John Bednarowski: A life well-lived

Oct. 21—My mother was never one who paid attention to the odds because, for nearly her entire life, she beat them.

Studies showed that only about 2% of women in 1950 went to college.

My mother did.

Another study said only about 4% of women in the 1970s owned their own business.

My mother did.

Colon cancer tried to take her twice in the early '90s.

She beat it both times.

It was a heck of a track record, but there were two things my mother was never going to beat — Alzheimer's disease and "Father Time."

They finally caught up to Therese Bednarowski around 10 a.m. last Sunday. She was 91. She passed peacefully with her dignity intact.

I just wish it would have come a little earlier. Mother lived 87 wonderful years. Over the last four, the awful disease robbed her of a life full of memories from a life well-lived. It was painful to watch.

My mother was born in 1931 in Kimberly, Wisconsin. In 1949, she graduated high school, where she was a cheerleader, and left home for college. Then, she went to nursing school in Chicago.

In the '50s, she became a career woman before it became cool, and she continually reinvented herself.

She was a nurse, worked in the corporate medical insurance world and, then, at a high-profile law firm. While working, she also found time to finish fourth in the 1956 Miss Chicago Pageant, reconnected with a high school friend from back home in Wisconsin and later married him. That was Jack Bednarowski, my father.

My parents moved to Ohio in 1962, and my mother beat the odds again by having me in 1969 at the age of 38. It was almost unheard of for a woman that age to have a child at that time, but, for obvious reasons, I was glad she did.

In 1976, mother purchased an employment agency — Executive Associates in Wooster, Ohio. The last 11 of her working years, she was the assistant to the Wayne County, Ohio, prosecutor.

She was a woman of many talents, but that was just her resume.

Mother had a sneaky sense of humor and would raise it when it was least expected, and she could cut someone to the core with a one-liner that came out of nowhere.

She drank enough black coffee to keep Juan Valdez in business for years. She would start at 5:30 a.m., go straight through until 10 p.m. and when her head hit the pillow, she was out in a matter of seconds.

She had three main vices — jewelry (oh, my God, the jewelry), fur coats and Coach purses (32 to be exact).

After she retired in 1996, she could claim a fourth vice. While never to excess, she never met a bourbon-and-7, margarita or glass of wine she didn't like.

I was proud of everything my mother accomplished while she raised me and while she was working, but I was most proud of her for what she did after my father passed away in 1995.

There was no feeling sorry for herself. She picked herself up and made sure she found ways to enjoy the remainder of her time, and sports paved much of the way for much of the next 28 years.

I learned my lifelong love of sports (and coffee) from my parents. Growing up in Wisconsin, my mother and father were lifelong Green Bay Packers fans. However, after living in Ohio for the last 60 years, my mother developed a fondness for the Cleveland Indians, Browns and Cavaliers.

Some of her favorite players included former Indians shortstop Omar Vizquel and first baseman Jim Thome. She loved watching Packers quarterback Brett Favre, marveled at LeBron James and the way Phil Mickelson could get up and down with short game wizardry.

As my mother got older, she watched so many sporting events, she often carried the conversation at her daily breakfast meetings with her friends when the previous night's game — regardless of who played — was mentioned.

She also took advantage of her opportunities to travel. There were European trips and cruises. Bus trips to casinos and for leaf-peeping in New England. There were also visits to her family in Wisconsin, and the week-long visits to Georgia to see me that eventually became two and three weeks at a time.

Unfortunately, about five years ago, things began to change. Living on her own became dangerous, and driving a car was not an option. The disease took her independence and trapped a once vibrant woman inside a body that couldn't do what she wanted it to any longer.

The last two years, I called her every day, but the conversation was always the same. She limited herself to the same questions. It got to the point where we could laugh or cry, so we chose laughter. I often asked her what she had for lunch or dinner, knowing she couldn't remember, but she always offered a response.

"How was lunch today, mother?" I'd ask.

"It was good. The food is good here," she said.

"What did they have for you today?" I'd ask.

"I had a stuffed crouton," she said one day.

"What was it stuffed with?" I asked.

"You know, it was stuffed with eggs and peppers. It was good."

It didn't matter. You could hear she was satisfied and happy with her answer. Until the very end, she did not lose her inner self or her sense of humor.

The last time I visited her was about three weeks ago. She had reached the state where she was sleeping upwards of 23 hours a day. Conversation wasn't possible, and I'm not sure she remembered my name. But one of the times she was up, while dealing with the nurses, she lifted her head, pointed at me and said, "That's my boy."

Those were the last words I heard her say. It was more than I could have asked for.

It's when I said goodbye.

John Bednarowski is the sports editor of the Marietta Daily Journal and a former president of the Associated Press Sports Editors. He can be reached at sportseditor@mdjonline.com or on Twitter @cobbfballfri or @jbednarowski.