Obituary

Welcome readers, my name is Robert Burton, Maureen Posth’s son. Thank you for coming to this website to celebrate Mothers life. Please sign the guestbook and post a memory. There will be a burial ceremony Tuesday August 4 10am at El Toro Cemetery Park (masks and social distancing enforced)

Mother was born Maureen Williams on September 30 1933, a half a world away in Melbourne Australia. Mothers early life shaped the person we celebrate today; someone who is kind, who loves travelling, reading and attending shows.

Mother’s grandfather, a wounded WW1 vet, who she affectionately called Pa, regaled mother with stories of Pa’s England. Mother’s travel bug germinated.  Tragedy struck mother in her teens. Both she and her father contracted TB and were sent to the sanatorium. Mother slowly recovered; her father never reached the age of 50.

This grim reality prompted Mother to escape in books and ultimately the country of her birth.  Mother named Maureen, Irish for the sea took to the sea in a passenger ship destined for Canada, met my father, both later raising me and my two sisters. I often asked mother about this time in her life and like many women of her generation put her dreams on hold and dedicated her life to motherhood and marriage. Let’s fast-forward to the 1980’s when many of you readers met mother following the death of her second husband. Mother grieved her loss and with your friendship rekindled that dormant travel bug Pa instilled many years ago.

Readers, I know about the many trips you have taken with mother because it was my job to sort the pictures in chronological order for her scrapbook. I know about the tour guides, the buses and the many friends she met along the way. I received such detailed accounts I feel I was on the tour with you. Mother and I went on only one trip together. We travelled to London visiting all the tourist sites in record time. Much of the trip consisted of walking down steps, catching the tube then walking back up the steps. Walking to the bus, walking to the ferry and concluding with a walking tour of Jack the Ripper. Never complaining. Whether it was tea and scones at Harrods or shopping at Notting Hill, mother was always up for the challenge. We saw Guys and Dolls, enjoyed cream at intermission and belted out the worst rendition of Luck Be A Lady while walking back to our room. Oh, mother we had fun!

As mother aged her once charismatic social skills were reduced to repeating “And how are you doing today?” to any person nearby. Like the Target checker or the bald-headed woman receiving chemotherapy both touched by mother’s genuine kindness. One of her last days, I woke her up to give her pain pills and help her to the bathroom. She opened her eyes and with that bright smile of hers said “and how are you doing today Bob? I nodded with a tear in my eye and replied we’ve had better days mother haven’t we. I will miss you mother.