Gladys Maxine Henry (nee Okai), did her best for as long as she could. Early on the morning of January 5, 2025, her body faded away, but her light shines on. She was 74.

Our mother overcame a heart attack, a stroke, diabetes, sepsis, a spider bite, and raising three boys mostly on her own. But it was cancer that ultimately took her away from us.

She wasn't one to complain though she had every reason to. She wasn't one to let us know how she was really feeling, although we really wanted her to. And she wasn't one to make anything about her, so I hope she will forgive this obituary. Sorry, Mom.

Gladys Okai was born in 1950 to her parents John and Catherine Okai. She was their second child, following John, her brother. They lived in Madison, IL on Iowa Street, among so many other immigrant families. How a family of four made it work in a house so small was always a point of great wonder to us.

Mom graduated from Madison High School in 1968. She was a good student, played the clarinet, and was a true beauty. Soon after graduating, our grandmother got Mom a bus ticket to Indianapolis so she could to learn computer coding and self-reliance. She succeeded in both.

Our mother and father, Joel Henry, met around that time. Mom and Dad stayed together even after he was drafted and served in Vietnam. They married in 1972, and started a life together.

They brought three children into this world -- Brian, Thomas, and Jay. As boys, we were genetically obligated to make dangerous choices, create inordinate amounts of stress, and test the boundaries of parenting. We held up our end of the bargain. So did Mom. A wooden spoon is a great motivator to behave, we came to know.

Mom was generous with her love and patience. She made sure we had baseball gloves and bikes and a backyard to play in. Mothers love you from the moment they know you. Mom did, no questions asked, though there were a fair number of puzzled looks and deep sighs.

When Mom and Dad divorced, we lived with Mom. She started working outside the home and over the next 40 years, she worked in the proof department, managed flood insurance policies, processed loans, and did quality control for several local banks, before spending the last 21 years of her career at First Bank. Her jobs allowed her to travel sometimes, with Seattle and Los Angeles as her favorite stops. She made friends with every person she worked with, save a few who would not stop snapping their gum no matter how many times she asked them to do so.

Mom was a grandmother -- Gammy, Grandma Bubbles, and G -- to three girls who love her very much. When we see Elise, Sophia, and Natalie, we see our mother and we hear her voice. We also hear Mom chuckling, as she often said that for all the trouble we gave her, the payback was for us to figure out raising girls. They brought our Mom love and light and plenty of dessert. She loved them for who they are and was excited to see what they would become. We will keep you posted, Mom.

No life is without heartbreak and sadness. Our youngest brother Jay died 2018, and because he and Mom were so symbiotic, his passing pained her greatly, though you wouldn't know it unless you asked again and again. She had a strong and stoic exterior, but her love ran deep. We know that Mom was looking forward to seeing him again to yell at him about something, then they'll hug.

Our Mom had a tattoo on the back of her neck, enjoyed rocking out to Tool, and was always down for whatever. She also could host a pretend tea party, rock a baby to sleep, and was good with makeup. She could do all that, often simultaneously.

Mom did not want anything and really didn't need anything either. Her possessions are few. She drove cars until they literally didn't run anymore, wore clothes until they came back into style, and always traveled light -- a week's worth of vacation clothes could fit in a small duffle bag. We offered her everything, but she wanted nothing.

The past three months have given us moments of extraordinary sadness and amazing joy. We thought she had pneumonia, but it turns out she had lung cancer. "Surprise!," she said. She did what she could to tolerate chemotherapy and prepare for another round, but her body said no. We celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas in hospital rooms. We marked the new year with her prone in a bed. We slept next to her from Friday into Saturday and ultimately into Sunday. Her breathing shallowed and then stopped. We were ready for it, but also not at all ready.

The good people at Barnes Jewish Hospital, BJC Extended Care, and BJC Hospice were kind, gentle, thoughtful, and wonderfully professional for our mother, even if we were sometimes none of those things. They made her life as good as it could be. We are grateful.

Gladys lives on in her sons, Brian and Thomas, her daughters-in-law, Julia and Jamie, and three granddaughters, Elise, Sophia, and Natalie. Whatever is the most you can miss someone, that is how much we will miss her.

You may want to honor Gladys, and we appreciate it. At her request, she wanted no ceremonies or memorials. For once, we will listen to her. But if you're so inclined, our ask is a simple one: if your Mom is around, call her right now and tell her you love her; if your Mom has already left you, say a prayer for her and we will too.