The Past Twelve Months

Can it already be a year?  A whole twelve months since my mother died?  This Thursday, November 17, 2011, will mark the one year anniversary of her death.  At times it seems like it was just yesterday and at other times it feels like it was one hundred years ago.  I can't decide which hurts more.

I have learned some things in the past year, I'd like to share them with you.

1) Death sucks.  No, it really does.  God did not intend for us to die, so when it touches your life it hurts, it hurts like nothing you have ever felt before.

2) I really, really, really loved (love?) my mother.  I didn't realize what an important roll she still played in my life until she was gone.   After all, I am all grown up and she had moved out of state more than fifteen years ago.  How much had I needed her?  Far more than I ever imagined.  So many times, in the last year, I have wanted to call her and talk to her about something.

3) I've learned that it really is all about the gospel.  My only comfort in life, and death, is the knowledge that I belong to my Heavenly Father whose Son paid the penalty for my sin on the cross, and in so doing has secured for me a place in Heaven, for all eternity.  In my darkest moments this past year, God was there...He held me up, He let me cry on His shoulder, He never stopped loving me.

4) I've learned that my mother believed the above too.  And I am convinced I will see her again one day.

5) If I didn't know this already, my husband is an amazing man.  He has held me when I've needed to cry and given me the space when I have needed to be alone. He has been instrumental in my grieving.  When others close to me have said that I need to "move on," and have caused me to doubt my sanity, he reassured me that grief is a personal journey and I was right where I should be. I love him more today than I did twelve months ago.

It has been a very hard year.  I am weary of this journey and look forward to brighter tomorrows.  Rest in peace Mom, I love you.

Today

Today, one year ago, was the last time I saw my mother alive.  There really is nothing to add to this statement.  Just that it hurts today as much as it did that day.  That day I knew, really knew, that I would never see her alive again.  I sat down next to her on the couch and hugged her frail body.  I hugged as tightly as I could without hurting her.  Before she let go of me, Mom said, with emphasis, "I love you *SO* much."  Mom knew, too, that she would never see me or my daughter again.

I drove away that day with such a pain in my heart.  How I loved, love, her.  How I miss her.

Best Intentions

Remember a while back I posted about my mom making ornaments?  Well, for several years leading up to her death there was an ornament she received from a friend sitting in her craft room.  This ornament is made out of small circles (cut from Christmas cards) that are all stapled together to make a ball.  My mom always wanted to make this ornament for us. When we visited my dad this past Spring, I brought home the bag with the completed ornament and the cards she was using to cut the circles.  It is my intention to make three of these this year, one for each of my siblings.

So, here I sit trying to piece the first one together.  With every staple my heart grows heavier and heavier.  Can I just say one more time, in case you haven't been listening, how weary I have grown of the pain in my heart?  I try with every breath of my being to turn my sadness into joy.  Not joy in the jumping-up-and-down kind, but joy in the fact that I had her for 46 years...that she was a remarkable woman who raised me to be a God-fearing adult.  A woman who sacrificed everything for me.  But every thought brings sadness.  Why is this so?

Believe me, I know just how redundant this is beginning to sound.  It clangs around in my head.  In less than a month it will be one whole year since she died.   While I have made some advancement I do not feel it is good enough.  She would not want me still crying after all this time...she would want me to pour myself another glass of wine and toast to her memory. I wish I could, oh how I wish I could.

She was here.

I am a Christian.  I believe the bible to be the word of God and I take it literally.  Therefore, I believe that when you die you either go to heaven or hell...there is no in between waiting room, nor is your soul reincarnated.  However yesterday I could have been easily persuaded, for a brief moment, to believe otherwise.  Something very cool happened.

I homeschool my daughter. It can be a very hard job.  My mom was a great supporter of my efforts and quite proud too, I think.  She was my silent cheerleader.  The night before we started classes for the year, I was feeling very sad and down trodden.  I was really missing my mom.  I wanted to tell her that we were starting school. I wanted to tell her about the cute clothes we got at Gymboree.  I just wanted to hear her say "Have you started school yet?"

Monday morning came very quickly and the day began.  We were sitting doing our Bible lesson.  I looked out the window and there was a hummingbird hovering there, looking in at me.  She then went to the next window, looked in and then flew away.  I am not a "signs and wonders" Christian.  However, I DO believe that this was an angel from heaven...my mother was with me that morning.  She is always with me in my heart.  No amount of time can change that and I will continue to honor her in my heart.

Mom was with me that day, in a very special way, cheering me on, as always.  I will never forget the feeling that overcame me as I stared back at the little bird.  Oh how I miss her....

My cup...

‎"We can ask for the cup to pass, but if the Father says no, then there is too much at stake. If you hurt that much, it's because you were given the privilege to LOVE that much." ~From New Horizons for Children

A friend shared this with me and it pierced my heart.  My mother would not want me feeling this sad so long, I know that.  But, I can not help it...so I will embrace it.

Moving On...

My father sent me this poem today.  It looks like he is moving on...I can't, I don't know how.  What is wrong with me?

You can shed tears that she is gone, or you can smile because she had lived.

You can close your eyes and pray  that she'll come back, or you can open your eyes and see all she's left.

Your heart can be empty because you can't see her, or you can be full of the love you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday, or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember her only that she is gone, or you can cherish her memory  and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back. Or you can do what she'd want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

by David Harkings

Nothing but Silence

For the first time, since my mother's death, I really need to talk with her.  I need to ask her a question.  I need maternal advice. I need my mother, and she isn't here.

My mother was there the day I took my first step, spoke my first word, went to school for the first time, graduated eighth grade, twelfth grade and college. My mother was there for the first big break-up and she was there when my feelings were hurt by a friend or sibling. My mother taught me how to write my name in cursive and she taught me how to use the iron and fold clothes. My mom cried with me when I miscarried my first child and she was with me in my heart, eleven years later,  the day I gave birth to my only child. She was by my side when my daughter's belly button fell off at 2 weeks old.

I was hoping my mother would be with me as I struggled to loosen my grip on my daughter's life, allowing her to become more independent.  But she isn't. and I find myself riddled with questions that only she can answer.

My daughter and I have entered into a very tense time in our relationship.  I am not exactly sure why, but it has been very hard.  It seems that we struggle and fight all the time now.  I don't remember it being this way with my mom.  I want to ask mom if I was difficult...if I gave her grief.  If I made her heart ache. If I made her cry.   I need to know that I am going to make it through and that my daughter will still love me, like I loved her.  I'll never know.

My mother was my silent cheerleader.  I feel a great emptiness where her cheers used to be.

Why??

Is there something wrong with me?  Why do the tears still flow so easily?  Why do the tears come without warning?  Why am I sometimes swept into deep sadness?  Why does it appear that people have forgotten?  Why does the fact that it seems like people have forgotten make me so mad?  Why do I feel so alone in my grief? 

I wish that I could talk to my dad about the hurt in my heart, but I don't want to upset him.  I mention things in passing to my brother, and they are ignored.  I have one sister who said "You have to find a way to cope."  And another sister who is absent all together. 

The co-worker's husband died.  He held on much longer than my mom. What is his widow feeling now?  I feel like such a baby, that I have no business feeling this badly...when so many others are dealing with harder things.  Yet here I sit, feeling my sadness, alone...and all I can do is feel sorry for myself.  How pathetic.

...by the grace of God

The husband of a co-worker is in the hospital "living" his last few hours.  He has been asleep since 3pm yesterday.  Cancer.  You might say that Cancer has taken his life, but that wouldn't be exactly true.  Cancer is the "how".  Cancer is a horrible thing.  In my opinion the worst way to die (except for torture).  This man has suffered through months of chemotherapy, knowing that the end would come painfully. I praise God that my mother's end came swiftly and, from what I understand, with little pain.

My mother slipped into a deep sleep after her ambulance ride to the Hospice facility.  It was a little more than 48 hours later when she died.  No one had any idea how close to dying she was.  But there you have it...we are all so much more the wiser now.  My dad wishes that he had ridden with her to Hospice, that maybe it would have made a difference.  I encourage him not to have those thoughts, as they will make him crazy. I think, even if he had ridden with her, he would still be dealing with guilt about something else.  The fact is plain...God determines our every breath, He determines the "how" of our last breath.  Accepting that will help ease the pain...both the physical pain and the emotional pain, not just for the one who is dying, but also for the one watching. I know, easy for me to say - no it isn't.  I am still, at times - seven months later - in denial.  I look at her picture and can't believe it is true.  How my heart breaks for this woman...watching her husband die.  How will she go on?  How do any of us go on?

But by the grace of God.

Like a Ton of Bricks

It hit me like a ton of bricks today.  It was as if it had just happened.  Driving around doing some errands I pulled into a parking spot, it occurred to me that it has been seven months today since my mother's death.  The way I felt at that moment was akin to how I felt the moment I heard the news.  My breath left my body and I cried from the deepest part of my soul.  I sobbed.  My poor daughter didn't know what to do.  And just as quickly as the grief overcame me, the tears left and I was able to go do what I needed to do.  If someone had told me, before she died, that I would still feel the intensity of grief seven months later, I would never have believed them.  Yet, here I sit with a remnant of what I felt earlier.  A dark, sad cloud hanging over my head.

I have not heard my mother's voice in over seven months, and never will again.  That has been the hardest pill to swallow in all this...it's the forever bit.  How do people do it?  How has my father gotten up day after day, doing things he has never had to do for  himself - those very things a constant reminder of his wife's absence.  A constant reminder of the pain of loss and grief.  

I have described my experience with grief as the tide, coming in and going out.  The tide came in today as a tidal wave.

The Empty Feeling

There was a time, not too long ago, when I would dread doctor's appointments and those annual tests.  I always figured, based on my medical history, that I would eventually contract one of those horrible female cancers and die a long and painful death.  I would be sick to my stomach until word came that all tests were negative.

Since my mother's death and the recent "celebration" of another birthday, I have begun looking at things differently.  With the hope in my heart that I will one day see my mother again, in her glorified self, the thought of my own end of life seems sweeter and sweeter with each passing day.  No, I am not giddy over the fact of physical or emotional pain.  I am, however, giddy at the thought of eternity...on the streets of gold...with my saviour.  Where I will no longer battle sin.  Where my heart will no longer hurt over those I have lost through death or distance or change.  Where I will no longer have any physical pain, and no longer cry or have need to cry.  I grow weary with each passing day.  I try to pull myself up by my bootstraps, but fail at every turn.


I had no idea the toll that my mother's death would take on me....who could know?  Each time I pass her picture, each time I call my dad, I feel it all over again.  


My body aches from the pain of her absence....


  

In Memory of Mother -from the Hebrew Union Prayer Book

"I remember thee in this solemn hour, my dear mother. I remember the days when thou didst dwell on earth, and thy tender love watched over me like a guardian angel. Thou hast gone from me, but the bond which unites our souls can never be severed; thine image lives within my heart.  May the merciful Father reward thee for the faithfulness and kindness thou hast ever shown me; may he lift up the light of his countenance upon thee and grant thee eternal peace!"

I know nothing about the Hebrew Union Prayer Book, but I was drawn to these words.

I remember the days when you walked on earth...when you washed my clothes, brushed my hair,  gave me food to eat, I remember the band aids, the Popsicles during the summer and  I remember the gold Christmas bell pin you wore on your red dress. I remember the pink tip of the cigarette and the glow of the cigarette in the window where you waited for me to return home.  I remember the holidays that you made special.  I remember you...the smoky perfume smell...the scuff of your slippers.  You were my silent cheerleader and you always loved me with your whole heart.   I miss you mom.

My Thoughts on Grief

C.S. Lewis wrote, in his book A Grief Observed, that grief is like a bomber plane circling round above dropping its bombs each time the circle brings it overhead; physical pain is like the steady barrage on a trench in WWI, hours of it with no let-up for a moment.  Thought is never static, pain often is.

Whether it be described as the tide, coming in and out...constant and expected or described like the bomber circling overhead, sporadic and unexpected, one thing is certain...grief is painful.  I never expected it to hurt this much.

First Mother's Day

Ouch, that is what it felt like, ouch.  I didn't have a call to make on Mother's Day morning.  I didn't have a present to buy...all I had was a memory.  Is this wrong?  Is this unhealthy? Should I force myself to take my sad moments and turn them into happy memories?  I don't know how you do that. Right now, remembering Mom, hurts so much...the pain seems brand new.  Why is that?  Why is it that others go on...yet I have a constant cloud over my head.  Will the skies ever be clear again?  Will I just have to live, day-by-day, with this pain? How is my Dad living on?  How does he make it through each day?  Some days, all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry like an infant.  That is how I feel today.  I am very well damn near sick of myself.  I want the pain to stop.

I have felt the power of God when I have been in the depths of despair.  I know what it feels like to have His Spirit comfort me.  I know God is here.  I know He is holding me up and helping me go forward even if I don't feel it.  Yet today it feels like I am on my own.  Faith is not about feelings, faith is about knowing...God says, in the Book of Isaiah: You will keep in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.  Yet there are times, like today when I am missing her so much, that my mind is blank and my heart is screaming in anguish.

How long, O Lord?  Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide Your face from me? How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily?  (Psalm 13)

...Lord help my unbelief.  I am clinging to your cross for dear life.

First Visit

I am, right now, visiting my dad.  This is the first visit since the funeral and it is so hard. Being here is so painful.  Everywhere I look I see her, I've said this all before, but I need to say it again.  My mother's absence is tangible, I feel it with each fibre of my being.  At home I am learning to live with the pain, here, I can't escape it.

I wish I could say that I can turn my sad moments into happy memories, like I am told I should be able to do. But I can't.  For those of you following this blog, this must be sounding awfully redundant by now.  It is redundant...the pain is like the tides...in and out, sometimes it is intense, other times a bit less but always there...a constant noise in my heart.

Tonight my daughter made a Christmas Tree ornament.  She pulled out my mother's craft supplies and created an ornament.  To most, this wouldn't mean much, but to those who knew my mother, it is significant.  My mother took much joy in making crafts, particularly ornaments.  Every year, each Christmas, we would receive about a half dozen home-made Christmas ornaments from her.  She made them out of sea shells, pine cones, cinnamon sticks, some she hand sewed.  She made them out of all sorts of things.  They were unique and beautiful and I loved every one of them. I marvelled at her creativity.  My mother made no ornaments in 2009, I remember finding that very odd at the time.  In retrospect, I guess my mom was tired, but I don't think any of us realised just how tired she was.

The ornament my daughter made

Back to the ornament my daughter made.  In the midst of her creating this masterpiece, she looked up at me and asked, "If [Grandma] were alive, do you think she would be proud of me?" ...and the tide came in... I answered, "Oh yes, my sweet daughter, she would be very proud".

The Day of the Funeral, Continued

We were all there, and people were beginning to arrive to say their last goodbyes.  People who had known my mother from years ago when she was raising her family and people who knew her years later, after retirement, when she was taking joy in her grandchildren.  Any way you sliced it, it was all so hard. Yet, even in all the sadness and grief I was amazingly strong.  God was, yet again, holding me up.  He was giving me strength to move forward when all I wanted to do was crumble to the ground and cry.  My Dad's eyes were glazed while he greeted people.  I was shaking the hands and accepting kisses from people I had never met, until now.  They all seemed to know me though.  Finally the moment had arrived, it was time to begin.

There was a beautiful picture of my mother at the entrance to the church...so young and happy.  I tried to keep that picture in  my mind's eye, not the marble box.  The service began at the baptismal font where, according to her denomination, life in Christ began. Everyone began their journey to the front of the church.  My brother led the way holding the box that contained my mother. We followed next, a daughter on either side of Dad, holding him up it seemed.  It was a mile to the front of the church where we all took our seat in the front pew. Mom was surrounded by so many beautiful flowers, I remember thinking how fitting as her's was the greenest thumb anyone could ever hope to have.  She could bring a dead plant back to life, she was amazing.  Oh how I wish I had inherited that gift from her, but I didn't.

All I kept thinking was how I couldn't believe that this was finally happening, I was burying a parent, my mother. The women who, the same age as I was when I had my daughter, dreamed of a fourth child - me.  I was her baby.   The woman who raised me from infancy to giving me away in marriage and who helped me be a mom when my baby was born.   The woman who would have laid down her life for me.  How my heart hurt.

Each daughter had a part to play in the service.  I was the second to read.  My oldest sister read the twenty-third Psalm (my mother's favorite),  then it was my turn.  This was my choice:

  "But I do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep, lest you sorrow as others who have no hope.  For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus. For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord will by no means precede those who are asleep. For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of an archangel, and with the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And thus we shall always be with the Lord. Therefore comfort one another with these words."  1Thessalonian 4:13-18

This I remember, a spirit-filled smile came across my face as I spoke these words: "For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of an archangel, and with the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And thus we shall always be with the Lord."  I saw my mother, with outstretched arms running towards me,  not unlike the first time I got off the school bus from my first day at school, welcoming her baby home.  Home.  A child feels so at home in her mother's arms. Home...home.   I was comforted, I believe that I will see my mother again one day.

I'll write more about the funeral later, my heart is hurting too much to write any more.

The Day of the Funeral

I didn't know which outfit to wear.  Sounds petty doesn't it?  My husband took me out the night before I left to buy a new outfit for the funeral.  I bought two, and so didn't know which one to wear that day.  I woke up early.  I laid both outfits out on the bed -- one traditional, brown and black, morose.  The other one, pink and floral, happy.  I felt guilty even considering wearing the pink outfit.  It was so mom though, I knew that if she could have picked one, that is the one she would have chosen.  She wouldn't want me to be morbid...she would want me in bright, happy colors.   So I chose the outfit she would have bought for me, and I wore it proudly.

What an awful morning.  It was a Tuesday, and it was a beautiful day.  Yet, my heart was the heaviest it had ever been in the whole of my life.  Sounds like I am exaggerating, but I am not.  Couldn't eat, couldn't think, didn't want to talk to anyone.  I just wanted to be left alone, in my own miserably sad world.  I hated what was going to happen later today and there was not a damn thing I could do to stop it.  Death sucks...no matter how you may look at it, it sucks so much.

The funeral wasn't until 2PM that day.  We had agreed to meet at the church at 1:30.  Talk about time standing still -- it seemed like FOREVER before we left for the church.  I remember everything about that car ride to the church.  Every traffic light, every tree, every sound.  We were on the way to bury my mother, to say good-bye forever...even now, five months later, the pain in my heart, nothing can describe it.

Well, we were all there...my two sisters, brother and my dad.  The only one missing was my mom.  But she was there, she was in a beautiful marble box, the best money could buy...sitting on a pedestal. She wasn't there, and wouldn't be either.  And that thought rang over my head like a clanging cymbal.    

The Day Before the Funeral

Today my Mother's body was being cremated.  That thought made me shiver.  My sisters and I decided to clean Dad's house, to keep ourselves busy, as well as to make things nice for Dad before we left. So I cleaned and cleaned like I've never cleaned before.  I cleaned like my Mother taught me.  She would have been proud.   

The day was a day of busy work for my Father.  I'm glad he had things to do.  He had to visit the funeral home to settle his "bill."  Imagine that, in the depth of his grief he had to go write a check.  My parents had visited this funeral home, together, thirteen years prior to my Mom's death to pick out their caskets and flowers and whatever else you pick out when you are pre-planning your funeral.  The ironic thing is my Mother died on the exact day they signed their paperwork, thirteen years earlier.    Dad modeled his suits for us so we could help him decide what to wear to the funeral.  Somehow he looked so small in the suit he used to wear to the office.  His shoulders hunched, his stance not as tall as it once was.

I remember so many years ago now, my Dad arriving home from the office, on the dot, every day at 5:30pm.  He would come in the garage door, mumble a hello, take the mail out of the mail slot, and walk to his room to change.  He would go into the living room, sit in his Lazy-Boy, and begin reading the newspaper.  He seemed especially unapproachable at this time, than any other time.  Things change over the years and, as I was aging, so was he...I didn't need to approach him just as he was becoming approachable.  How I wish I could go back in time and savor that moment...the moment that, at the time, seemed insignificant, but now..the sounds, the smells....you really just can't appreciate it in real time, can you?  Anyway...

The day ended, with nothing spectacular happening.  I went to bed, dreading the next day, when my Mother's ashes would be placed into the hole in the wall...forever, or at least until the return of Christ.

That Day, part 2

Orchid

We sat in that room for what seemed like days, however, from start to finish it was only about two hours.  We sat there, taking turns going up to the casket, either by ourselves or with each other.  I watched as my Dad touched her hand and her cheek. I listened as he whispered to her.  How many times, during their fifty-four years of marriage, did my Dad touch my Mother's cheek in an intimate moment, or take her hand to cross the street?  How often during their fifty-four years of marriage did he whisper in her ear?  I watched this unfolding in front of me and, although I would have thought it impossible, my heart hurt even more.

Each time someone went up to be with her, the tears began to flow anew.  It is hard to believe that one person could be loved so greatly.  That her death could be so far reaching.  Yet, each one of us loved her dearly.  She was the wife to one and the mother to four, but she was so much more.  She was a whole person, who started young and grew old.  She had hopes and dreams, some fulfilled and some not.  She laughed and she cried, she had joy and she had pain.  She was there the day I got on the school bus for the first time and she was there the day I graduated college.  And she was there all the days in between. And all the days after. But she isn't here any longer, perhaps this is the hardest pill to swallow.

My last memory of her alive is from October, sitting on the couch next to her, in her embrace.  She was frail but she held me like a mother holds her child, as tightly as she could.  She whispered in my ear, "I love you soooo much."  I think my mother knew, as well as I , that this would be our last embrace.

My mother was an amazing woman, I see that now.  She had unwavering love, but that is, after all, a mother's heart.

That day

We went to church with Dad the Sunday after Mom died.  What a hard day.  Later that afternoon we would make the short trip to the funeral home, to see mom one last time.  I sat in church thinking about how much my mom looked forward to church.  This was her only time to socialize. She had a circle of friends there who she sat with for a few minutes each Sunday before mass, catching up on the week and showing the latest pictures of her youngest granddaughter.   One friend, Phyllis, sat in the same pew with my parents. Phyllis was older than my mom and often fell asleep during mass.  My mom used to joke about how she would have to nudge her awake in time to take communion.  (A side note: Phyllis told me that, in conversations she had had with my mom, that my mother was ready to die...what did that mean?  I never had a chance to ask her). These were some of the few times that I saw my mother smile and laugh in these last few years.  When she would talk about her zany friends at church and her youngest granddaughter, my daughter, she would smile.  My daughter could make my mother laugh out loud.  How I savor those memories.

I can't even remember what happened between church and the funeral home, strange huh? I know we ate, but beyond that, it is gone.  I guess it is because the memory of what happened at the funeral home is so strong, so intense, that everything around it, sort of, disappeared.  Today, more than three months later, I can close my eyes and see the scene as though it were right in front of me.

We arrived at the funeral home right on schedule.  My stomach was in my throat as we met up with my brother  in the parking lot.  I didn't want to go in.  If  I could have, I would have taken off.  I would have run far, far away.  What I was about to see and experience was something that you can not prepare yourself for -- ever.  It is something that now, in hindsight, I wish I had not done.

My Dad and sisters went first.  My brother and I, arms locked, paused at the door.  He asked me if I was ready, I said no...but we walked through the door anyway.  He and I gasped when we saw her, and  I started to cry from what seemed like the deepest part of my soul.  It hurt so much at that moment that I didn't think I could go on. The intensity of that moment, the intensity of the grief I felt, if it had been a sword, would have slain me.  Yet, even in the intensity of the moment, I felt the arms of my Heavenly Father.   He was holding me up, allowing me to walk forward.

And there she was.  She looked like she was sleeping, like I could nudge her awake.   As I looked at her, the reality of the past few days began to hit me.  It rang in my head: My mother is dead, there is no waking her, she isn't here, she's gone - forever

.

Happy Anniversary

It's their wedding anniversary today.  They would have been married fifty-four years. I can't even begin to imagine what my dad is feeling today.  All sorts of things, no doubt.  I'm feeling something too.

I am told, that moments after my mother died, my father, with tears streaming down his face, reached under the blanket and took my mother's wedding band off her finger.  My dad placed that ring on my mother's finger nearly fifty-four years ago and before that moment it had never been off.   My Dad took the ring off his bride's finger.  They were no longer married, my father is no longer a married man.  Til' death did they part.

This thing called death changes everything.     

I, M take thee, F to be my wedded wife,
to have and to hold from this day forward,
for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer,
in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish,
'til death do us part.  

I Wasn't With Her

I wasn't with her when she died.  Everyone else in the family was there that day, not me.  I received the call and was booked out early the next morning.  I know that God numbers our days, but part of me thinks that my mother chose the exact moment she would die.  I know those two statements are contradictory.  I don't think she wanted me there when she passed.  Nor do I think she wanted the room full, when she passed.    My dad, two sisters and brother were there that whole day.  From what I am told, they talked to her, read to her and sang to her.  They held her hand.  At the moment she died, only her little boy was by her side.  Everyone else was occupied elsewhere in the room or hallway.  And me, her baby, thousands of miles away.

At first, I was okay with this.  But now, with the passage of time and, like so many other things, with thought I am not so okay with this.  Hearing is the last sense to leave when you are dying, so I am told.  I wish I could have whispered in her ear too.  I wish I could have held her hand.  My oldest sister reassures me that it was for the best.  Why?  Why was me not being there for the best?  I have to believe that it all unfolded the way God intended, and I must find peace with that. That's a hard thing to do.

Bird of Paradise

I decided to go by myself.  I felt badly asking my husband to stay home with our daughter.  It wasn't that I didn't want them there, it was just that I needed to be a grieving daughter and sister...and right then, in the midst of my grief, that is what I was.  I was my mother's youngest child grieving over her death.  I couldn't be anything else.  So I left, a few days after her death, alone.

I held in most of my emotion on the airplane taking me to her funeral.  My two sisters would meet me upon my arrival.  When I saw them, I lost it.  I lost complete control and sobbed. I wept from the deepest part of my soul, or so I thought.  We made our way out to the car. I dreaded the forty-five minute car trip taking me to my parent's, my Dad's, house.  Mom wouldn't be there and she wouldn't be anywhere else either. She was gone.

I cried again, this time in my father's arms.  I could feel his pain in his embrace.  We cried together, I've never seen my father cry in all my life.  Ever.  I cried all the more, as he, being the dad, tried to hold it together for me, to be strong...imagine that?  I couldn't believe she was gone.  Everywhere I looked in their house I saw her.  The couch where she spent so much of her time reading, doing her word search puzzles or watching her soaps.  The plastic chair on the lanai where she used to spend so much time smoking (when she still smoked), the ashtray on the table next to it.  Her craft room where she had made so many beautiful Christmas ornaments or completed the latest puzzle.  Her homemade decorations and so many pictures of her family placed all around the house.  The envelope in the kitchen drawer with the coupons and articles she intended to send me.  The smell of her perfume in her closet.  Her plants, so beautifully maintained, her knick-knacks.   Her hand creams, vaseline, tissues, little round pink or white mints, canvas tote bag with her crocheting projects in it.  The light green fleece jacket that she would always wear on her shoulders when she got cold and the blue fleece blanket that I had wrapped around her legs, when I visited in October, both still draped over the back of the couch. It was too much to take.

I arrived on Saturday, the funeral was scheduled for Tuesday.  The next day the immediate family were scheduled to go to the funeral home to "view" her.  "View" her, even now those words ring in my head.  What a sterile phrase.  To view the shell that once help my mother's soul.  The shell that once held all that was uniquely "mom".  To say that I was dreading tomorrow would be a severe understatement.  I had no idea what lie ahead.

Not the Beginning

I have no idea why I am doing this, except to say that I watched the movie Julie and Julia and was intrigued by the whole "blogging" movement.  Will anyone be interested in what I have to say?  Who knows.  I've been on a journey, a God-appointed journey, where everything happens for a reason, for His glory.  Because of recent happenings, on this journey, I have been doing so much thinking...these are just some of my thoughts, no real significance to anyone except to me. And, I should mention, they are in no particular order.

I always knew that, one day, I would have to deal with the death of a parent.  I guess, in my mind, that day was far off - far away, even though I had aging parents.  So, when word came, the end of September, of my mother's diagnosis of bone cancer...I was in denial. Surely it was a mistake.  I really believed that when the biopsy results were returned they would show that.

When my daughter and I visited my parents in mid-October, mom was in the hospital for the biopsies.  My prediction was wrong.  Mom had bone cancer, with no primary location of cancer diagnosed.  She came home from the hospital, eight days later, so I extended my stay to help care for her.  She was so fragile. Oxygen on at all times, getting up only to use the bathroom.  How hard to watch.  You read of the role-reversal that happens as parents age, but never, in all the world, could I have imagined the feelings this would provoke in me.  So hard that, even now to no one in particular, I can't write down what happened, or what I felt and saw.  It is just too hard.

What I didn't fully  understand at the time was that mom was already beginning her journey to death.  Deep down I think I knew, but I was hoping (and praying) against hope.  I wanted  my mommy to live forever.  But, all grown up now, I knew this couldn't be, so I wanted to tell her what she meant to me.  I wanted her to know the impact that she had made on my life.  I wanted her, more than anything, to recognize her need of a savior.  So I told her.

I'll share more of what I said at another time.  It is still too fresh and painful for me to put into writing.

When I left, early November, I knew, for sure, this would be the last time I saw her alive.  I was right, she failed quickly.  And exactly four weeks to the day I was venturing back, this time alone, for my mother's funeral.  What a sad journey that was, but knew that the God of all peace was guarding my heart and leading the way.

My mother walked quietly through this life, but she touched the lives of all who knew and loved her.  She touched their lives, my life, in immeasurable ways. I  miss her dearly.