Well, here I thought I might not have a lot to blog about anymore. It's funny that after a year, I still think that once I survive a certain "something" (birthdays, holidays, 1st anniversary of mom's death), it's done and over with and I can move on. It's interesting to me that, even after a year, I still expect there to be finality to grief. No matter how many times other people tell me they still hurt years and years after a loved one dies, I still have this weird belief that at some point, I will stop hurting. I'm coming to terms with the fact that this is not the case. How could it be really? How can you possibly stop hurting for and missing someone you loved? I guess I just thought that it would get easier and easier and then just...stop. The first anniversary of mom's death has proven to me, once again, that is not true.
A year has gone by and the hurt and the pain is definitely different than it was a year ago. However, the anniversary of mom's death brought back VERY strong feelings that I truly did not expect. It reminded me that the loss is still there. The pain is still there. As days go by, the pain subsides, but when events happen that stir up feelings, the pain emerges again. And that is normal and okay. And I, apparently, need to continue to learn this lesson.
This past week was not what I expected. And I am convinced my mom had a large hand in that. Thus, the title of this post. I believe my mom had a hand in how my week played out this week. She is still out there. She is still my mom. And she is still trying to protect me.
She knew this week was going to be hard on me. She didn't want a fuss made over her and she knew I would make one. And she was right. That was my plan. So, I am certain that she arranged for me to have such a busy week that I had no ability to make that fuss. On Tuesday morning, a client's water broke. I expected this to be a quick birth. It was a 2nd time mom. They usually move quickly. Eighteen(!) hours later, her baby was finally born, on the 1st anniversary of my mom's death. And I had made a deal with my mom that I would not drive to the cemetery.
I arrived home around 4:30am on Wednesday. I took a shower. I slept for about an hour and a half. And then I spent the entire day in my pajamas. I NEVER do that. But on this day, I needed to. I shut out the world. I was tired. I was emotional. And I apparently needed to just "be". Thank goodness for friends who have been there before me. One of my close friends shared with me her story of the 1st anniversary of her dad's death and how she spent most of it in her pajamas and in bed. It felt good to realize this was okay.
At 4:00pm, my world started to close in on me. It felt completely out of my control. I felt transported back in time and was standing next to my mom lying in a hospital bed in her living room. The harpist had just left. She told me later that she knew what was happening and felt that it was a private family event and she needed to leave...but she couldn't stop thinking about us. I believe, to this day, that she "played my mom out". Her music was beautiful and I believe mom's soul left her body as the harpist played. And after her soul left, her body was not needed anymore.
Mom's eyes were open, but she was not there. The rattle in her chest was becoming louder and louder. I called hospice who told me that it sounded like "end of life breathing" and I remember saying, "end of life NOW?!". I knew this time was coming, but here it was. Now. And I was lost and confused and scared and didn't know what to do.
Dad had been in the garage and I had Jonathan go get him. He came in and I told him what hospice had told me. They had also suggested that we try to sit mom up so the two of us tried to lift her. It sounded like she was trying to say something, but she was incomprehensible. She sounded like she was drowning. Dad was yelling at her to cough. We were in a panic. Looking back we have both told each other that our heads knew what was happening but our hearts were lost and breaking and we wanted to change the outcome.
I remember looking in mom's eyes. I will forever remember looking in her eyes as she was dying and I told her it was okay to go. I told her we were going to be okay. I told her I loved her. And I knew she was already gone. I knew she wasn't there. But I needed to say good-bye. The last 15 minutes of mom's life were hell for dad and me. It was loud. It was terrifying. We wanted to make it stop.
And then it did.
Her rattle slowed down and became quieter and then simply stopped.
Dad and I looked at each other for confirmation of what we already knew.
And then I searched for a pulse. I crazily searched for a pulse.
But there wasn't one.
It had become eerily silent.
And then dad and I hugged each other. It was over. And for a moment, the world stopped in that place.
And at 5:15pm one year later, my world stopped again, just for a moment, in that place.
At 5:00pm, I found myself locked in the bathroom. It was the only place I could be alone. And I lived those last 15 minutes again. I FELT them. And as the clock on my phone turned to 5:15pm, the tears flowed like they did a year ago. The pain was exactly the same. I hurt SO much. I felt like I was reliving it all.
And then my clock switched to 5:16pm and just like a year ago, I composed myself. I took a deep breath and started moving forward. Last year, that meant making phone calls and taking the first steps in the world without my mom. This year it meant taking the first step into year two.
And I survived the 1st anniversary of my mom's death.
Thursday morning dawned and I was sad. I felt like I was mourning all over again. It wasn't the same as last year, but it was such a stronger feeling than I have had in a long time. I started thinking that Friday would be the day I would go to the cemetery. Ahhhh...but mom had other plans again.
I had another client who had been trying to go into labor every day for a week. I heard from her every morning and late into every night. While I was teaching a class on Thursday night, I heard from her saying her contractions had picked up...again. I had become sort of immune to those texts. I got home around 10pm and by 11pm her husband had called to tell me that things were definitely picking up. It sounded like it might be real this time. And I knew then that mom was involved again. I was still VERY tired from Wednesday and I hadn't fully recovered from the loss of sleep yet from this week. But by 1am, I was back on the road to another hospital. I was actually expecting a long birth this time, but by 8:28am another beautiful baby girl was born into the world and I was home by Noon. Exhausted. Raw. And fully aware that my mom was still having an impact on my life.
Another night of no sleep meant another day of no driving to the cemetery. And so I finished out the week here at home, simply believing that this was the way it was supposed to be.
And now I have this very odd schedule ahead of me. A schedule of NOTHING. I am finishing up a term at school this week and starting a new one on Monday. But I have no classes this week and I have no clients due. I have no clients for the remainder of the year actually and that is troubling. Although I love the idea of not being on call, I also like the idea of eating and paying for rent. I have never had a lack of clients like this so I simply have to believe that things will work out as they should. And believing that my mom still has a hand in things makes me believe that somehow this WILL be okay and it WILL be what it is supposed to be.
I am going to honor this downtime though and let myself experience what I need to experience with it and not worry about what the future holds. Okay...I'll try to do that. I'm not very good at it. But I am still experiencing some strong emotions. Similar to those of this time last year. Just different. Just a year later. But I find myself more in tears than I have been in some time. I find that the leaves turning makes me cry. I find that thinking about holidays makes me cry. I find that hearing about others' family events makes me cry. And I'm starting to accept that I will probably always feel this way to some extent.
I need to re-invent the holidays and I don't really think I'm ready to do that yet. But they will never be the same without my mom and so I can't just do the same things and simply have her be absent. We need to do different things. Part of me just wants to take off and go away, but I don't feel like I can do that because I don't want dad to be alone. But this Thanksgiving is really going to stink because the boys will be with their dad. It will be my first Thanksgiving without them and I am not looking forward to it. So, this Thanksgiving may need to be something significantly different. I just don't know what that looks like yet.
I am realizing that there will always be work to be done. It doesn't end with each holiday survived. It doesn't end with the completion of the first year. Year two continues to hold challenges. The loss changes and evolves. It does not have a beginning and and end. It is forever. And it is something that I will always have in some way or another. And that is okay.
It still shocks me when the feelings come. Maybe that shock will wear off some over the years. Maybe I'll just think, "Oh...here they come again" after a while. Perhaps I'll learn how to just let them come. I guess I'm learning, but this process still seems so new to me. But I'm better at it than I was a year ago. And I have survived a year without my mom. I will survive the next one too.
But I do know that you never can entirely lose your mom. I just don't think it's impossible. I carry her with me in so many things that I think and do. She and I were very different in many ways, but there are some things that are so incredibly similar and when I find myself thinking a certain way or doing a certain thing, I have to laugh because she is still here with me. And she is still looking out for me. She is still pulling some of the strings in my life. I'm not completely pleased about that, but in some ways it is comforting too. Your mom is always your mom, whether she is physically here or not. That kind of relationship can never fully go away.
I miss my mom though. I miss having a mom. She and I had our differences, but the bottom line was that she was my mom. And a girl can't talk to anyone the way she talks to her mom. And I don't have that anymore. And the reality of knowing that I will live the rest of my life this way is painful sometimes. I want that relationship back. I am jealous of others that have it. And, again, I suppose this is normal. All daughters find themselves in this situation sooner or later. I guess I just always thought it would be later. I know that many people lose their moms much earlier in their lives. I know I'm not alone in all these feelings. But they still hurt. And I still get angry about it sometimes. And I simply just miss having my mom to talk to.
I expect that this time of year will always hold these kinds of feelings. I expect that October will always be a time of reflection for me. I see that now, although I didn't see it coming. Next year, I'll be more prepared...maybe. But what I have been reminded of this year is that grief is not finite. It is fluid, constantly moving, constantly changing. Forever.
Perhaps that is what this blog will be as well. :-)
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
A Year Goes By
I am VERY tired as I sit to write this post. I arrived home this morning at 5:00am after a fairly long and emotional birth. Nothing today is going to go the way I'd planned. And somehow it all seems appropriate.
This morning at 2:48am, a beautiful baby girl was born into the world on the 1st anniversary of my mom's death. As I stood back and watched a mom and dad welcome their baby girl, the power of this experience was not lost on me and my eyes flooded with tears. I recomposed myself, but 6 hours later, those emotions are still very alive and the tears easily flow.
I had plans for today. A whole day of plans. And none of them will happen. I am much too tired to drive having had only a couple of hours of interrupted sleep this morning. I have another client who still is trying to go into labor. And so today, I stay home. And perhaps I would still have attempted a trip to the cemetery except that I made a deal with my mom at 2:15 this morning that I would not go. I don't know how to explain it. But my mom was there this morning. I felt her. I almost argued with her over everything that was happening. I KNEW that she didn't want a "fuss" made over her today. But I didn't understand why she had to go this far. At 2:15, I told her I would not go to the cemetery if she could just let this mom have her baby. Things were getting a little upside down and it was taking a long time and there was concern for mom's health. And then 1/2 hour later, baby was out. I realize it could be a coincidence, but it wasn't. I have not felt that close to my mom since she died.
On the way home, in the elevator, I reiterated my promise not to go to the cemetery and begged her to let me get some rest before my next birth. My other client had texted at 2:43am that her contractions were getting a lot stronger. I knew I needed rest. I also knew there was a part of me that REALLY still wanted to drive to the cemetery. I felt like that text was a reminder for me. I had made a deal. So, in the elevator I repeated my promise and asked for a little break. And here it is 9:00am and no big signs of labor from my other mom.
And yet I still want to go to the cemetery. But I can't. I am too tired and I made a deal with my mom...crazy as it sounds. I cried for my entire drive home from the hospital. It was that cry from deep down that came this time last year. It was a cry of anger and of sadness. It was a cry of loss. It's all so real again today. And once again, I thought I was prepared. But I was not. Of course, lack of sleep doesn't help much with the emotions. :-O
I feel stuck in this day. And I feel like that is how it is supposed to be. It's odd to feel both pain and numbness. But, it will pass. The day will end. I will not be sleeping on the floor of my mom and dad's house like I was last year. I will be in my own bed. And I will have survived an entire year without my mom. There will be many, many more. But today is the last "first". And it's not going the way I had planned. I wonder if I'll ever come to understand that I can't plan much of anything in this life. That most of it is out of my hands. Probably not...
Perhaps the boys and I will do something in town. Perhaps we will simply stay home. This morning I made a donation to Providence Hospice of Snohomish County. That felt important and it felt good to honor the people who helped us so much last year. I will do that every year. That I know.
As for the rest of today, who knows. I will stop at 5:15pm and I will have my own moment of silence and I will remember a year ago. I will remember what I can't ever forget. I will remember those last moments. I will remember the sounds. I will remember the moment my mom left the earth. And I will remember a lifetime of my mom in one moment.
I miss her so much. What I wouldn't give for one more hug or one more conversation. To all of you reading, if you still have your mom, please, in honor of my mom, call her today. Tell her you love her. Whatever your relationship is with her, one day you will miss it. I wish I had understood that the way I do now.
I believe today will be a day of rest. A day of reflection. I don't really want to deal with the daily business of life today. I don't want to do any school work. I just want to BE. I rarely do that and today seems to be the day to try it.
A baby girl was born this morning, on the 1st anniversary of my mom's death. The circle of life continues. We all continue to move forward. I don't know where this blog goes from here. I always sort of imagined it would end today. But ending it feels like ending my relationship with my mom in an odd sort of way. It doesn't feel right yet. Perhaps there will be no more posts. Perhaps there will be one or two. But I just don't feel ready to officially say it's the end of this blog. I feel like there is still more to be said...but we'll see... The next year holds some big stuff in store in my life and sharing it here seems right, but I guess time will tell.
But to end this post today, I'm copying and pasting the information for the video we played at mom's funeral and Michael's eulogy. They are as powerful and beautiful today as they were a year ago.
I miss you mom. My heart physically hurts today. And with every ounce it, I still miss you.
Mom's Video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxfhCYkL8PA
(The first song is Address in the Stars by Caitlin & Will and the 2nd is Fields of Gold by Eva Cassidy)
Michael's Eulogy
This past summer my wife and I took a vacation to the Washington Coast with some of our closest friends. We all have two year olds, so we consider vacationing together kind of a support group.
Knowing Gus, I figured he would be initially cautious, but once he got a flavor for splashing in the water, he’d want to get right in. This concerned me. So I did some research.
I learned about sea creatures, winds, swells, and other such matter. Then I read about rip tide and what I found surprised me.
It turns out if you get swept up in a rip tide, if you try to swim against it you’re doomed. If you fight it it’s useless. You’re only hope to survive isn’t to swim, it’s to let it take you – you need to completely let go.
This operates against logic, against human will.
To fight it is futile. You have to surrender to it to have any hope.
When Mom was first diagnosed, I thought the decision on what to do next was obvious:
You fight it with all of your strength.
Go in swinging, go down swinging.
Doctors didn’t give her much in the way of hope. Her chances were slim. Fight it and you have maybe a year, and it wouldn’t be a very pleasant year. Don’t fight and you have a few months.
But this is my Mom we’re talking about. Stubborn. Resolute. Iron-willed.
And yet after a flirtation with a protracted battle, she did the unthinkable and she just stopped.
Stopped chemo, stopped taking her blood pressure medicine, ignored her diabetes. She stopped fighting against the tide.
She let go.
This is my Mom we’re talking about. Realist. Practical. Wise.
I can’t say that I agree with her decision, but I recognize that she gave us a gift. She let go in order to make full use of the time she had left. So instead of the next chemo appointment, the next meeting with doctors, the next round of being too sick to get out of bed, she connected with her friends, she was visited by family, she got to spend time with her grandchildren Jonathan, Christopher, Gus. She got to hold little baby Ike.
She went to the casino.
She ate pizza.
She even drank beer.
She let go so she could live.
With this decision, this gift, we were able to simply love her during her remaining time and reflect on what she meant to us.
In thinking about Mom’s life I realize that she was the master of knowing when to let go.
Mom entered nursing school in a class of 43 and only 18 graduated. It was a grueling program. Students needed to study, intern, many worked on the side to earn money. She was good at what she did and she enjoyed it. One of my favorite stories that Dad told me years ago was that Mom would get home from work and leave a note about where they were going out with friends. Dad would get home a time later, change, see the note, and drive separately. They’d have fun all night, race each other home, wake up and swear they’d never do it again until my dad saw Mom’s note that night after work. And they’d do it all over.
I tell you this story because Mom had an endearing line she used to like to tell Kelli and me. “My life was really over when I had you kids.” And then she’d grin and look at us with adoring eyes and say “but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Mom never wanted to be a cook. She didn’t want to shop for groceries. She didn’t want to vacuum, clean the bathroom, do the laundry. She didn’t want to do back-to-school shopping. She didn’t want to discipline.
But she did it.
She let go of her career, she let go of her fun, and she became a Mother. Because she was selfless.
I recall being in first grade and my buddy Andy wore a key around his neck and I asked him,
“why do you wear that key around your neck?”.
“So I can get in my house,” he said rather incredulously
And I said, “You mean your mom won’t let you in the house?”
I never knew what it was like to not have Mom at home, there waiting for me, to take care of me, to ask me about my day. What I learned. What I liked. What I discovered.
Mom had a knack for knowing when things were beyond her control.
I remember being a young boy... and let’s just say my Mom and my sister were having trouble seeing eye to eye. Mom did the best she could but there wasn’t much she could say or do that would derail my sister’s determination to be her own person. I recall Mom telling me, “honey, I love your your sister but I just can’t fix her right now.” And she let her go. I believe it was this decision that allowed my sister to make her own choices, grow up, learn from mistakes, and mature. It’s why she became the empathetic, intelligent person she is today. Mom let her go to let her grow.
I also remember wondering why Mom cried so much when I was leaving for college. It wasn’t as if I was going to Central. I was only going 90 minutes north. I’d certainly be coming home for a good meal and to do my laundry on the weekends. It was much later that I realized that she cried because she had to let me go – she had to let me go and make my own mistakes, my own decisions, and learn from them on my own. When other Moms called night after night, mine let me call her – and I credit her for that.
Helen Hunt Jackson wrote:
Motherhood is priced of God, at price no man may dare to lessen or misunderstand.
When I first read that, the understanding part struck me – it reminded me of something I wrote for Mom that I never gave her.
Last year, I started to write her a letter for Mother’s Day because I was now a parent and I had a new respect for her with Gus in my life. Ironically, I never finished it largely because I have Gus in my life. In reading it over, so much of it seemed appropriate for today. I’d like to share some of it with you now.
Mom, I understand how you must have felt when I was born and they told you I wouldn’t survive.
I understand now why you always read me one more book before bedtime if I asked.
I understand why you didn't want me to play football.
I understand why going out for pizza on Saturday was so important to you. You didn’t have to cook for us – and prepare two different meals: one for Kelli, and one for the rest of us.
I understand why you spoiled me.
I understand why you couldn't stand my hair long in college.
I understand why you forced me to go to confirmation.
I understand why you asked me to clean up my room. I also understand why it upset you when I never did.
I understand why you always made me send thank you notes promptly.
I understand why you couldn’t come to my baseball games because you’d throw your back out.
Mom, I still don't understand gazpacho, but I understand why you made it. Because Dad liked it.
I understand what went through your mind when you heard the tires screech outside our house when I got hit by that car.
And Mom, I hope you understand why the first thing that I told the medics was that Mom was going to kill me.
I understand why every time I left the house, you told me to "be careful". And as if I couldn’t look at the gauge myself, you asked if there was any gas in the car.
Mom, I'll never understand why you packed two kids into a 1981 VW Rabbit and drove 800 miles to Reno Nevada, but I'm sure you had your reasons.
I understand why you didn't like some of my girlfriends.
I even understand why at Christmas time you always hung that picture of an ox that Kelli made in grade school even though it really had nothing to do with Christmas and it barely looked like an animal to begin with. I get it now.
I understand now why you always shopped on the sale rack.
I finally understand why you sobbed when I broke that ugly green vase that sat on top of our 1960's television in the basement. It was the last thing your mother had given you.
I understand why you had a well stocked bar.
I understand how much you cared for us.
I understand how much you loved us.
I finally understand all the sacrifice. And Mom, I was going to say that I don’t know what I’ll do without you – but in fact, I do know what I’ll do without you. I’ll honor you by attempting to live up to your example, and you all can do the same.
To be selfless.
To sacrifice for those you love.
To be loyal to your friends.
To be loyal to your family.
To love your family almost to a fault.
To know when to stand and fight.
And to have the wisdom to know when to let the tide take you.
This morning at 2:48am, a beautiful baby girl was born into the world on the 1st anniversary of my mom's death. As I stood back and watched a mom and dad welcome their baby girl, the power of this experience was not lost on me and my eyes flooded with tears. I recomposed myself, but 6 hours later, those emotions are still very alive and the tears easily flow.
I had plans for today. A whole day of plans. And none of them will happen. I am much too tired to drive having had only a couple of hours of interrupted sleep this morning. I have another client who still is trying to go into labor. And so today, I stay home. And perhaps I would still have attempted a trip to the cemetery except that I made a deal with my mom at 2:15 this morning that I would not go. I don't know how to explain it. But my mom was there this morning. I felt her. I almost argued with her over everything that was happening. I KNEW that she didn't want a "fuss" made over her today. But I didn't understand why she had to go this far. At 2:15, I told her I would not go to the cemetery if she could just let this mom have her baby. Things were getting a little upside down and it was taking a long time and there was concern for mom's health. And then 1/2 hour later, baby was out. I realize it could be a coincidence, but it wasn't. I have not felt that close to my mom since she died.
On the way home, in the elevator, I reiterated my promise not to go to the cemetery and begged her to let me get some rest before my next birth. My other client had texted at 2:43am that her contractions were getting a lot stronger. I knew I needed rest. I also knew there was a part of me that REALLY still wanted to drive to the cemetery. I felt like that text was a reminder for me. I had made a deal. So, in the elevator I repeated my promise and asked for a little break. And here it is 9:00am and no big signs of labor from my other mom.
And yet I still want to go to the cemetery. But I can't. I am too tired and I made a deal with my mom...crazy as it sounds. I cried for my entire drive home from the hospital. It was that cry from deep down that came this time last year. It was a cry of anger and of sadness. It was a cry of loss. It's all so real again today. And once again, I thought I was prepared. But I was not. Of course, lack of sleep doesn't help much with the emotions. :-O
I feel stuck in this day. And I feel like that is how it is supposed to be. It's odd to feel both pain and numbness. But, it will pass. The day will end. I will not be sleeping on the floor of my mom and dad's house like I was last year. I will be in my own bed. And I will have survived an entire year without my mom. There will be many, many more. But today is the last "first". And it's not going the way I had planned. I wonder if I'll ever come to understand that I can't plan much of anything in this life. That most of it is out of my hands. Probably not...
Perhaps the boys and I will do something in town. Perhaps we will simply stay home. This morning I made a donation to Providence Hospice of Snohomish County. That felt important and it felt good to honor the people who helped us so much last year. I will do that every year. That I know.
As for the rest of today, who knows. I will stop at 5:15pm and I will have my own moment of silence and I will remember a year ago. I will remember what I can't ever forget. I will remember those last moments. I will remember the sounds. I will remember the moment my mom left the earth. And I will remember a lifetime of my mom in one moment.
I miss her so much. What I wouldn't give for one more hug or one more conversation. To all of you reading, if you still have your mom, please, in honor of my mom, call her today. Tell her you love her. Whatever your relationship is with her, one day you will miss it. I wish I had understood that the way I do now.
I believe today will be a day of rest. A day of reflection. I don't really want to deal with the daily business of life today. I don't want to do any school work. I just want to BE. I rarely do that and today seems to be the day to try it.
A baby girl was born this morning, on the 1st anniversary of my mom's death. The circle of life continues. We all continue to move forward. I don't know where this blog goes from here. I always sort of imagined it would end today. But ending it feels like ending my relationship with my mom in an odd sort of way. It doesn't feel right yet. Perhaps there will be no more posts. Perhaps there will be one or two. But I just don't feel ready to officially say it's the end of this blog. I feel like there is still more to be said...but we'll see... The next year holds some big stuff in store in my life and sharing it here seems right, but I guess time will tell.
But to end this post today, I'm copying and pasting the information for the video we played at mom's funeral and Michael's eulogy. They are as powerful and beautiful today as they were a year ago.
I miss you mom. My heart physically hurts today. And with every ounce it, I still miss you.
Mom's Video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxfhCYkL8PA
(The first song is Address in the Stars by Caitlin & Will and the 2nd is Fields of Gold by Eva Cassidy)
Michael's Eulogy
This past summer my wife and I took a vacation to the Washington Coast with some of our closest friends. We all have two year olds, so we consider vacationing together kind of a support group.
Knowing Gus, I figured he would be initially cautious, but once he got a flavor for splashing in the water, he’d want to get right in. This concerned me. So I did some research.
I learned about sea creatures, winds, swells, and other such matter. Then I read about rip tide and what I found surprised me.
It turns out if you get swept up in a rip tide, if you try to swim against it you’re doomed. If you fight it it’s useless. You’re only hope to survive isn’t to swim, it’s to let it take you – you need to completely let go.
This operates against logic, against human will.
To fight it is futile. You have to surrender to it to have any hope.
When Mom was first diagnosed, I thought the decision on what to do next was obvious:
You fight it with all of your strength.
Go in swinging, go down swinging.
Doctors didn’t give her much in the way of hope. Her chances were slim. Fight it and you have maybe a year, and it wouldn’t be a very pleasant year. Don’t fight and you have a few months.
But this is my Mom we’re talking about. Stubborn. Resolute. Iron-willed.
And yet after a flirtation with a protracted battle, she did the unthinkable and she just stopped.
Stopped chemo, stopped taking her blood pressure medicine, ignored her diabetes. She stopped fighting against the tide.
She let go.
This is my Mom we’re talking about. Realist. Practical. Wise.
I can’t say that I agree with her decision, but I recognize that she gave us a gift. She let go in order to make full use of the time she had left. So instead of the next chemo appointment, the next meeting with doctors, the next round of being too sick to get out of bed, she connected with her friends, she was visited by family, she got to spend time with her grandchildren Jonathan, Christopher, Gus. She got to hold little baby Ike.
She went to the casino.
She ate pizza.
She even drank beer.
She let go so she could live.
With this decision, this gift, we were able to simply love her during her remaining time and reflect on what she meant to us.
In thinking about Mom’s life I realize that she was the master of knowing when to let go.
Mom entered nursing school in a class of 43 and only 18 graduated. It was a grueling program. Students needed to study, intern, many worked on the side to earn money. She was good at what she did and she enjoyed it. One of my favorite stories that Dad told me years ago was that Mom would get home from work and leave a note about where they were going out with friends. Dad would get home a time later, change, see the note, and drive separately. They’d have fun all night, race each other home, wake up and swear they’d never do it again until my dad saw Mom’s note that night after work. And they’d do it all over.
I tell you this story because Mom had an endearing line she used to like to tell Kelli and me. “My life was really over when I had you kids.” And then she’d grin and look at us with adoring eyes and say “but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Mom never wanted to be a cook. She didn’t want to shop for groceries. She didn’t want to vacuum, clean the bathroom, do the laundry. She didn’t want to do back-to-school shopping. She didn’t want to discipline.
But she did it.
She let go of her career, she let go of her fun, and she became a Mother. Because she was selfless.
I recall being in first grade and my buddy Andy wore a key around his neck and I asked him,
“why do you wear that key around your neck?”.
“So I can get in my house,” he said rather incredulously
And I said, “You mean your mom won’t let you in the house?”
I never knew what it was like to not have Mom at home, there waiting for me, to take care of me, to ask me about my day. What I learned. What I liked. What I discovered.
Mom had a knack for knowing when things were beyond her control.
I remember being a young boy... and let’s just say my Mom and my sister were having trouble seeing eye to eye. Mom did the best she could but there wasn’t much she could say or do that would derail my sister’s determination to be her own person. I recall Mom telling me, “honey, I love your your sister but I just can’t fix her right now.” And she let her go. I believe it was this decision that allowed my sister to make her own choices, grow up, learn from mistakes, and mature. It’s why she became the empathetic, intelligent person she is today. Mom let her go to let her grow.
I also remember wondering why Mom cried so much when I was leaving for college. It wasn’t as if I was going to Central. I was only going 90 minutes north. I’d certainly be coming home for a good meal and to do my laundry on the weekends. It was much later that I realized that she cried because she had to let me go – she had to let me go and make my own mistakes, my own decisions, and learn from them on my own. When other Moms called night after night, mine let me call her – and I credit her for that.
Helen Hunt Jackson wrote:
Motherhood is priced of God, at price no man may dare to lessen or misunderstand.
When I first read that, the understanding part struck me – it reminded me of something I wrote for Mom that I never gave her.
Last year, I started to write her a letter for Mother’s Day because I was now a parent and I had a new respect for her with Gus in my life. Ironically, I never finished it largely because I have Gus in my life. In reading it over, so much of it seemed appropriate for today. I’d like to share some of it with you now.
Mom, I understand how you must have felt when I was born and they told you I wouldn’t survive.
I understand now why you always read me one more book before bedtime if I asked.
I understand why you didn't want me to play football.
I understand why going out for pizza on Saturday was so important to you. You didn’t have to cook for us – and prepare two different meals: one for Kelli, and one for the rest of us.
I understand why you spoiled me.
I understand why you couldn't stand my hair long in college.
I understand why you forced me to go to confirmation.
I understand why you asked me to clean up my room. I also understand why it upset you when I never did.
I understand why you always made me send thank you notes promptly.
I understand why you couldn’t come to my baseball games because you’d throw your back out.
Mom, I still don't understand gazpacho, but I understand why you made it. Because Dad liked it.
I understand what went through your mind when you heard the tires screech outside our house when I got hit by that car.
And Mom, I hope you understand why the first thing that I told the medics was that Mom was going to kill me.
I understand why every time I left the house, you told me to "be careful". And as if I couldn’t look at the gauge myself, you asked if there was any gas in the car.
Mom, I'll never understand why you packed two kids into a 1981 VW Rabbit and drove 800 miles to Reno Nevada, but I'm sure you had your reasons.
I understand why you didn't like some of my girlfriends.
I even understand why at Christmas time you always hung that picture of an ox that Kelli made in grade school even though it really had nothing to do with Christmas and it barely looked like an animal to begin with. I get it now.
I understand now why you always shopped on the sale rack.
I finally understand why you sobbed when I broke that ugly green vase that sat on top of our 1960's television in the basement. It was the last thing your mother had given you.
I understand why you had a well stocked bar.
I understand how much you cared for us.
I understand how much you loved us.
I finally understand all the sacrifice. And Mom, I was going to say that I don’t know what I’ll do without you – but in fact, I do know what I’ll do without you. I’ll honor you by attempting to live up to your example, and you all can do the same.
To be selfless.
To sacrifice for those you love.
To be loyal to your friends.
To be loyal to your family.
To love your family almost to a fault.
To know when to stand and fight.
And to have the wisdom to know when to let the tide take you.
Monday, October 11, 2010
The countdown continues...
Last year, the 11th was Sunday and it was the last time I saw my mom sitting up. It was an incredibly hard day. I spent the day up at mom and dad's and then had to leave for a client in labor. I was so sure mom was going to die while I was gone, but she hung on for a couple more days. I remember being at that birth and being somewhere else in my head at the same time. Here I am a year later with 2 clients overdue and wondering if I'll be birthing on the anniversary of mom's death instead of making a trip to the cemetery. I've reconciled with either way. If I'm home, we'll go to the cemetery. I haven't been there in much too long and I want mom to have some flowers. But if I am birthing, it is because I am meant to be birthing. I can see mom arranging it that way so as not to make a fuss over her. I really can.
I taught my monthly one day childbirth class on Saturday. I remember teaching the October class last year too and my head being somewhere so far away. This year, I feel like my classes and my clients and my schoolwork are keeping my head busy. But in the few down times, my emotions well up and the feelings from last year take over. I am struggling with concentrating. Right now I should be writing a paper for class, but I'm writing here instead because this is where my head is. As I said before, I feel as though I am in two different worlds. I remember this time last year like it was yesterday. And yet, it feels like a lifetime has passed since then. I keep saying it over and over, but I'm so different from the woman I was a year ago, or a year and a half ago. In two days, I can say I've survived a year on this earth without my mom. It's still shocking. It's still heartbreaking at times. I still miss her a LOT. There are times I still get angry. And right now I can feel those feelings from last year so vividly. But I have survived. I know I will continue to do so. But I know I don't have to like it. And I still don't.
There is an enormous amount of stress in my life right now. My emotions get overwhelming at times. But somehow, I know everything will work out the way it's supposed to. I know that someone is looking out for me, even if I don't fully understand it. I wish I didn't have this countdown in my head, but it's like a ticking clock. Nonetheless, when it stops ticking this year, everything won't go silent like it did a year ago. I won't be rendered numb and lost like I was last year. I will feel what I need to feel and then I will pick myself up and start year two without my mom knowing that I am stronger and wiser than I was when I started year one. And I'll be okay.
I taught my monthly one day childbirth class on Saturday. I remember teaching the October class last year too and my head being somewhere so far away. This year, I feel like my classes and my clients and my schoolwork are keeping my head busy. But in the few down times, my emotions well up and the feelings from last year take over. I am struggling with concentrating. Right now I should be writing a paper for class, but I'm writing here instead because this is where my head is. As I said before, I feel as though I am in two different worlds. I remember this time last year like it was yesterday. And yet, it feels like a lifetime has passed since then. I keep saying it over and over, but I'm so different from the woman I was a year ago, or a year and a half ago. In two days, I can say I've survived a year on this earth without my mom. It's still shocking. It's still heartbreaking at times. I still miss her a LOT. There are times I still get angry. And right now I can feel those feelings from last year so vividly. But I have survived. I know I will continue to do so. But I know I don't have to like it. And I still don't.
There is an enormous amount of stress in my life right now. My emotions get overwhelming at times. But somehow, I know everything will work out the way it's supposed to. I know that someone is looking out for me, even if I don't fully understand it. I wish I didn't have this countdown in my head, but it's like a ticking clock. Nonetheless, when it stops ticking this year, everything won't go silent like it did a year ago. I won't be rendered numb and lost like I was last year. I will feel what I need to feel and then I will pick myself up and start year two without my mom knowing that I am stronger and wiser than I was when I started year one. And I'll be okay.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
October Continues
Last year on this day was the last time I ever heard my mom tell me she loved me.
http://findingmymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/day-201-beginning-of-end.html
It was with a rattling voice and felt desperate as though she needed me to understand. And I did. I still wish I had understood for all the years before that.
Yesterday, I received an e-mail from my Aunt Judy, and as she always does, she shared a story with me that helped calm my heart. One of the things she mentioned was the dates of death for my maternal grandparents. Now, I took pictures of my grandparents graves this summer when I was at the cemetery in Roslyn. I have them on my phone. I looked at them over and over and not once did it occur to me that my grandmother, my mom's mom, died on October 12th. One day and 32 years before my mom died. It just struck me as so odd that they would die one day apart. My mom and her mom had an even more tumultuous relationship than mom and I did...significantly more really. It just seems so interesting that out of 365 days in a year, my mom and her mom would die one day apart. It was kind of stunning to me.
A year ago today was hell. I still feel like I'm re-living it, but it's not as painful as this day was last year. I remember the cry I had a year ago. It was a cry from a place that I had never been to before, but experienced several other times after that first one.
A year ago today I knew I was losing my mom...soon. And the days and nights all started running together. School and clients and classes and my kids and the daily stuff of life...and my mom was dying. It was surreal. It still is. And I still feel it very profoundly a year later. But now I have a countdown. I know when it all ends. And it's painful and it feels huge as though my heart may burst when the countdown ends. But I know I survived too. And that's what keeps me going. I know how hard it was this time last year. And I know I survived. This year is an experience. It is part of the grieving process. I need to live it. And I will survive it too.
Today, I am taking my boys to the zoo to enjoy a beautiful Autumn day in the NW. It is an important thing for us to do. It's a necessary distraction. And it will be a good day. And somehow, I feel mom will be with us as I still feel her very nearby. She is close. I know it. I know she is helping me through this 1st anniversary. And although I can't physically hear her tell me she loves me...I feel it. And that gives me some much needed peace.
http://findingmymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/day-201-beginning-of-end.html
It was with a rattling voice and felt desperate as though she needed me to understand. And I did. I still wish I had understood for all the years before that.
Yesterday, I received an e-mail from my Aunt Judy, and as she always does, she shared a story with me that helped calm my heart. One of the things she mentioned was the dates of death for my maternal grandparents. Now, I took pictures of my grandparents graves this summer when I was at the cemetery in Roslyn. I have them on my phone. I looked at them over and over and not once did it occur to me that my grandmother, my mom's mom, died on October 12th. One day and 32 years before my mom died. It just struck me as so odd that they would die one day apart. My mom and her mom had an even more tumultuous relationship than mom and I did...significantly more really. It just seems so interesting that out of 365 days in a year, my mom and her mom would die one day apart. It was kind of stunning to me.
A year ago today was hell. I still feel like I'm re-living it, but it's not as painful as this day was last year. I remember the cry I had a year ago. It was a cry from a place that I had never been to before, but experienced several other times after that first one.
A year ago today I knew I was losing my mom...soon. And the days and nights all started running together. School and clients and classes and my kids and the daily stuff of life...and my mom was dying. It was surreal. It still is. And I still feel it very profoundly a year later. But now I have a countdown. I know when it all ends. And it's painful and it feels huge as though my heart may burst when the countdown ends. But I know I survived too. And that's what keeps me going. I know how hard it was this time last year. And I know I survived. This year is an experience. It is part of the grieving process. I need to live it. And I will survive it too.
Today, I am taking my boys to the zoo to enjoy a beautiful Autumn day in the NW. It is an important thing for us to do. It's a necessary distraction. And it will be a good day. And somehow, I feel mom will be with us as I still feel her very nearby. She is close. I know it. I know she is helping me through this 1st anniversary. And although I can't physically hear her tell me she loves me...I feel it. And that gives me some much needed peace.
Friday, October 1, 2010
October
Where do I start? A year ago, everything was changing and it was becoming very clear that the cancer was taking mom. http://findingmymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/day-196-i-hope-im-wrong.html As today has approached, my moods have shifted. I feel like I'm living in an odd bubble of time. It is almost as though I am living a year ago. I feel as though I am reliving it all, the pain, the suffering, the hurt. It's all very real and very raw and I wasn't expecting it. So, as I do, I researched and, sure enough, I'm normal. Well, in this aspect anyway. ;-) Apparently this is not unusual as the first year anniversary of a death approaches. I guess I thought we had done so many "firsts" this year, that this would just be another one. But I couldn't have been more wrong. This one is HUGE. And it's been building as October has drawn closer and closer.
The leaves are changing. Fall is here. And I remember thinking last year that Fall would always be about the loss of my mom. But I didn't realize how vividly that would feel for me. As the weather changed, so did my moods and my feelings. I have cried more in the past couple of weeks than I have cried in the past several months. And it is that deep down cry of loss. It's all so deep and strong and raw again. It's unsettling really.
And then I talk to people and they tell me that they are surprised that I am shocked by my reaction to this anniversary. And then I realize I am still underestimating grief. I keep thinking, "I've survived everything else, why should this be different?" And I guess the answer is "Because it IS different". All the other anniversaries were anniversaries of things I'd experienced my entire life. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Dad's birthday, Easter, my birthday, Mother's Day, Mom's birthday, Mom and Dad's anniversary. They were different and harder because mom wasn't here. But October 13th was not an important day in my life until last year. And now it is a life changing day. It will always be an important day for the rest of my life. But this is the 1st anniversary of that day. It seems similar to a baby's 1st birthday. It is the FIRST time celebrating that birthday. It's why parents make it to be such a big deal. That day has become forever important in their life, but only in the past year did it become that way. That's how this feels. It IS a big deal. It is the FIRST anniversary of my mom's death. It is the first time I have ever marked this day in my life. And the only thing that makes October 13th special in my life is that it is the day my mom died. It's not a holiday that everyone else with loss has to get through. It is not a birthday or another anniversary that has been celebrated over and over. It is the day my mom died. And it's the first time I am marking that day. I guess it does make sense that it is huge. I keep saying, "It's been a year...I should be better", but the reality is, it's ONLY been a year.
I am trying to come up with how I want to handle the 13th. How I want to mark each anniversary of mom's death and I haven't figured it out yet. I feel like it will come to me. I know I plan to go to the cemetery and possibly up to dad's as I would rather he not be alone. But I feel like there needs to be something more. Maybe I make a donation to hospice. Maybe I perform a random act of kindness. I don't know. I just know there needs to be something and I still believe it will come.
But until then, I am letting myself experience this time. Now that I have acknowledged its significance and its power, I can let myself feel it. Now that the shock of the feelings has worn off, I can accept that it is something that needs to be experienced. Good, bad or otherwise.
I feel my mom close by. More than I have in the last year. Maybe spirits get to come around more on the anniversary of their death too. I don't know. I just know she is here and she has provided me some comfort as I feel my heart breaking in those same spots that it broke last year. Old wounds opening up. But it's okay. I think. They will heal up again, although the scars will never go away. I found this poem while doing all my research and somehow, it helps a little:
Please don’t mourn for me
I’m still here, though you don’t see.
I’m right by your side each night and day
And within your heart I long to stay.
My body is gone but I’m always near
I’m everything you feel, see and hear.
My spirit is free but I’ll never depart
As long as you keep me alive in your heart.
I’ll never wander out of your sight.
I’m the brightest star on a warm summer night.
I’ll never go beyond your reach
I’m the warm, moist sand when you walk on the beach.
I’m the colourful leaves when winter comes ‘round
And the pure white snow that blankets the ground.
I’m the beautiful flowers of which you’re so fond.
The clear cool water in a quiet pond.
I’m the first bright blossom you see in the spring.
The first shiny raindrop that storm clouds bring.
I’m the first ray of light when the sun starts to shine
And you see that the face in the moon is mine.
When you start thinking there’s no one to love you
Talk to me and I will listen.
I’ll whisper my answer through the leaves on the trees.
And you’ll feel my presence in the soft summer breeze.
I’m the hot salty tears that flow when you weep
And the beautiful dreams that come while you sleep
I’m the smile you see on a stranger’s face
Just look for me………
I’m every place!
~ Anonymous
One day, one step, at a time as I make my way through these next 12 days and all that will come along with them.
The leaves are changing. Fall is here. And I remember thinking last year that Fall would always be about the loss of my mom. But I didn't realize how vividly that would feel for me. As the weather changed, so did my moods and my feelings. I have cried more in the past couple of weeks than I have cried in the past several months. And it is that deep down cry of loss. It's all so deep and strong and raw again. It's unsettling really.
And then I talk to people and they tell me that they are surprised that I am shocked by my reaction to this anniversary. And then I realize I am still underestimating grief. I keep thinking, "I've survived everything else, why should this be different?" And I guess the answer is "Because it IS different". All the other anniversaries were anniversaries of things I'd experienced my entire life. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Dad's birthday, Easter, my birthday, Mother's Day, Mom's birthday, Mom and Dad's anniversary. They were different and harder because mom wasn't here. But October 13th was not an important day in my life until last year. And now it is a life changing day. It will always be an important day for the rest of my life. But this is the 1st anniversary of that day. It seems similar to a baby's 1st birthday. It is the FIRST time celebrating that birthday. It's why parents make it to be such a big deal. That day has become forever important in their life, but only in the past year did it become that way. That's how this feels. It IS a big deal. It is the FIRST anniversary of my mom's death. It is the first time I have ever marked this day in my life. And the only thing that makes October 13th special in my life is that it is the day my mom died. It's not a holiday that everyone else with loss has to get through. It is not a birthday or another anniversary that has been celebrated over and over. It is the day my mom died. And it's the first time I am marking that day. I guess it does make sense that it is huge. I keep saying, "It's been a year...I should be better", but the reality is, it's ONLY been a year.
I am trying to come up with how I want to handle the 13th. How I want to mark each anniversary of mom's death and I haven't figured it out yet. I feel like it will come to me. I know I plan to go to the cemetery and possibly up to dad's as I would rather he not be alone. But I feel like there needs to be something more. Maybe I make a donation to hospice. Maybe I perform a random act of kindness. I don't know. I just know there needs to be something and I still believe it will come.
But until then, I am letting myself experience this time. Now that I have acknowledged its significance and its power, I can let myself feel it. Now that the shock of the feelings has worn off, I can accept that it is something that needs to be experienced. Good, bad or otherwise.
I feel my mom close by. More than I have in the last year. Maybe spirits get to come around more on the anniversary of their death too. I don't know. I just know she is here and she has provided me some comfort as I feel my heart breaking in those same spots that it broke last year. Old wounds opening up. But it's okay. I think. They will heal up again, although the scars will never go away. I found this poem while doing all my research and somehow, it helps a little:
Please don’t mourn for me
I’m still here, though you don’t see.
I’m right by your side each night and day
And within your heart I long to stay.
My body is gone but I’m always near
I’m everything you feel, see and hear.
My spirit is free but I’ll never depart
As long as you keep me alive in your heart.
I’ll never wander out of your sight.
I’m the brightest star on a warm summer night.
I’ll never go beyond your reach
I’m the warm, moist sand when you walk on the beach.
I’m the colourful leaves when winter comes ‘round
And the pure white snow that blankets the ground.
I’m the beautiful flowers of which you’re so fond.
The clear cool water in a quiet pond.
I’m the first bright blossom you see in the spring.
The first shiny raindrop that storm clouds bring.
I’m the first ray of light when the sun starts to shine
And you see that the face in the moon is mine.
When you start thinking there’s no one to love you
Talk to me and I will listen.
I’ll whisper my answer through the leaves on the trees.
And you’ll feel my presence in the soft summer breeze.
I’m the hot salty tears that flow when you weep
And the beautiful dreams that come while you sleep
I’m the smile you see on a stranger’s face
Just look for me………
I’m every place!
~ Anonymous
One day, one step, at a time as I make my way through these next 12 days and all that will come along with them.
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