February 28, 2022 – the Day that changed my world forever. It was the day my mother, my only living parent took her last breath in this world, and walked through that door we call death, into the Afterlife. I thought I was ready, I thought I could handle grief from the passing of the most significant person in my life -the very person who gave me life. I had planned for years to be in control and not fall apart. I had studied death and dying from a scientific and spiritual perspective. I had read Elizabeth Kubler Ross, I have been a hospice volunteer, I had talked with Mom about her feelings, beliefs, and desires for her funeral. I had great friends to lean on to discuss my feelings with, I had prayed, and prepared.
And then the inevitable happened. And at 89 years of age, my beautiful, head strong, mother with all her talents, wittiness, opinions, and imperfections (like the rest of us) was not sitting in her nursing home watching the news ready to take my telephone call.
I am comfortable that Mom is no longer suffering and in pain, I am comfortable and confident that she is in Heaven and living her best afterlife. Those first few days, it was putting one foot in front of the other just to function in my grief. The details of cleaning out her nursing home room and packing what we would keep; of meeting and planning the service, all filled the space.
My children all flew in – were there with me at the funeral…my brothers were in Heaven to receive Mom, neither sister able to attend the service…just me to see her wishes fulfilled. My aunt and cousins and a niece were there as well. My friend from childhood, who mastered all the same skills and crafts Mom tried to pass on to me came in support.
The service Mom wanted, she got right down to the singing of Ave Maria (in a Baptist Church no less as noted by the preacher) and the lone bag piper for the procession to the grave sight.
And then, each day when I went home and at the end of my day – my routine of calling Mom made it all a reality. Each day for weeks, I paced my living room when I got home. No Mama to call and talk the days events, to talk about the latest political antics, to share the joy of work accomplishments. I was broken, crippled in grief , all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and cry but I could not. Life has to be lived, jobs have to be done. I had to get up everyday and carry on. And so I have, carried on that is. Each day, I get up and live through my grief. Slowly I’m making my way through her things and able to process; but grief has no timeline I’m learning. Some days are easier, and occasionally there is a rough patch.
The worlds of Queen Elizabeth have wrung true to me during this time, After 9-11 she told the people of the United Kingdom:
“Grief is the price we pay for love.”
And so it is, each day I remember Mom, when I need to feel her close, I spray her favorite cologne (Oscar by Osca De La Renta) like I did this morning. And remember, my grief is so strong because our love is so strong. I have with my family and friends had moments of laughter, remembering some stellar Mama moments. The first was imaging what happened in Heaven when Mom and Dad crossed paths -wondering did she hug him or slug him (over the infidelity that lead to divorce).
I know I am tremendously blessed as both my parents lived long lives – Dad’s passing was easier some how as we had the ‘long good bye’ that comes with dementia and because when he passed, I felt his spiritual presence so intently with me. I am also blessed because I have a sure foundation in a spiritual belief system that assures me I will be with my parents again.
I share this at this point because I’m prompted to. I am able to speak of it, write of it, without tears. I know I am not singular in this matter, somewhere, someone else is also missing their Mom.
