In Memoriam of Dorothy Austad

 

My name is Frank Austad. I use the moniker of Frank No Mustard or Franken Honest because I value my privacy.

Conversely, I also frequently post on a number of social media platforms such as Facebook, Deviant Art (Frank10290), YouTube (@franknomustard), BlueSky, and the Franken Honest blog (hello!) - and also on Substack, look for Frank, No Mustard there!

I don’t like being a privacy maniac, but I don't like sharing too much personal information here (or anywhere else, for that matter), either. What I would rather draw your attention to is the importance of public discourse on Science, music, art, and politics.

Being a fairly average American, I believe in the right that everyone has to hear my opinion on these and other subjects.

However, the purpose of today’s article is to share with you about my loving mother, nurse Dorothy Austad, RN.

Mothers are very important to families. I believe that if we showed more respect, caring, dignity, appreciation, and a beholden responsibility to our parents, especially to our mothers, our country wouldn't be in as bad a shape as it is now. That is as far as I will go toward political discourse.

This article is about my Mom.

My mother is the reason I am still alive. Mom bought me my first blood sugar tester when I was diagnosed as a type 1 diabetic nearly 40 years ago. I know because I gave my first self-administered Insulin injection on January 28, 1986, within minutes of the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster. She was always there when I needed her. Mom and Dad cut short a Florida vacation to see me and take me home from the hospital.

I pursued a career in music as a guitarist in a rock band. I held down several low-paying jobs during that time and afterward, finally finding work to support myself and my family – I married Julie, the bass player of the band in October 1991 – as an electronic technician.

For a while, we enjoyed a certain amount of financial stability. In time, however, the specter of ADHD caught up with me, making it difficult to hold down work. It was during this time that I found myself turning to Mom to bail me out time and again.

This does not sit well with me writing about it now, but it does lend itself toward illustrating how beholding I am toward Mom.

This stopped when she broke her hip and was inducted into a care facility. Her entire family celebrated her 96^th birthday with her. We began to notice a slow decline in her physical and mental abilities that increased quite a bit later on.

She struggled with her infirmities, including pneumonia and senile dementia. Her last few months had her children visiting her on an agreed-upon schedule. Through all that weighed upon her toward the end, she was still able to recognize her children, including me. I saw friends and family come to visit her, some remarking how aware she was of them.

I held her hand as she fell comatose, apologizing to her for the numerous times I had let her down during our lives.

My mother passed away on a Sunday a few weeks ago.  A celebration of her life is expected as well.

I fear that I may never have been able to repay her for her love, devotion, and sacrifice during those years.

References:

The Challenger STS-51L Accident The Challenger STS-51L Accident, NASA, retrieved from https://www.nasa.gov/challenger-sts-51l-accident/