all. Her response was, better to have it. You never know. I Stood in line at the pharmacy with all the other people picking up their prescriptions. And all I kept thinking was that they were there to pick up stuff that would keep someone alive. This was about two weeks before I was supposed to go on tour. The 10th anniversary criminal tour. My mother had been very interested in ticket sales. I told her that Chicago was going great. Things were a little light at that point in New York. She told me not to worry. It was a hard thing deciding to go through with the tour knowing at any moment I could get a call. We were dealing with a finite number of days and I would be choosing to spend them in Seattle and Philadelphia. I started calling my mother each day at 4:30 exactly. I think I was trying to hear in her voice any changes.

[Valentine Judge]

Hello?

[Phoebe Judge]

Hi, Mom.

[Valentine Judge]

Hi, darling.

[Phoebe Judge]

How are you feeling?

[Valentine Judge]

I'm feeling just fine.

[Phoebe Judge]

Oh, good. When I talked to you yesterday, you said you had some. You had low energy.

[Valentine Judge]

Oh, well, I don't today.

[Phoebe Judge]

Good, you're feeling good. And I'm gonna see you on Friday.

[Valentine Judge]

I know, honey. I'm so happy about that. Hello?

[Phoebe Judge]

Hi, Mom.

[Valentine Judge]

Hi, darling.

[Phoebe Judge]

We're gonna have a big storm tonight.

[Valentine Judge]

Oh, good.

[Phoebe Judge]

Apparently there's gonna be winds, crazy winds. But you might get some snow.

[Valentine Judge]

Not much. I already looked at the weather forecast. One we do for a little bit tonight.

[Phoebe Judge]

Oh, but I know it's all going to melt. How are you feeling?

[Valentine Judge]

I'm feeling fine.

[Phoebe Judge]

Good, good. Well, I don't have anything else to report. I'm just, you know, working away and that's it.

[Valentine Judge]

Okay, sweetie. I'm glad you called.

[Phoebe Judge]

Well, I'll see you on Friday.

[Valentine Judge]

I can't wait.

[Phoebe Judge]

I talked to her about what I should wear on tour. My mother was always very glamorous and loved clothes. I told her how Lauren thought it would be a good idea for me to wear a tuxedo. She didn't agree. But you can see the vision.

[Valentine Judge]

Yes, I definitely can.

[Phoebe Judge]

If it's a well fitted tuxedo.

[Valentine Judge]

Yes, that would make a big difference. Who else is on stage with you?

[Phoebe Judge]

Lauren. So she could wear tuxedo.

[Valentine Judge]

Oh, well, now, if both of you are wearing tuxedos, then it makes more sense.

[Phoebe Judge]

I was absolutely determined to find a way for her to come to our show in Boston. I kept talking to her about it from every city. I called my mother before the show. I remember standing outside of the Fitzgerald Theater in Minnesota giving her an update on the crowd. I told her I would see her in a few days. Finally, we arrived in Boston. I got to the theater early to make sure that her seat would have the best view. She'd be using a wheelchair. And I spent a long time trying to map out the best route for her to get backstage. I told everyone that my mother was coming and that she was sick. And the staff at the Wilbur Theater were wonderful. The security guards were waiting outside. When her car pulled up to the loading dock. I was shocked at how they treated her like royalty. We got my mother to the dressing room, and more and more family and friends arrived. We made this little pin for the tour. It's kind of a joke. It's a photograph of me looking at the camera during a local news interview years ago. I gave her one, and she put it right on. I spent the whole show looking out at the audience and finding her. She was sitting next to my aunt. I kept looking to see if she was laughing. She was not all the time, but some of the jokes were landing. She was always a harsh critic. My aunt told me that when the show was over and people were clapping, my mother tried to stand up. My aunt tried to stop her, but my mother said, I'm standing up. And she did. The security guys carried her wheelchair down the steps out to the loading dock. I told her we had seven more shows, and then I'd be back to Massachusetts to be with her. She told me to do good work, don't worry about her, and that she'd see me soon. A few days before I got home, I asked if she could have another scan. She seemed to be doing so well. No symptoms. I wondered if there had been a mistake. We planned a family weekend on Cape Cod, her favorite place on earth. She grew up going there with her three sisters. The night before I went to pick her up, the doctor called. The cancer had spread over her pancreas and now to her liver. I asked the doctor what she would do if this were one of her parents. And she said, I would let them be and have as much good time as possible. We went ahead with our Cape Cod weekend. My partner, Sarah, went early and cooked and filled the house with flowers and made a bedroom for my mother. And I sat with my mother and talked and looked at pictures. And do you see this picture of yourself?

[Valentine Judge]

I did see that, honey.

[Phoebe Judge]

You like that?

[Valentine Judge]

Oh, wow. Look how young I am, Valentine. You looked pretty good then.

[Phoebe Judge]

You did look pretty good then.

[Valentine Judge]

That was when I was flirting.

[Phoebe Judge]

That's a good picture.

[Valentine Judge]

It is a good picture. Will you put that in my obituary?

[Phoebe Judge]

You want that picture? You want in your obituary?

[Valentine Judge]

Yeah, but cropped in a little bit.

[Phoebe Judge]

Okay, cropped in. That's the picture you want. Mm. Okay, done. That whole weekend, we ate and laughed and drove around the beaches she loved so much. She sang old songs with my Aunt Jane. They told stories about growing up. My mother seems so alive.

[Valentine Judge]

Two different faces. But in tight places, we think and we act as one. So. So those who know see us, know that everything could come between us. When.

[Phoebe Judge]

That's pretty good. You got pretty far.

[Valentine Judge]

We got pretty far, yeah. The lord help the Mr. Who comes between me and my sister. And Lord help the sister who comes between me and my man.

[Phoebe Judge]

Good. Got it. When she left, all we talked about was coming back when it got warmer, when the flowers were out. And then I basically moved into the hospice house. I started using her room to do interviews over Zoom for Criminal and this Is Love. Or if there was an open room, I'd sometimes do interviews there. Or a track, which is what we call recording my narration. On a Friday night in January 1893, a group of masked men arrived at the jail. Yes, hold on, Lily. Hello? Is it okay if I come in? Absolutely. Lily. Just one second, Lily. One second, Lily. Sorry.

[Valentine Judge]

No problem, no problem. I just have a 4 o'clock pill.

[Phoebe Judge]

A few minutes early. Oh, you'll like this one, Mom. Do you mind if I bring you an Ativan right now? That's the good stuff. Right under the tongue. Mom, just try to take. Sorry to make you be quiet for a little while, mom, but I'll be done soon. Thank you very much. Good, good, good. Thank you, thank you. Okay, okay. All right. Sorry, I'm back. One Friday night in January, 1893, a group of masked men arrived at the jail in a small town outside of New Orleans. It became a routine. I'd arrive around 8 each morning. After stopping to get her a cinnamon roll or an Old Fashioned donut on the way, I'd walk into my mother's room and sometimes find that she wasn't there already. Down in the dining room having an English muffin and coffee. Always coffee. Or sometimes I'd find her in her room, not yet awake. I'd walk in and try to sit down quietly. She'd usually wake up quickly and I'd go sit on her bed and she'd say the same thing always. Hi, darling. I'm so glad to see you. And then, you know what? I'd really love coffee. Most mornings she would remind me that I had my 9am editorial call coming up. I'd say, I'll be quick. And her response was always, take your time. In between meetings and interviews, we would go out, taking long drives around western Massachusetts, always with a big emphasis on lunch and then usually with a stop for marshmallow sundaes and Diet Pepsi. We'd come back so my mother could take a nap and I could do some work, most afternoons sneaking away for a run the same route, up and down Pleasant street to the top of the UMass campus and then back 3.2 miles. My mother would say the same thing to me as I left. Please be careful. And I'd reply the same way every time, don't worry, Mom. It's on sidewalks. She'd be waiting when I came back. How'd you do? My mother was very present during work calls. At one point, Lauren was telling everyone that one way to keep cut flowers from wilting is to add a few drops of vodka. My mother joked, same for me. Another time we were having an edit for the criminal episode about jaywalking. I offered to go into another room, but she said she was happy just listening. And then an hour later, she said out loud, this is the most boring thing I've ever heard in my life. Everyone laughed. Her sisters and cousins would come and visit, and then the singing would start. My Aunt Phoebe would sing the songs they made up when they were little. When my mother was six, she made up a cereal she called Crimeys, which was just a bunch of healthy cereals all mixed up together. But when you called them Crimeys, it made it more exciting, and she made up a jingle. Here's my aunt playing the piano in the living room of the hospice.

[Valentine Judge]

Crimies. O Crimeys, Ooh, Crimeys they are so.

[Phoebe Judge]

Good.

[Valentine Judge]

Crimeies Ooh, Crimeys Ooh, Crimeys they are so good One more time. Crime, crime Crybies they are so good.

[Phoebe Judge]

There was a lot of watching British gardening shows and Rick Steves, but more than anything, my mother wanted to watch Larry David. She would laugh and laugh. My father would often come at the end of the day and I'd head back to his house. He and my mother were married for 30 years, had three children together, and had been divorced for a decade. But they never really drifted apart. My father would show up to the hospice every evening around five, and hours later, I'd call and ask where he was, and he'd say, you, mother and I are sitting outside having a glass of wine and listening to Blossom. Deary. It's a beautiful night. My mother had been giving him a hard time about his decision to grow a beard. She'd said, tony, what are you going to do about that beard. It's really awful. Then one day he walked in and the beard was gone. My mother and I were at Captain Jack's Seafood Restaurant when I realized something had changed. Her favorite thing in the world had been their onion rings. She looked at me after eating a few and said, you know what, Phoebe? I'm not really hungry. We got in the car and turned on the Talking Heads, her favorite. And she was there smoking a cigarette and singing along to Road to Nowhere. She said that day what she said every time we got in the car. I'm here driving on this beautiful day with my girl Phoebe. What more could I want? Right around this time, I did an interview with the musician Peggy Seeger. It was a difficult interview for a lot of reasons. But there was a point where, listening back now, I think I couldn't hide what was happening. What was it like to lose him?

[Valentine Judge]

What do you think? Those kind of questions, Phoebe, baffle me because I know you want some fantastic answer. And whenever anybody asks a woman, what did it feel like to see your toddler under a steamroller? I think, what do they think it felt like? I mean, he was my life companion.

[Phoebe Judge]

He.

[Valentine Judge]

It was. It was. I'm not comparing you to that. But the question. I think you must know what the answer is. And you just want me to say it.

[Phoebe Judge]

No, I. No, I don't know. I only ask because I wonder if you had been watching someone decline for a very long time and be sick even though he was good at it. And I wonder in some way. Of course, the easy answer. And that's the answer. Of course it's hard. It's the worst thing in the world. It's horrible, of course. But that's not really. That's just a simple thing. I wonder in some way whether because you had this life with Irene that was happening in some way and because he had been sick. I just. That's what I'm interested in is, you know, is it anything more than just. Of course. Of course. Horrible. My mother had started to have pain. I'd see it in her face and she'd hold her stomach. She never complained. But I was always watching, constantly asking. At one point she said, phoebe, you asked me five minutes ago. The answer is the same. We had this new language. Where are you? On a scale of 1 to 10, three we could live with. When it got to five, I went to find the nurses. The nurse station was just outside my mother's room. I passed by it every time I walked down the hall to get her a diet Pepsi or push her outside to have a cigarette. I got to know them all and they were wonderful. I'd go and tell them that my mother was at a five again and the answer would always be, well, that's not good. Let's see what we can do. They would come and talk to her and comfort me and find a way to get the pain to go back down. One morning my mother said, let's go for a drive. It was a beautiful May day. Things were green. We drove on back roads to my father's house to pick something up. As we were driving back, I saw my mother grimace a bit in the passenger seat. I asked her about her pain. She looked out the window and said, don't ask me about that anymore. Let's talk about the trees. We'll be right back.

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Support for this show comes from Amazon Prime. However you plan to make the most of the holiday season, you can do it with Amazon Prime. Whether it's last minute ingredients and stocking stuffers or a themed puzzle to solve with the family, get fast free delivery on Holiday Essentials with Prime. And with Prime Video, you can curl up on the couch, warm drinks in hand, and have a holiday movie marathon. Throughout it all. You can tune into classic holiday playlists on Amazon Music. Whatever you're into this holiday season, from streaming to shopping, it's on Prime. Visit Amazon.comprime to get more out of whatever you're into.

[Phoebe Judge]

My sister Chloe died in 2015. She was just about to turn 30. She and my mother were very close. Soon after we found out that my mother had cancer, she started talking about Chloe a lot and talking to her.

[Valentine Judge]

Wish you were here. Hope you're having a good time. If you're having a good time, then I'll be happy if you're not here.

[Phoebe Judge]

Yep, I think that's right.

[Valentine Judge]

You think what's right?

[Phoebe Judge]

She can hear when you talk about Mom. As my mother got sicker, I found myself talking to Chloe too. I was on a run one morning and out loud said Chloe, get ready, she's coming. I've done all I can here. It's your turn now. I kept saying it. I knew things were really turning. When she didn't want a cigarette, I try and get her to eat little bites of things. I started calling people and telling them that they should come. Come now and not in a week or two when she may be sleeping. A lot, a lot about the last 15 years of my mother's life had been hard. And all I wanted to do now was to make her as happy as possible. Letting only the good things through. Okay, mom, what did you just say you were?

[Valentine Judge]

I said that I wanted to be. And I'm going to be happy. And I forget the other thing.

[Phoebe Judge]

Comfortable.

[Valentine Judge]

Comfortable. And I'm both.

[Phoebe Judge]

Because you're being served donuts in bed.

[Valentine Judge]

I'm being served donuts in bed and my girl Phoebe is here. So I am happy.

[Phoebe Judge]

And now we just need to find the remote. My mother was always talking about how she needed a manicure. So I decided I would give her a manicure. Not something I've ever done before. She'd been keeping her hands kind of balled into fists and I gently opened her fingers and painted her nails bright red. My niece and my mother were very close and we decided that it was time for her to come and say goodbye. She goes to school in Vermont. My father went to pick her up and I met her at the door outside to let her know that Grandma looked a little different. Standing in the hall outside of my mother's door, my niece said, she's dying, Phoebe. And I said, yes, she is. And she's so happy you're here. And then this 15 year old walked into her grandmother's room and sat right on the side of her bed and leaned down and said, hi, Grandma. I'm so glad to see you. My mother wasn't really eating anything. By this point we'd started putting Diet Pepsi in a dropper. The same kind they were using to give her morphine and Ativan. Chocolate chip ice cream still works. Sometimes a few bites. She'd let us know when she didn't want any more. I had to go and have a meeting with the nurses for a few minutes and I left Madeline in with my mother. I asked her to take care of her for a little while. She seemed a little nervous. When I came back 15 minutes later, I peeked my head in the door and saw Madeline spooning little bits of ice cream into my mother's mouth and then using a napkin to make sure she hadn't dropped any. My mother was staring right at her. I decided to leave them alone. The nurses kept telling me that they couldn't say exactly when my mother would die. I kept asking. I'd been asking that question since December. This was May. They told me she likely had a week or less. They said that sometimes people need to feel like they have permission to go. So we should start telling my mother that she could leave any time. What a wild thing, I thought. But I would say it. I started telling her that she could go anytime, that everything was going to be okay, that her children would be fine and she had done her job. My cousin is a geriatric nurse practitioner and I asked her what she thought about this. She said yes, and that my mother should hear it from each of her children and see our faces, not just voices on the phone. One morning I got my sister and brother on FaceTime. My mother's eyes were closed and she wasn't speaking much. But when she heard their voices, her eyes opened and they both told her that they loved her and that it was okay to go. I always had a hard time leaving at night, but the aides and nurses started telling me that sometimes people need space. It felt very counterintuitive. I would get back to my father's house at 7:30 or 8. My partner Sarah would be there with dinner and our new four month old puppy. I'd walk in and immediately call the nurses and ask how she was. I'd tell them that I would be back there at 8am but my arrival started getting earlier. 8am became 7 and then 6 and then 5. It was like a magnet. I'd wait outside her room, just watching, trying not to wake her. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to be anywhere else. I kept thinking about the heat wave in Chicago when I was nine, my mother dragged the mattresses off of our beds and put them outside. On New Year's Eve she would always set up Twinkies and root beer and create a string maze through all the rooms of the house. Before we went to sleep, she would come in and say goodnight and you could pick whether you wanted your head rubbed or your back rubbed. I didn't forget that stuff. On May 15th I stayed in bed until 4:45am and then left to see her. When I walked in, my mother was still there, breathing slowly and then not breathing. Someone told me that dying is a lot of work, just like giving birth. I was trying not to crowd her. Sarah and I went to an antique Festival. Something that I would normally never agree to. My Aunt Jane was there with my mother and texting updates all the time. It was an odd thing, walking around looking at old fishing rods, knowing that the next text I could get might be that my mother was gone. I ended up buying a painting of a man riding on the top of a whale. He kind of looked like a pilgrim and he was wearing these shoes with heels. I kept thinking how much my mother would like that. My father was fixated on making arrangements. It hadn't been so long since we did this for my sister. I remember that funeral director saying we would need an urn of some sort. He said he could sell us one, but if it were him, he would go to Michael's and buy a nice cookie jar or something like that to make sure it had a lid. So we did a white ceramic cookie jar from the mall. We dropped it off. It was a set of threes, so we told them they could keep the rest. When we came back to pick up her ashes, they told me there was a problem. She didn't fit. They had really tried, but they were having a hard time getting all the ashes in the largest of the jars. I asked if I could try. I walked back into the office and saw Chloe's ashes there in a cardboard box. A plastic bag the size of a bag of flour. A man showed me that it just wasn't going to work. So I asked if he would hand her to me. And I moved and shaped and stuffed her in there. And I held her in while I asked the man to quickly get the super glue on the top of the lid. When Sarah and I got back to the hospice house, my aunt and uncle and father were outside. The sun was out. I walked into her room to say hello. Her eyes were closed. We changed her into some clean pajamas. I'd become a pro at this point at rolling her over, holding on to her as the aid or nurse pulled the sheets out from underneath. Whenever we would turn her, my mother's eyes would shoot open. She hated it. She was in pain. She would grab onto my hand with so much force, I couldn't imagine that this was someone who was dying. I'd tell her that I was right there and there was no way I was going to let her fall. I'd make a joke about how strong I was. When we finally got her changed and moved, it was always a relief. I'd fall down next to her and say, we did it, Mom. It's over now. And then I'd offer her a Little Diet Pepsi. That night, the aides told me that they had her, she was well taken care of, that she would want me to get some rest. I was told that people's feet start to look a little blue and get cold at the end. So before I left, I felt my mother's feet warm. The next morning, it was still dark when I arrived. I slipped into my mother's room, and unlike the way I'd left her the night before, now her eyes were open and she seemed to be struggling to breathe. The nurse came in and we gave my mother her medicine early. And then the nurse put a patch on my mother's neck to help her breathe. It didn't work. I was trying not to let my mother see how upset I was at the fact that she seemed to be struggling. I sat down by her side and held her hand and talked to her about the funny painting with the man in the heels. I told her I'd go get us some coffee. Then I went into the hall and asked the nurse what she thought about the idea that people need space to die. She said, well, yes, but also, people leave the way they lived. If your mother was a social person, she might like you around company. When I walked back in the room, my mother's eyes were still open, staring right at me. But her breath was calm. The calmest breathing I'd ever seen. I told her to go find Chloe and that I'd come find them. And I told her, thank you. And then she took her last breath. I had my hand on her shoulder and I closed my eyes. And I just started breathing. The birds outside the window had not stopped. The rain had not stopped. After a minute, I felt my mother's wrist. No pull. I kept standing there with my hand on her shoulder. After about 10 minutes, I walked out to the nurse's station to let them know that my mother had died at 8:16. The nurse came in and listened to her chest and then said, valentine, it was an honor caring for you. I had never really been with a dead body before. I'd been to the Body Farm for an episode of Criminal. But I didn't really know what to expect. I had no idea how peaceful it would be. I called my father and Sarah and they started the drive over. I spent the next 20 minutes alone with her in the room. After a while, the aide came in and asked if it would be all right to wash my mother a little so we could get her changed. I said, of course. I said I would help. It was so funny. My mother's Back was still warm. Her cheek was cold. We washed her and then dressed her back in her favorite gray sweater and put the Phoebe pin on her chest. And then braided her hair. And I put a bow at the end and sprayed her with Chanel Number five, her favorite. I put her pocketbook on the end of her bed. When the funeral home showed up, I realized that this was the one thing I couldn't do. I didn't want to see her being taken away. I stayed in the room until I heard they were outside. And then I did what I had done for so many days in the past months. I left my mother's room and went for a run. Sarah stayed with my mother until they took her away. I ran the same route that I had all those times. When I got back, my mother was gone. Sarah told me that. That when they opened the door to bring my mother out, the whole staff and all the volunteers were lined up on both sides of the hallway wishing my mother a good journey. Telling her how glad they were to have gotten to know her. I wrote her obituary the next morning. It was strange to try to get the feeling of her right. I wrote that she loved beautiful things. Stone walls, French braids. She loved a good joke. She loved a well cut suit on a man. She loved Cape Cod. She loved the sun. She loved fried clams, but did not like bellies. She loved onion rings, chocolate chip ice cream. She loved a marshmallow sundae. She hated eggs and whipped cream. She loved opera and the Talking Heads, Italian Vogue. She loved an event and was a fantastic hostess. She loved her children. I chose the picture that she asked for for the obituary of her on the beach on Cape Cod when she was about 38. We had her memorial in Sudbury, Massachusetts, where she grew up on June 1st in a beautiful old chapel. I wore my mother's skirt. We always called it the butterfly skirt. She'd worn it at Chloe's funeral. I played some of the tape I had recorded of her over the last few months. So my mother was there with us in the room.

[Valentine Judge]

I got it. Hello.

[Phoebe Judge]

Hi, Mom.

[Valentine Judge]

Hi, darling. How are you?

[Phoebe Judge]

Fine. How you feeling?

[Valentine Judge]

Good.

[Phoebe Judge]

Would you introduce yourself?

[Valentine Judge]

My name is Valentine judge. Uh, I'm 73 years old and I've been living in Chicago for about 25 years. And now I'm come back here, close to Phoebe and close to the many humorous acts that we will perform in Massachusetts. I think they know that now.

[Phoebe Judge]

Oh, they do? Okay. And do you see this picture of yourself?

[Valentine Judge]

I did see that, honey.

[Phoebe Judge]

You like that?

[Valentine Judge]

Oh, wow. Look how young I am, Valentine. You look pretty good then.

[Phoebe Judge]

You did look pretty good then.

[Valentine Judge]

That was when I was flirting.

[Phoebe Judge]

It's a good picture.

[Valentine Judge]

It is a good picture. Will you put that in my obituary?

[Phoebe Judge]

You want. That's your picture you want in your obituary.

[Valentine Judge]

Yeah, but cropped in a little bit.

[Phoebe Judge]

Okay. Cropped in. That's the picture you want. Mm. Okay.

[Valentine Judge]

Done camp. Why do you have a picture of me there?

[Phoebe Judge]

Cause I liked it. Okay, mom, what did you just say you were?

[Valentine Judge]

I said that I wanted to be. And I'm going to be happy. And I forget the other thing.

[Phoebe Judge]

Comfortable.

[Valentine Judge]

Comfortable. And I'm both.

[Phoebe Judge]

Because you're being served donuts in bed.

[Valentine Judge]

I'm being served donuts in bed. And my girl Phoebe is here, so I am happy.

[Phoebe Judge]

And now we just need to find the remote.

[Valentine Judge]

Okay, I'll sign off.

[Amazon Prime Advertiser]

Okay.

[Phoebe Judge]

Say you gotta end the show. You gotta say something. End the show.

[Valentine Judge]

I have to say something. End of the show.

[Phoebe Judge]

Yeah.

[Valentine Judge]

Well, the star of the show is going away. That's me. Yes.

[Phoebe Judge]

If you'd like to hear even more this Is Love, subscribe to the show wherever you get your podcasts. If you're already a listener, tell someone about it. Thanks very much. Criminal and this Is Love are created by Lauren Spohr and me. Nadia Wilson is our senior producer. Katie Bishop is our supervising producer. Our producers are Susannah Roberson, Jackie Sagico, Lily Clark, Lena Silason and Megan Kinane. Our show is mixed and engineered by Veronica Simonetti. You can learn more about the show on our website, thisislovepodcast.com and you can sign up for our [e-mail] newsletter. You can listen to this Is Love without any ads by signing up for Criminal plus, you'll also get to listen ad free to our other shows, Criminal and Phoebe Reads a Mystery. Plus you'll get bonus episodes and more. To learn more, go to thisiscriminal.com plus we're on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Thisisloveshow. This is love is part of the Vox Media podcast network. Discover more great [e-mail] I'm Phoebe Judge, and this is Love. Okay, sweetheart. Okay. Bye, mom.

[Valentine Judge]

Bye, darling.

[Apple Pay Advertiser]

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[Phoebe Judge]

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