One regular, mundane Sunday morning, the call came. The call I’d been dreading. The phone call that would tell me she was gone. The call that told me I’d lost my beloved mother to the other side. The call I knew would come, no matter how much I’d willed it not to. No matter how much I’d prayed it away.
My niece woke me up, tentatively. Scared to tell me my mom had lost her painful, wretchedly life-altering, and draining fight with heart disease and COPD. To tell me my mother had passed in the night. To tell me that life, as I knew it, had invariable and irrevocably changed. Mom was only 59; I'm not yet 40.
There’s nothing quite like watching your mom’s lifeless body being carried away by a funeral home staff that knew nothing about her. They knew nothing about the hell she’d been through---the years of loneliness, abuse, and sacrifice. They knew nothing about the strong, headstrong woman that raised two disabled kids on her own. They only knew that a woman had passed in the night on Memorial Day weekend. Not that they weren’t caring, they just didn’t know my mom like I did.
There’s nothing like choosing your mother’s funeral clothes, casket, and flowers, trying to make sure that they’re acceptable, appropriate, and right--that they’re remotely representative of and fitting for the soul of the strong, amazingly resilient woman that she was.
There’s nothing like seeing your mother’s body in a steel box and feeling like it’s your responsibility that she move into forever in the right way, without flaw. Not that my brother didn’t want to or try to help me, I just felt like it was my job as her only daughter. I became somewhat of a mother bear over my mom. An ever-watchful, over-protective watchdog. A perfectionist pain in the rear.
Despite all of the pain and grief I’ve been through and still have yet to go through, I’ve already learned some important lessons. These perspective-shifting tidbits are lessons I’m sure my mother would want EVERYONE to know.
Not Everyone Grieves the Same
I am an open griever---more like an “Oh-my-God-did-she-just-say that,” honest griever. I do not cut corners, nor sensor my feelings because I worry about someone taking offense. I have, and will always be, completely open, up-front, and in-your-face-honest about losing my mother. My family tends to push things down and not show feelings at all. No matter how much it kills them to do so. I’ve tried to get some to open up, but I have learned that some people just CANNOT do that. Life has dealt some people too much and they can’t process or take anymore, so just accept where they are.
Some of my family were very hesitant to come around after mom passed. It didn’t matter that mom had expressed in her will that she wanted certain things to go to certain people. It took nearly two months to get some family to set foot in my mom’s front yard. I’m not saying anything derogatory, but merely that sometimes, for some folks...just entering a beloved person’s home is too much. Be patient. Be kind.
No one can truly understand another’s grief and loss this side of heaven. Everyone feels loss and pain differently. Grief is painful for everyone involved. Just try to love everyone where they are regardless of situation, history, and personal feelings.
Some People Need Extra Grace
Before mom had passed, a relative became somewhat of a surrogate child. This person was helpful to mom (and me, by extent) in many ways. My mother knew that this person was somewhat of a wandering soul. Somewhat of a roamer who had yet to find a home. Mom stated in her will to be kind and show love. We did that.
I'm 99.5% certain that my brother and I never treated anyone in any way that mom would be ashamed of. We were gracious. We were kind. We were understanding. When word blew in about some things that were said and things overheard, it got really hard.
I’ve decided to approach the situation with as much GRACE as possible. It’s a tricky spot that’s TBD---to be determined. I don’t really know what’s going to happen here. I’m trying to remember that everyone grieves in their own way and sometimes things are misheard or misinterpreted. Whatever the case, grace is necessary.
Grief Takes Time---Lots of It
Just because a loss happened some time ago doesn’t make it invalid. My mother died 2 and ½ months ago….it feels like forever, but it feels like yesterday. Mom’s headstone isn’t even up, but I feel like I should be moving forward. I think I only feel that way because that’s the way our society operates.
My mom was never one who sat around moping because life had dealt her a challenging hand or because someone had died. THE ONLY dream I’d had about mom happened about two weeks after she passed:
My brother, my sister-in-law, and myself were sitting in the kitchen at mom’s and I was telling her how upset I was when she died. I was saying how hard it was just to be in her house and how it was killing me to just touch her things. In the dream she gave me this appalled look. This look that said I’d lost my mind. Mom would’ve always, always, always wanted us to take care of our responsibilities first, no matter what else was going on in our lives.
From that day on, I took care of business as best I could, even though some days it kills me to do the basics. I have to remember that grieving takes time. I read that it can take up to three years to fully grieve losing a parent. It's completely normal to cry and be sad no matter how long it's been.
People Are Awkward Around the Grieving
I’ve found that sometimes the idea of grief and loss make some people downright uncomfortable. And really awkward. I was like this before I lost mom. Now I understand. I say all the time, “No one really understands until it’s their turn.” That’s more than true.
I’ve watched people shut down when I mention her. Others just give me this look. A look that says, “I can’t believe you’re talking about her all the time already.” My daughter told me not to make myself depressed when I’d said something about mom. What I am supposed to do? Pretend she didn’t exist? Pretend that we didn’t have 38 years of love, laughter, and fun together? Act like she’s still alive?
I get it. I do. I used to be that person. Let me tell you something though. Some people, especially me, cannot pretend death didn’t rock their lives or that their loved one never lived. They can’t. I can’t. I won’t.
Traditions Are Important
I miss my mother. Not only do I miss the mom that I spent so much time with the last year of her life, but I miss the mom who was a firecracker. The mom who was the life of the party. My mom, who lit up the room every time she sang karaoke. My mom, who spent countless and tireless hours preparing homemade dishes for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. The mom who drove me to Kansas City at 4 in the morning so many Wednesdays, so I didn’t lose my leg.
The mom who was scared to let me play basketball, yet cried happy, weepy tears to see me march with my high school drum and bugle corps. MY MOM...the ONLY parent who showed one year when it was 38-degrees and raining and bought ME and MY FRIENDS hot chocolate at the end of the parade. If I am half of the mother that she was, I will be amazing.
It’s become my mission to incorporate as much of my mother as I can into my life. I listen to music I haven’t heard since I was a kid much more now. I’m looking forward (yet not) to mixing her holiday things in with ours this year. We’re keeping the Halloween tradition of meeting at mom’s for dinner and then trick-or-treating through her neighborhood. Christmas and Thanksgiving are yet to be decided, but my brother and I know we want our kids to have the same wonderful experiences we did.
Grief Can be Mixed with Joy
I wish my mom was here several times every. single. day. But, at the same time, I could NEVER and would NEVER ask her to come back to the life she was forced to live at the end. A life where she was chained to an oxygen machine in her home and took too many meds just to survive. A life where a simple shower would render her breathless to the point where I didn’t know whether or not she would recover. A life that depended upon having enough oxygen tanks for the time we wanted to be out and about, just so she could live. That life wasn’t fitting for the strong, independent woman my mother was.
My mother didn’t exactly go the way she wanted, but she was so very, very close. She left this world in her home of 30+ years without outside nursing care. She passed with her ever-loyal Dachshund, Cookie, nearby. She was not too old, too weak, nor too independent to need anyone for 24-hour care. Like she said the last time we went to lunch, ”I’ll never get that old,” when she saw a woman just struggling to take a step.
No, my mom will never get old. Right now, she’s probably dancing at the feet of Jesus Christ or singing hymns to The Father alongside my grandparents and my uncle. She’ll never ever hurt again. She’ll never struggle just to breathe, or do a load of dishes, or to put the dogs in and out. Mom’s sole purpose now is a joy-filled life praising the Father and the Son. It doesn’t get much better than that.
I'm sure there's so much more I'll learn from this before it's my turn to go home, but for now, I'm grateful for these lessons.
I'm sure there's so much more I'll learn from this before it's my turn to go home, but for now, I'm grateful for these lessons.
