I’ve written way too many obituaries over the past year. First there was the obit for my sister Janet, followed a few months later by one for my mom. My most recent funereal writing was for my wife’s mother, Marilyn.

Marilyn was born in 1937 to Freeman and Millie Hansman. Freeman moved his family quite often as his job of revitalizing troubled lumberyards took them from small town to small town.

In 1956, Marilyn graduated from Brookings High School where she had met her lifelong friend Judy Jensen. The BHS baseball field, Bob Sheldon Field, was named for Judy’s brother.

Marilyn was a fan of all sports and wanted to become a gym teacher. She played shortstop on her softball team and was a key member of her bowling team.

My wife’s parents were wed in 1957, a troubled union that lasted roughly a decade. After their marriage ended, Marilyn and her two young children moved in with Millie, who had been widowed.

Marilyn attended hairstyling school, got a job and saved up until she was able to buy a modest house in Sioux Falls. She started a hairstyling business in her home, servicing a clientele that largely consisted of little old ladies who came in on Saturdays to get a ‘do for church on Sunday. My wife became the shampoo girl for her mom, an unpaid position that was nonetheless enriching due to the high levels of gossip and domestic soap opera-like stories that permeated the beauty shop.

I was introduced to Marilyn a few weeks after my wife and I became an item. We met at the Prairie Lanes bowling alley, and I was invited to bowl a few games with my then-girlfriend and her mom. But I had watched Marilyn bowl and saw that she moved with power and the grace of a natural athlete. My fragile male ego couldn’t bear the thought of losing to a lady who was 20 years my senior, so I demurred.

Marilyn married Duane Drewes in 1989 and they spent the next quarter of a century as a loving couple. Duane liked to travel and go camping and fishing, and Marilyn was happy to accompany him.

Duane would hook their camper onto their diesel pickup and hitch their pontoon boat behind the camper. They would find a campsite, park the boat, and get the camper situated in its spot. While Marilyn squared things away inside the camper and started supper, Duane would wander the campground and make friends. Marilyn and Duane spent many pleasant evenings playing cards in their camper with their new-found campground buddies.

Duane was eventually diagnosed with cancer and began to exhibit symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease. Marilyn cared for Duane as best as she could, doing heroic work in the face of insurmountable odds. She was able to tend to Duane at home until just a few weeks before passed away in hospice care at the local VA hospital. It was unbearably sad when they wheeled Duane’s flag-draped casket down the hallway. “Taps” played and the entire hospital stood at silent attention.

About a year after Duane passed, Marilyn moved in with her son, Jeff, and his life partner, Doreen. At first Marilyn complained to my wife about Jeff’s two cats, but it wasn’t long before she and the kitties became pals. When Marilyn sat in the recliner to watch TV, one cat would claim her lap while the other perched atop the chair so that she could be close to Marilyn and purr into her ear.

Jeff and Doreen did a lot of fun things with Marilyn. They would take her for occasional weekends at the Hard Rock Casino in Sioux City and recently flew with her to Las Vegas.

My wife visited her mom frequently, sometimes to take her to medical appointments, sometimes to just “do lunch.” They talked on the phone almost daily. My wife would give her mom updates about our toddler grandson and our new puppy. During their last conversation, Marilyn expressed her deep disappointment regarding the Minnesota Vikings’ four-point loss to the Dallas Cowboys.

Last week Jeff called my wife at midnight, crying. “Mom’s gone!” he sobbed against the background clamor of police radios and urgent chatter between a pair of EMTs. Jeff had come home from his shift at a box factory to find his mother lying on the floor of her basement apartment, unresponsive.

Marilyn didn’t want a service to commemorate her passing, saying that all of her friends were gone. But she didn’t say anything about a newspaper column.

Farewell, Marilyn. Duane has been waiting for you in that campground in the sky.

Farewell, Marilyn