I didn’t know it at the time, but this is the last of a three-part series on grief, and losing my mother. I first wrote about her death from uterine cancer in the May issue of The Voice. Then in August, I wrote about her Celebration of Life. Finally, at least for now, I will write about saying goodbye and wrapping up a life.
It wasn’t easy losing my mom, Jill Amoni, who was lovingly known as Jilly. My mom used the moniker on her license plate, and although “Jilly” wasn’t exactly a nickname, those who loved her would often call her by Jilly. My grandma, her mother, was deaf and could vocalize very few words, but “Jilly” was always loud and clear – that and “pop-o-corn,” her favorite snack.
My mom grew up in Rock Island in a pretty rundown house near a ravine. My grandpa bought the fixer upper and when he showed it to my grandma on their wedding day, so the story goes, she cried and went home to live with her parents for a couple of weeks. So it’s no stretch to say that the dilapidated home as a wedding gift didn’t go over too well.
I’d love to say more and share more stories, but I will only bring this childhood home up briefly to make the contrast between that dingy, never-fixed-up home and my mom’s beloved home on Fordham Avenue in Aurora.
With a custom brass plate etched with “Jilly’s” on the upper back door (we called it the “top” back door), my mom’s home was nothing short of cute, adorable, charming, magical, and wonderful. Most of all it was our home. The home that my mom thought she was painting “tan with a pink cast,” and once the paint hit the aluminum siding, it was PINK.
She had already bought the paint, and her friend was painting the house for beer money, so it was a done deal. It was now “The Pink House.” The pink color gave life to the historic house, and my mom never looked back.
My mom owned and loved her pink house for 46 years. Not far off from her last words, my mom looked around in her home and said, “My beautiful house.”
After my mom died, I wasn’t sure what my brother and I would do with the pink house. Maybe we would rent it out or keep it in the family. But after weeks of thinking about it, the answer was pretty clear. It was time for someone else to love the house. It was time to welcome new energy into my mom’s beautiful house. It was time to say goodbye.
I reconciled that along with the decision to sell my mom’s house, I would need to release all claims literally and emotionally to this house that I grew up in, that held so many memories and stories – that was so dearly loved by my mom. The memories and stories are really in my head, though. I can close my eyes anytime and sit on the spiral staircase with legs hanging off to watch Magnum P.I. with my older brother.
The same is true with my mom. She might be gone, and it can be terribly sad to miss her, but the memories, the photos, the bits of saved notes with her handwriting on them, and the love is still there.
It’s been over six months now since she died. The house is sold, and my mom’s old photos and keepsakes are nicely organized in archival boxes. I’m taking time to sit with my grief and to be comforted by my mom’s strong love. My mom’s life is being wrapped up.
Add these art events to your calendar:
December 5: First Fridays Cocoa Crawl, Aurora
December 12: Second Fridays, Batavia
February 28, 2026: All in for Art, Water Street Studios, Batavia
March 19, 2026: Spring into Art for Suicide Prevention Services, Society 57, Aurora
Marissa Amoni is the owner of Marissa Bright, a public relations and event management company specializing in shining the light on nonprofits and small businesses. She coordinates Alley Art Festival and Geneva Arts Fair. Follow her on Instagram @marissashinesbright. Visit a full calendar of art events on alleyartaurora.com/artscene.