My Mother Is At Peace.

On January 14, 2026, my mother, MaryAnn Portelli passed away quietly at home at the age of 87.

She went to the hospital on December 12, 2025, was almost sent to a rehab facility then took a turn for the worst. By Dec.19, doctors began to tell us to prepare of her ending. She was sent to the ICU and stayed there for ten days, never improving and with the doctors saying that she could not survive with the 5 IVs she had (and which she kept tearing at). So my brothers and I decided to disconnect her from all that on Dec. 29. The doctors said that she probably wouldn't survive more than a few hours. Two days later they transfered her to the comfort care ward. She received only pain medication, barely ate, did not speak and was unaware of anything.

The hospital told us that she could not stay there under her insurance so we took her home on Jan. 9 for home hospice, getting supplies as we needed as she was given nothing. We got a motorized bed, oxygen machine and an aide from 8am to 10 pm. I was the one who had to administer the pain meds and help tend to her. She stopped eating and taking her meds on Jan. 13 and passed the next day, her long ordeal finally over.

She was born in Malta when it was part of the British Empire and lived through constant bombing during World War II. She came to America with her family in 1950, marrying my father in 1963 and starting a family with sons Richard (1964), me (1965), Robert (1967) and Michael (1970). She had ten grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren with another on the way and more to follow.

Her health suffered and she's been ina wheelchair since she was 70.

My father passed away in 2014.

She had ng love for the Royal Family, Elvis, JFK, Rock Hudson, Elizabeth Taylor, Broadway musicals, Tony Bennett, Little House on the Prarie, The Waltons, Dallas, Dynasty, Three's Company, Country Music (especially Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash, Kenny Rogers), JAG, NCIS, Friends, the Big Bang Theory, Gilmore Girls, When Calls the Heart and Chicago Fire.

She bought me my first comic books for Christmas 1972, a move she would later come to regret but she listened as I talked about the super-heroes, Star Trek and the rest of my interests.

Her wake is Tuesday Jan. 20 and her funeral on the 20th.

I do not know what my future holds as I've taken care of her for the last seventeen years but I will try to be as strong as she was.

But I will missher.

Philip,

The loss of one's parents is the way of the world. But that doesn't make it any easier on the heart. It's oh so difficult to watch the slow degeneration of those who, in your earliest days, were so strong, so vital, so capable. You're the one taking care of them, now---and somehow, it doesn't seem right. I am now the patriarch of my entire family, and it doesn't seem possible. Only yesterday, I had parents and aunts and uncles giving me direction in life. Now, it's me regaling my nephews and nieces and my wife's grandchildren with stories from the "olden days" and hoping that they take from them life's lessons.

I was luckier than you. My mother went quickly. She contracted multiple myeloma and only a month after the diagnosis, she was gone. My father died from the infirmities of old age, but he'd remarried, and his wife took on the burdens of his care that, otherwise, would've fallen on me and my brother---as they fell onto you with your mother.

I cannot imagine the weight that you bore for the last seventeen years, but I can tell you: you were, and are, as strong as she was. You fulfilled your duties as a son that I never had to---and I admire you and respect you greatly for that. Undoubtedly, so did your mother. She must've been so proud of you.

My family is of German stock, and emotions are not discussed openly. Words like "love" and "pride" were never spoken in my home growing up. It could be brutal. Meals at our table were often like dinner with the Ewings. My father, particularly, and I were of different ideologies on how to proceed in life, and I was stubborn enough to go my own way, regardless of his criticisms and the comment I so often heard from him: "Normal people don't do that." Despite all of that, I knew that the love and affection were there, even if unspoken. Still, my most rewarding moment came when I was on duty on the other side of the world, in 1999, and I missed Christmas at home. I called Cheryl that evening and she told me that, at the family Christmas party, my father pulled her aside and told her that he was so proud of me for never letting anything stop me from achieving the things I wanted in my life.

That's how I know your mother was so proud of you. Even if she never said so to you. But, I bet she did.

The memories of her that you recounted here. Small things, but so memorable to you, speak of how active the love and affection in your family was. Hold on to those memories, my friend. Cherish them. For when the pain of her passing ebbs, they will be the things that make her continue to live in your heart, and she will never totally be gone.

For what little solace it provides, please take the thoughts and prayers of myself and Cheryl with you---along with the same sentiments of everyone else here on this board. We are also part of your family.

Replies

Dave Palmer January 19, 2026 at 7:22pm

Philip,

My thoughts are with you and your family.
Jeff of Earth-J January 19, 2026 at 8:49pm

I am so sorry. My deepest condolences.
Luke Blanchard January 20, 2026 at 2:54am

My condolences.
Don Mankowski January 20, 2026 at 5:32am

Wishing you strength.
JD DeLuzio January 20, 2026 at 5:40am

With deepest sympathy.
Commander Benson January 22, 2026 at 4:42pm

Philip,

The loss of one's parents is the way of the world. But that doesn't make it any easier on the heart. It's oh so difficult to watch the slow degeneration of those who, in your earliest days, were so strong, so vital, so capable. You're the one taking care of them, now---and somehow, it doesn't seem right. I am now the patriarch of my entire family, and it doesn't seem possible. Only yesterday, I had parents and aunts and uncles giving me direction in life. Now, it's me regaling my nephews and nieces and my wife's grandchildren with stories from the "olden days" and hoping that they take from them life's lessons.

I was luckier than you. My mother went quickly. She contracted multiple myeloma and only a month after the diagnosis, she was gone. My father died from the infirmities of old age, but he'd remarried, and his wife took on the burdens of his care that, otherwise, would've fallen on me and my brother---as they fell onto you with your mother.

I cannot imagine the weight that you bore for the last seventeen years, but I can tell you: you were, and are, as strong as she was. You fulfilled your duties as a son that I never had to---and I admire you and respect you greatly for that. Undoubtedly, so did your mother. She must've been so proud of you.

My family is of German stock, and emotions are not discussed openly. Words like "love" and "pride" were never spoken in my home growing up. It could be brutal. Meals at our table were often like dinner with the Ewings. My father, particularly, and I were of different ideologies on how to proceed in life, and I was stubborn enough to go my own way, regardless of his criticisms and the comment I so often heard from him: "Normal people don't do that." Despite all of that, I knew that the love and affection were there, even if unspoken. Still, my most rewarding moment came when I was on duty on the other side of the world, in 1999, and I missed Christmas at home. I called Cheryl that evening and she told me that, at the family Christmas party, my father pulled her aside and told her that he was so proud of me for never letting anything stop me from achieving the things I wanted in my life.

That's how I know your mother was so proud of you. Even if she never said so to you. But, I bet she did.

The memories of her that you recounted here. Small things, but so memorable to you, speak of how active the love and affection in your family was. Hold on to those memories, my friend. Cherish them. For when the pain of her passing ebbs, they will be the things that make her continue to live in your heart, and she will never totally be gone.

For what little solace it provides, please take the thoughts and prayers of myself and Cheryl with you---along with the same sentiments of everyone else here on this board. We are also part of your family.

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