Completion

Five days ago, my last term towards my Bachelor's Degree ended and I officially completed all the requirements towards my degree.  On Monday I woke up in the midst of an identity crisis.  I had no school to do, no clients who needed me and I felt lost.  Here it is five days later and I don't know where the week has gone.  Although I do have a house that is cleaner than it has been in a long time.  ;-) 
I spent Monday printing out paperwork for my Washington State licensing requirements.  I took a required training and test and then started to get overwhelmed with all I had left to do.  I had promised myself some down time and time off, but I was immediately throwing myself into the next stage of this process for me.  By Tuesday I decided I needed to give myself some time to recuperate from the last two years and reflect on all that has occurred.

It has been a remarkable two years when I look back on it.  Two years ago, I had just taken the leap and started back to school.  Mom was doing reasonably well and I was adjusting to adding studies into my schedule.  Six weeks later, mom would be gone and my life was turned upside down.  I can't quite explain how much I wanted to quit school.  It seemed like too much.  But I completed my first term with two As and on the day of mom's cemetery service, I started my second term truly wondering if I would complete it.  But I did.  It's the only term I received anything lower than an A and that B+ still bugs me, but it is also a reminder of where my head truly was during those 8 weeks of that term.  I was grieving and powering through school and doula clients and teaching.  Those were my distractions.  They gave me the ability to push down that grief.  But that B+ reminds me that it was still there.  Nonetheless, I completed that term and ten more terms after that.  96 weeks out of the last 104 were spent in school.  I never gave up, I never slacked off.  I just received my feedback for one of my two last classes which was a simple elective.  I could have allowed myself to take it easy in that class...I just needed the credits...but my instructor informed me I received the highest grade in class receiving 624 out of 625 points. 

I look back and wonder how I did this.  When I started 2 years ago, my goal was to get all As and Bs, although I told myself that a C would be acceptable in Statistics.  And yet, here I am graduate with nearly a 3.98... Summa Cum Laude.  And truly...I believe it was my mom.  I did this for her.  Yes, I did it for me too...but every time I found myself frustrated and wanting to give up, it was as though I could hear her pushing me forward.  At times I think she held me up.  She kept me awake.  She gave me the words I couldn't find sometimes.  I knew how proud she was of me for going back to school.  I knew that was something that gave her great happiness in her final days.  And because of that, there was no option of quitting.  There was no option of giving up...even when I wanted to.  I often thought of this time...the time after I was done...and I knew I would feel exactly as I do.  I DID IT!  It is an enormous accomplishment for me.  I have learned so much about myself along the way and what I am capable of.  And I don't think there is any stopping me now.  No one can take my Bachelor's Degree away from me.  My dreams are coming true.  And there is a part of me that wonders how much of this would have happened if mom hadn't gotten sick.

I've shared so much of our relationship here, but it was tumultuous to say the least.  But when she got sick, I had a strong desire for her to be proud of me.  It was something I was always looking for and I could certainly diagnose myself psychologically speaking.  Nonetheless, I needed her to be proud of me when she left this world.  And I believe she was.  And I believe she is incredibly proud of me right now.  And that...that is what I miss.  I miss not being able to hear her tell me.  I physically miss that.  It hurts me so deeply that I can't hear the happiness in her voice.  Oh, I can hear it in my head.  But I would give almost anything to actually hear her reaction. 

But that won't come anywhere but in my head and I just have to believe that she is looking down smiling at the person I am today.  In the past two years, I have worked SO hard in addition to buying a house and getting married.  The past 6 years have been an incredible journey and although I'd prefer to not go through some of it ever again, there is quite a bit I am very proud of and I'm happy with the person I am today and I think mom would see that.

There is still much work to be done...my Masters program starts in 4 months.  But for now, I am enjoying the end of this part of my journey.  I wish mom was here to share it with me, but I do credit her for getting me to this place. 

On a different note: September is National Ovarian Cancer month.  A teal ribbon is in support of Ovarian Cancer.  And here's the link to the National Ovarian Cancer Coalition: http://www.ovarian.org/

 

Six Weeks, Two Days

I have two incredible clients who had babies on this day in years past. I started my day with seeing birthday posts from both of them and thinking about my history on this day.

But today I spent the day driving up north to see my best friend who contacted me last night to tell me she was in the hospital with kidney failure. Kidney failure at 42! My best friend! My only friend from high school. The person who has been by my side through thick and thin for the past 25 years. Today is 6 weeks, 2 days into my LAST 8 weeks of school. 6 weeks, 2 days into my FIRST 8 weeks of school, my mom died. The symbolism was not lost on me this morning as I drove back to the hospital where I spent so much time with my mom. The hospital where so much of my life was reviewed and questioned and answered and altered. Driving up to that parking garage took my breath away.

The new wing is done at the hospital...they had been working on it when mom was in the hospital. It's beautiful, but I felt numb even walking through the new hallways. I didn't expect to be back there so quickly...certainly not for my best friend. She looked good, but her blood pressure was up and she was on a strict diet for kidney issues. And she still has 2-4 more days at the hospital which tells me she is still sick. And I instantly found myself wanting to ask questions and get answers because no one seemed to be giving any to her. It's interesting how I go into "Doula mode" upon walking into a hospital.

Tonight I sit trying to catch up on school. I am stressed. My life is changing in so many ways. And my best friend is sitting in the hospital. She is the one I call when I need support. If mom was still here I would call her to talk to her right now. But now I sit and mull over everything in my head. And the two most important women in my life are unavailable to talk to. I'm learning to handle things on my own. I can only dump so much on Olly. But I have a lot of questions right now and not a lot of answers. And I hate not having answers...even when I know there are none to be had.

It's the Jaderlund family reunion this weekend. I know some of you read this blog, so please just take this as my musings...but as the day approaches, so does my apprehension. I haven't been to the reunion in years. The last time I went, I was in the throes of postpartum depression and in a terrible marriage and trying to play off both of those things like they weren't happening. It didn't go well. And I haven't been back, mainly because I've been on-call ever since. This is the first year I'm not. And I feel like I need to represent mom's part of the family. Dad is going to go...but I'm the next generation and then my children comprise the generation after me. But I'm apprehensive. I'm realizing the whole day may be harder than I anticipated. And I'm finding myself doing a lot of slow breathing when thinking about it all.

Add that to the fact that I'm down to 12 days of school. 12 DAYS! And out of those 12 days I really only have 3 full days to get stuff done. The rest of the days are filled with work or other events that only leave me 1/2 days or no time at all. And that is overwhelming. I know I'll get it done and I'll survive but right this moment, life is incredibly overwhelming. And today has pushed me over the edge a bit.

And so I breathe.

And believe my best friend will be okay, because I don't believe that in any decent and just world, I could lose her. And I'm determined to believe that I live in a decent and just world...regardless of what parts of my brain may try to tell me sometimes.

Longer and Longer

It's been 4 & 1/2 months since my last post. As I said back in February, I struggle with coming here. My days continue on without my mom. It's been 20 months. I recently survived my 2nd birthday and Mother's Day without my mom and what would have been her 75th birthday just passed earlier this month. Mother's Day is still very hard and I anticipate it will be for some time. It's almost surreal to watch people looking for Mother's Day cards and knowing I have no mother to buy one for anymore.

Outside of the above dates, there have been several moments this year that have been momentous for me. I bought a house in March. Boy did I work hard to get to this place. I know mom would be so happy for me. Olly and I were married in April. And I am approaching graduation. I recently received feedback on my rough draft of my senior project. This is the culmination of the last two years of hard work for me. The work that began six weeks before mom died. The feedback began, "Kelli, this is one of the best papers I have read in a very long time..." As I read through the rest of my advisor's feedback, I found myself in tears. I have wanted to talk to my mom over the past 20 months at various times, but as I was reading that feedback it was the first time I so desperately wanted to pick up the phone and call my mom. I needed to talk to her. I KNOW she would be so incredibly proud of me. The kind of proud only a mother has for her children. How I wanted to hear that. I am very proud of myself, but how I wanted to share this incredible accomplishment with my mom. I did talk to dad and he expressed to me how proud he is and how he knows how proud my mom would be and I appreciated all of that and it meant so much to me. But I was surprised at how much I needed my mom at that moment and how much it hurt that she wasn't there.

And I'm surprised that I still get surprised. There are days when I feel like I've adjusted so well and then there are still moments where I completely crumble. And even though I am open to those moments and I let them come in...I admit, they still surprise me. Why I'm still surprised, I don't know. Probably because they just hit out of nowhere...out of the blue. Something small and silly usually cues a reaction in me and I find myself in tears.

As I approach the end of my Bachelor's Degree, it is such an amazing accomplishment at 42 years old, but there is a little part of me that wonders if I haven't thrown my grief into school. I have been in classes for 87 of the last 95 weeks. I have one more week in this term and then 8 weeks of my last term and I'm done with this step of my education. I have a 3.97 GPA. I only have one B+ and that was in the term right after mom died. Everything else has been an A. School has been a place to direct my brain. I have to admit that I worry about school ending and my brain having to deal with reality. But I start my Masters program in January and then likely my Doctorate 2 years after that. Is school my grief therapy? I don't know. Maybe I'm not ready to find out.

What I know is that I am very ready to start my new career. I feel I have renewed my passion for the postpartum period with my senior project and have recently learned that my passion for grief therapy is very powerful for me as well. I know without a doubt I am heading in the right direction. I have 2 Doula clients left. I will no longer be a full-time Doula by mid-August. It's odd. And a life transition...which makes it scary. But I truly know I'm following the right path.

And I feel like I have a light shining on that path for me. I feel that I have guidance that I would likely not have had without my mom's death. Is it my mom or is it the lessons I've learned in losing her? Maybe it's both. But I certainly feel that without all the experiences of the past two years, I would not be where I am today. And I know that it is exactly where I am supposed to be.

Words

Three months. Three months today since I posted last. It is not for lack of things to say. It has been for lack of words to say them. I survived the holidays in one piece. I reveled in three weeks off of school that were much deserved after 32 straight weeks. And then January came and I started a new term with 3 classes (2 is considered full time). I'm half way through. It has been intense, but I'm surviving. But I'm writing like there is no tomorrow. Paper after paper after paper. I told Olly I feel like I'm simply out of words.

But my blog keeps calling me. It's as though it's saying, "You can write 1500 word papers, but you can't find the words to blog about your mom?". Well...yes...that's exactly how I feel. Because in all honesty, I don't know that I have any words that describe what grief is like 15 1/2 months after your mom dies. In some ways it seems like it has been so long. And then when I realize that it has only been 15 1/2 months, I realize the time has actually been quite short.

I have consciously avoided this blog. For some reason, I couldn't come here. It's odd because it was my safe haven while mom was sick and I was in the throes of grief. Now it seems sort of uncomfortable. As though I should be done coming here. As though at some point, I will just feel like there is an ending to this blog. And an ending to my grief. But I am understanding that such a time will never come. I will never stop grieving the loss of my mom. Certain things will continue to strike me at odd times and reduce me to tears without a moment's notice. I honor those times now. I don't like them. But I honor them for what they are.

The last three months have had their amazing moments, like the time my lamps came on in the middle of the night, followed by a day of the burnt out Christmas tree lights turning on randomly. Believe what you want, but I can't help but think my mom finally found my house. Whether it's true or not, I don't care. The lights were unexplainable. So was my sense that my mom was near. It was the closest I have felt to her since she died. I haven't felt it since. But it was magical at the time.

And then there is the birth of my first niece, Signa Bea, who was born on the morning of January 6th. And who looks an incredible amount like my mom. Michael and Kiersten originally were told that they were having another boy, but then half way through the pregnancy, they found out this baby was actually a girl. I can't help but wonder if mom had a hand in any of that. :-)

I just registered for my 3rd to last term towards my Bachelors degree. I know my mom would be proud of me. I just wish I could hear her tell me so. I am incredibly proud of myself and amazed that I find myself looking at Doctorate programs. Sometimes I wonder if I would have done all this if mom hadn't become sick. Would I have taken the risk? Would I have jumped in? Or did I need to do this before mom died so she knew I was going to be okay? I don't really have that answer. But I know that there isn't an ounce of me that has ever considered quitting because I am determined to power through this for mom (and for me).

So time moves on...and so does the journey of grief. And because the grief will never end...just constantly change...so will this blog I suppose. When I can find the words, I will be here. When the words don't come, I'll simply wait until they do.

Forever

I survived the first year without my mom. I did all the "firsts". First Thanksgiving, first Christmas, first birthday, first Mother's Day, first anniversary of her death. I did it. But now, on the other side, what I've learned is that the first year after a death has odd correlation to the first year of marriage. That first year of marriage is the newlywed stage, but it's also a tough transition. Heck, a lot of divorces take place during that first year of marriage. But then, if you survive it, you start to settle in and "forever" truly begins. Okay, so not all marriages last in forever, but you get what I'm saying here.

Surviving the first year after my mom's death felt like a huge accomplishment. And then, the next day I woke up and realized...wait...now it's not "firsts" anymore. It's "forever". It's like the honeymoon period has ended and I had to leave the "first year" club and move in to the "rest of your life" club. Suddenly, old wounds were opened and I realized now it's just ALL holidays, ALL birthdays, every day, FOREVER...I am going to be without my mom. It was an odd realization. You would think one would know the forever part and on some level you do. But that first year is all about the "firsts" and I think we can forget or ignore the forever. Then the first year ends and forever is standing there staring you right in your face.

It's a whole new place. A whole new world. In some ways I can see how much better I am now than I was a year ago. And in some ways, I feel like I'm starting all over again because now I'm facing forever. And yes, I know I just have to do one day at a time. Yes, I know I don't have to live forever today or tomorrow or any other day for that matter. But right now, it's simply the concept of forever that I am having to work through.

Last year I couldn't bear to spend a holiday without family. I NEEDED them. I needed the reminder that, although my mom is gone, I still have an extended family that loves me and who I can enjoy and spend time with and know that we all miss my mom in our own ways. But this year is starkly different. I don't even want to acknowledge the holidays are coming. God, how I used to love Thanksgiving. It was my favorite holiday. Just family and food and no pressure of gifts. Just togetherness. But that's gone. It's just simply gone. The idea of Thanksgiving is tearing me to pieces. Because my reality is, I have my own family who shouldn't have to suffer simply because I can't tolerate the holidays. My boys, Olly, Olly's son Blake...they shouldn't have to stop enjoying holidays just because I can't enjoy them. But it's a huge internal conflict for me because THIS year, I just need them not to come. And, of course, I know they will. But I would like to be somewhere else...say Canada...where it's not Thanksgiving on November 25th.

Because THIS year begins FOREVER. I will NEVER have another holiday with my mom. That idea honestly didn't hit me last year because we were just trying to get through the "first". And my mom made Thanksgiving what it was for me. And there is a part of me that wants to try to recreate it. Heck, my mom was able to make my Thanksgivings even though her mom was gone. Why can't I do it? Okay, so maybe I CAN do it. I just don't WANT to this year. And I just want people to understand that and give me THIS year where I don't have to fake it. Give me a year when I can say out loud...I don't want to do the holidays. I think I need it in order to move on. But the responsible side of me says, "You have to pull it together for everyone else". That's what we do right?

If things go as planned, we'll be moving at the end of December. Two years ago, we moved on New Years Eve and it was Hell. Originally I couldn't believe we had managed to arrange it so that we'd be moving in winter again, during the holidays. But NOW...I love the idea. How can I arrange not to put up the Christmas tree? Really, what's the point of putting it up just to take it down to move? And now we have this beautiful piano in the house, which fills my house with gorgeous sounds played at the hands of an 8 year old, sitting where the Christmas tree used to go. There's really no place for it right now. So maybe this is the opportunity to do something different this year. Maybe we buy a mini live tree and we sparsely decorate it and we celebrate differently this year. That sounds good for my soul.

Hmmmm...maybe the holidays don't have to go entirely. Maybe there is a compromise in here somewhere. Maybe they just need to be different. Maybe there needs to be a transition. Maybe I need to stop trying to make the holidays how my mom made them because that's what I know. Maybe it's time to make the holidays different or new. Maybe that's what happens now.

Ahhhh...this is why blogging is so fascinating. As I made my way through this post it came with tears and sadness and then a revelation here at the end. I've been mulling this stuff over in my head for a couple of weeks now and never came to the idea that I just wrote here. Odd.

I've still got some thinking to do. I still would prefer to run away to some far away place for the next 2 months. But that isn't feasible. So, perhaps this year can just be different. Simple. I do know it's a year of transition. And I don't want to pretend that it isn't. I know that nothing will create that excitement over the holidays that I used to feel. Not this year anyway. And if I've learned anything about grief it's that I have to allow myself to feel this and experience it in order to get through it in a healthy way. Pretending I don't feel this way doesn't make me feel differently. It just makes everyone else feel better about it all. And I have spent an entire lifetime doing what makes everyone else happy. This year, I need to do what is right for me too.

So, the holidays are coming. Forever is here. I may not like any of it, but I have to face it all. I just need to do it in a way that honors what I've been through and what is to come while still honoring "today" and what it is. I'm sure there is a happy medium in there somewhere. Keep checking in here to see if I find it. :-)

A Mom Never Leaves Completely

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. :-)

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.