Cindy Lee Anderson - This is just one small portion of our love story. I will start at the end. You died on June 11, 2025.

My beautiful mother Cindy - Loving and protecting her little ones....

The last time I posted was June 9th. I had a plan to post the next part in my series over the following few days as I continued working to make more meaning of the various things I’m studying. But things change....

My mother passed away on June 11th.

It was a regular day for me—I was at work. I was spending time writing to my friends in our group chat, getting ready for the weekend just a few days away when I’d be driving to Philadelphia for some fun. I was unaware at that time that my mother hadn’t been feeling well for over a week.

My sister, who recently moved with her family to Florida, was off work and at home. My mother called her and asked if she could come over for tea. She had just left the lawyer’s office after filing for divorce from the man she had abruptly married in February 2025—just four months earlier. The marriage was doomed, I guess. The man was unstable, and my mom—who was 66—didn’t need another man to fix. What she needed was peace and relaxation. But there was none of that with this particular guy.

Anyway, with the divorce papers in hand, she made her way to my sister’s house. She let my sister know she hadn’t been feeling well. I guess a week earlier my sister had invited her to a concert, and my mom hadn’t been herself—normally she’d be up dancing, but that day she stayed seated. And now, a week later, she was saying something felt wrong. She mentioned casually that she might’ve had a small heart attack the other day.

My sister, a pharmacist who knows her way around the medical world, told her they needed to go to the doctor right away. My mom wasn’t interested, but she did ask my sister to help her fill out an online will. I think my mom knew something serious was going on. With the divorce papers finalized, the will was her next step to ensure this man she married wouldn’t have anything to do with her affairs.

My sister helped her with the online will. While my mom was on the phone with her friend outside, my sister went to change over the laundry. When she came back, she saw my mom slumped over. She ran outside and started CPR. She was able to get her pulse back, and then the ambulance arrived. They told my sister not to follow them because they’d be “running hot.” As they put my mom in the ambulance, she came to—thrashing around. Out of it, like the fighter she always was—kicking and screaming. My sister said, “Mom, calm down, they’re here to help you.” Then they took off to the hospital.

My sister called me, crying. “Patience…” and then she told me what had happened. I was at work when I got the call—walking down the hallway on my way to grab lunch. I asked her to contact me as soon as she knew more and went back to my desk to process.

I called my two brothers quickly and let them know I’d update them as soon as I heard anything. I remember whispering to my mom at my desk—“Come on, Mom… please, Mom… Mommy, I love you.” I hoped she could somehow hear me all the way from Florida.

Then my sister texted me to say they were taking her to a different hospital than originally planned, and that she’d update me once she got there.

I sat at my desk just focusing on my mom, whispering to her to please try hard—for all of us.

My sister called. I answered the phone. I knew right away by the way she sounded. Everything around me went silent—suspended in time. My sister was screaming and crying into the phone. I said, “Who’s with you?”—just wanting to know who was there to support her. Her husband got on the phone and said, “I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry,” and he was crying too.

I broke down and started crying. Eventually I got off the phone and called my two brothers.

“It’s not good news. I’m so sorry to tell you over the phone… but she didn’t make it.”

My mother was a very unique and beautiful woman—inside and out.

My mother was sunshine.

But she also knew the shade. She had lived through and conquered so much in her life. She was strong, brave, and radiant in her strength.

But in some moments of poor judgment—as she got older—she often sacrificed common sense for her romantic nature, charging into brokenness with the desire to fix it. She saw herself as a sort of healer-warrior.

Which brings me back to that short marriage and the divorce.

For weeks, she had wanted him to leave the house—her house, which she bought with her own money (my sister had helped her secure the mortgage). But her “husband” wouldn’t leave. She put a lock on her door to keep him out of her room, but he broke that boundary and went in anyway. They had fights. When she left to stay at my sister’s for a few days, he changed the locks on her house. She bought the house. Everything in the house was hers. She worked. He didn’t. My sister has a video recording of my mom confronting him when he finally opened the door after changing the locks. My mother was 66—this was no way for her to be living: in a constant state of fight or flight.

My mom and I hadn’t been very close over the last few years. That was mostly on me. I was keeping some distance because my marriage needed work—and so did I. For the last two years, I had been investing time in myself. I found a social life that invigorated me and inspired me to grow. I got involved in women’s Freemasonry, which took up a lot of time as I worked through the degrees.

But we still texted and talked from time to time. I would send her photos of my bird and my pets. In February 2023, I called to let her know that we’d be heading to Florida to visit Josh’s dad, as we do every year. He lives in NY but rents a place in Florida for a month, and each of his kids spends a week with him.

When I called her, she said, “I haven’t talked to you in a long time. I’m getting married in a few days. You can come if you want.”

I was absolutely shocked. I had no idea she was even dating anyone. I was hurt. Hurt that she didn’t tell me. That we had grown so far apart. That she didn’t think it was worth mentioning.

I decided not to go to the wedding. I carried on with our trip but sent her well wishes. Later that year, on her birthday, I called her. I woke up that morning thinking about her—not even realizing it was her birthday—and had an overwhelming feeling that I should call. So I did. And I’m so glad. She was sweet, no attitude, just warmth in her voice. She mentioned that she wasn’t getting along with her husband, and we joked that maybe she should stop rushing into marriage. We laughed. It felt like we had made up, like we were on track to grow closer again.

I texted her here and there, sent pictures of the bird. She called another time when she had been out walking—upset about another fight with him. I texted my sister too, to check in on how things were going. I was glad they lived only ten minutes apart. I felt secure knowing my sister was nearby and could help protect her.

The marriage had become a bit of a joke—“Stop doing that, Mom, lol.”

She laughed and said, “Sometimes I do stupid things.”

And I laughed too, because I do stupid things sometimes, too. We’re human.

The last text I sent her, I asked how things were going with the marriage.

She said: “Good. We’re trying to make it work. We got an online counselor and we’re looking for a church to join.”

I wish I could say, like my sister can, that my mom and I were best friends. That we were close. All I really want in life are deep connections. But because I tend to be so sensitive, it takes me a long time to warm up when things go cold. I wasn’t my mom’s best friend. I wasn’t the best daughter. I didn’t always aim to be. I had the desire to be closer—but at that time, neither of us was in the place to do that.

We hadn’t been talking much. I’d felt especially estranged from her after our last visit in February 2023. We were in Florida, visiting Josh’s dad. I was overweight, emotionally exhausted, and dealing with the brunt of Josh’s frustrations. He was overwhelmed and took it out on me—about how I looked, about what I hadn’t done, about how he was feeling. That was the pattern then.

I let him know my mom was on her way to see me. She was driving hours to get there. I thought it would be nice to do something together. He wasn’t interested, and we fought about it. So by the time she arrived, I was emotionally spent.

I still tried to make the best of the visit. But I was distracted. I didn’t even take many pictures of her. But I found the last picture we took together.

There are so many better moments and memories of us. But that is the very last picture of me and my mom, from February 2023.

I can’t change that. I can’t change the circumstances around it.

I know my mother loved me very much.

I know I sometimes made that hard for her in various ways.

I know that Josh and my mom were never going to be best friends.

And I know that those things created blocks in our ability to grow our relationship into what we both wanted it to be.

The love I have for my mother is like no other love.

It’s vital to who I am. She is vital to my story, to my DNA, and to the person I am today.

Our love was not a fairy tale—but it was beautiful and full of human complications on both sides.

We let other relationships, at times, sway our ability to connect and to just be together.

My mom often told me I was a lot like her…

She saw herself in me. She saw a lot of beautiful things in me—and she saw herself.

This blurb I wrote today gives only a sliver of the complex love story between me and my mother.

It doesn’t fully show the depth and devotion my mom placed into her role as a mother—especially when we were younger.

This piece doesn’t capture the bright light and sunshine of my mother’s mannerisms—her movements on the dance floor, the way she swayed and laughed.

You, the reader—unless you knew her personally—missed out on one of the most unique and loving women.

She was complex. She had a very strong way of living her life the way she wanted to live it.

I remember lying in your bed, Mom, when I came to visit before COVID.

You were warm and soft, and we stayed up talking like two girls at a sleepover.

You did my nails that night.

It was fun—it was fun to be with you, and to be your friend when we were in that groove.

Right now, you’re everywhere—with everyone who loves you.

And I can’t stop thinking about you.

I love you.