Do you know that the hospital sends in “palliative care” who basically
reassures you that if you use nursing care it will not last long because this
person will be dead soon. Then you have hospice,
which is wonderful to families, but are they not a little blunt as they tell
you the signs of death that will occur hours before death? Well it was an eye
opener, but not what I was looking for.
I really needed a servant of God to reassure and help me through the
journey.
Why
can I remember the details of various chapters of the end of her death? Like a director of a lifetime movie I can
recall every scene, every word, and yes every tear. I would like to say that this person who was
my mom is in a better place. I hope that
is true, but you have to have incredible faith to completely believe.
I
never took her name or number out of my phone.
I am sure my co-workers are delighted that I quit talking about death
and dying every darn day. The only way I
could get around grieving was to shut down.
How do you shut it down? Well you
program yourself to not think about the details in the same way people stop
thinking about other hurtful memories.
My
mother’s former neighbors seem to still be proponents of her life and even told
me once that they were going to text me, but wanted to hear my voice. I do not think they wanted to hear me, but
they missed my mom. She gladly interrupted
their life randomly. I began to see how
older people become less concerned about etiquette and manners as she would
sometimes answer the phone with a gruff voice and say, “Who is this?” She would not hesitate to call a neighbor at
the drop of a hat if she needed something.
She often called me and asked, “Where were you?” Most of the time I was at work and never had
my phone on me. Her persistence was
amazing. One time she called me thirteen
times in a row. Of course she probably
would not have done that in her younger years, but this woman knew what she
wanted.
I
sometimes am puzzled as to my loyalty to her even after death. After all, I considered my dad my savior as a
child and who would keep me from her sometimes-extreme wrath.
Moms and daughters have their ups and downs, but I could always depend
on her. The advice she gave always seemed like the right thing to do.
I
was a very small child and we were standing in front of the bathroom mirror. My mom wanted me to say I was sorry. There was no way I was going to spout that phrase. I
was just as stubborn as her. Eventually,
she got very tickled and started laughing as we both starred at each other in
the bathroom mirror. She did love to
laugh, but she could be harsh and slightly rude to others. I think my personality developed as a way of avoiding confrontation at all costs
as a result of being with her. She was
the most incredible “bargain master”. If
a sales person said an item was $10.25 she would turn around and say
$1.25? It was the most ridiculous
response and she kept going in the store like a “proud peacock” and never
showed any weakness.
Her
most memorable and grueling interactions were buying a car which was her
passion. A new car meant success and
achievement. She grew up so poor with
many older siblings. Although she had
many half sisters and brothers she was the only child of her parents. Her parents remarried with both having large
families and she was the only product of their marriage. Unfortunately, she was the only child left
after every sibling died. She outlived
all her friends. She had a church
directory near her chair and she had an “X” on everyone’s picture that had
died. By the end of her journey there
was hardly anyone left in the book that had not been eliminated.
Driving
or sitting at work I often find myself as a spectator viewing before and after
death scenes of my mom in the most intricate detail. I
quickly grab a Kleenex and try to pretend I have a teary eye or bad contact
hoping no one walks in.
Does
grief ever end? I can tell you grief enjoys
company and is as certain as death itself.
I feel like letting grief have the upper hand robs you of your
life. You keep living in the past
instead of the future. One of my friends
in desperation blurted out that it was the devil’s fault. It was the devil that was robbing me of my
life. I quickly pointed out that they
had never had a loss such as mine. I know my story is not special or better or
more dramatic than anyone else’s. However,
it is now part of me and I will cherish every memory close to my heart.
There
is a Jewish custom of putting a pebble or stone on the grave of the
deceased. I did that the last time I visited
my parent’s grave. When I consulted my
Jewish co-worker about the custom he laughed and said he really did not
understand that idea and would ask the Rabbi.
He said he had seen people move the stones from one grave to another. I like the idea that the grave had a
visitor. By the way I know my parents
are not in the grave, but as my mom’s neighbor relayed “Where else can you go?”
2
Timothy 4:7
I have fought the good fight, I have finished
the race, I have kept the faith.
