Norma Gassett

WESTBROOK – My mother recently asked me to write her a letter instead of an obituary. Her request felt completely natural, as she never liked the constraints of convention. She did everything in life her own way.

Dear Mom,
When you were born in Biddeford, Maine, on Sept. 3, 1947, you began your journey as Norma Perkins, the only child of Malcolm and Dorothy Perkins. I’m leaving out your middle name because I know you didn’t like it. For the record, though, I always did.

I also won’t follow the protocol for listing many of the other typical details that convention demands, such as a list of predeceased family members. The people you loved who left this world too soon stayed with you in your favorite memories and stories. One of my favorites was about how you met your husband and my father, Daniel Gassett, in 1971. A young auto mechanic at the time, Danny fixed your car in a way that ensured your prompt return to the repair shop so he could ask you out on a date. This bold move ultimately led to my arrival the year after your marriage.

Later, as the two of you built your own business together, you taught me the importance of following one’s passions. For you, that was your impressive artwork. You never gave yourself enough credit for your art skills.

Although you lacked confidence in your own skills, you never doubted mine. Teaching me to read before I started school, you were integral to my becoming a writer by trade. You were also my inspiration for becoming a full-time mother who made time for work second. Like you, my proudest moments have come from the former position.

When my husband, Scot Gagne, and I had our son Alec in 1999, you added another facet to your identity—Mimi. Alec chose that moniker himself as if he already knew about your distaste for convention and that Grammy or Nana just wouldn’t fit you.

Thank you for passing on your love for animals to Alec and me. We are both so much richer because of it. I’ll be hugging my own dogs for comfort every day as I adjust to life without you. This feels like an impossible task right now, but I know they will help in the way only animals can.

In closing, I must express how deeply we will all miss you. We hate the terrible illness that took you from us with so little warning on Sept. 24, 2025. But I am so grateful that for 53 years, I got to call you Mom.

At your request, there will be no funeral. And I know you would want anyone who reads this—family member, friend, or stranger—to donate to an animal shelter, dog rescue, or Northern Light Health Home Care and Hospice in lieu of flowers.

Love always,
Tammy