Mom's passing
I'd like to use this journal to periodically process some of my feelings about losing my mom a week ago. Mom made it 10 11:50 PM on April 16; ten more minutes and it would have been my birthday. I kind of wish it had been my birthday, because it would have felt like things had come full-circle, and I don't like knowing that not only did I lose her, but that I then had to immediately go through my first birthday without her. I will miss her playful birthday teasing, "38 years ago today I was heading to the hospital...!" Every year, every birthday.
My DS friends and community have been tremendously supportive, and I don't have the words to show my appreciation. So many of you have kept in me prayers and sent notes to me, and some of you even provided flowers for her memorial. The donations many of you have provided (and will provide) will go to support our spiritual healing retreat next year, and I hope you will all come back!
Losing my mom has been hard because she was a good mom and I had a happy childhood. I don't have awful stories of turmoil from my youth. I never had to hide from a parent's anger, I never had to fear my friends' seeing things happening in our home. I think that losing a good parent might be harder because it ends 39 years of memories I want to keep.
Mom made sure that my sister and I believed that the purpose of life is to uplift the worth of all other life, not to accumulate status and products. As such, she instilled in us a commitment to peace and healthy social change for all. To her, this wasn't a political maxim, it was what guided her to hug someone who was crying, befriend the sad, uplift the self-hating, and include the outcast. Never once did she turn away from another's need because it was too painful for her to bear; she was not selfish with her spirit like that. While many people around her attracted more attention and glamor, mom just humbly perevered, actually doing the work of loving, healing, and allying with the bruised and brokenhearted of the world.
Her death was a good death, which may sound strange until I explain it. Before her surgery, we had chances to express ourselves to her and to hear her words to us. My son, River, hand-wrote her a letter to her the night before her hospitalization that told her how joyful she made him feel, that he will always remember their jokes, that he doesn't love her because of the things she buys him but because she helps him like himself more, and that she is the silliest old woman he'd ever met. None of us has that "I wish I could have said..." regret.
Mom never recovered from the ICU, and wasn't even aware of the passing of time. On Thursday, April 15, her breathing tube was removed and ver health signs were improving. She was happy and had visitors. On Friday, her deteriorated systems collapsed, and she was sedated. When she died, then, she was in no pain, surrounded byher best friends and husband, after a final day of happy visiting. She had even disclosed that if she ever came to this point in her health, this would have been her choice too.
One of mom's final acts at home was to gather and discard journals she never wanted us to find. These dated to her time in therapy for depression when I was very young. Mom felt useless and insecure about herself, and became angry easily with my hyperactivity, and she took my own mercurial personality personally. In counseling, she wrote and processed her feelings, and to this day I don't remember turmoil or distress in my childhood. I suspect these are the journals she destroyed so that we would never be burdened by the discovery of her depressed thoughts, especially since she didn't feel that way anymore. Mom was truly happy, and was the first to affirm the fullness and richness of her own life.
I don't know how to respond to her loss. I'm confused because I don't feel as distraught as I think one would. I'm not unhappoy about the circumstances of her death, and I don't feel like we had unfinished business to reconcile, I just miss her. Mom helped me see that ours is not the only pain that matters, and that our responsibility is to care for and embrace the life around us.
More later.
Replies
Matt, all I can say is that when the time comes for me to pass from this world, I pray with EVERYTHING in me that my children feel the peace you feel. Your mom reminds me of me in her younger years.. the anger and the desire to work through it. I too, find a passion in helping others, and I do the best I can. I don\'t mean to flatter myself in comparing me to the wonderful woman your mom was, but really, I am very grateful you wrote this entry, and I was privileged enough to read it. She gives me hope that there is the light at the end of the tunnel and I won\'t always be angry, and I CAN have children who will one day look back at fond memories (sadly, I\'ve convinced myself that they will have conflicting memories of me). She sounded like an amazing woman, mother, and a role model, not only for you but for those you choose to share her story with. I really wish I could have met her, and known these things then. I would have picked her brain apart looking for mothering advice.
As your friend, nothing makes me happier to hear that you are okay. I am glad that you have felt the love from all over the US and abroad, because I know I don\'t have the words to tell you how sorry I am that a hug wouldn\'t tell you in 2 seconds.
You know, last year she was at the retreat, this year she was very much on our minds, and we even rejoiced in her improving condition. I\'d really like to see if you\'d be interested in doing something that allow us to feel like she was still \"there\", a part of it every year. Maybe a plant, a tree?
Once there was a tree,
And she loved a little boy...
You gotta quit making me cry online.
Ok, we\'ll figure something out.
Matt, you wrote such beautiful words about your mother. I really wish I could have met her.
I am so glad that you don\'t have regrets. I think your grief is as it should be: that we miss the person we love, but we are not torn up inside. Unfortunately, not everyone lives their life in such a way that is possible.
Grief is confusing...the feelings tend to come in waves and sometimes change over time. We also sometimes put expectations on ourselves about how we \"should\" feel or react. Sometimes, when we reflect back over the life of someone as special as your mother, there is even a joy --- at the privilege of having loved and been loved by that person.
I\'m so glad that you are sharing your thoughts and feelings with us. It means a lot. We really do want to walk with your through this.
River is an amazing boy. What a wonderful letter to write. He is definitely part of your mother\'s legacy, because of the way she raised you, and the values she imparted in you.
You love your mom the way I loved mine.
There will be times you will want to call her...and then remember...\"no\". But, I promise, these times will pass.
After my mom was gone, there was only one phone call left that could make my heart stop dead in it\'s tracks...and that\'s got to do anything with my wife, Mary.
Beyond that, I have new found liberty from that kind of bad news.
Best to you!!!!
Oh I\'m so happy to hear you all had the opportunity to talk to you mom before she passed. We had the opportunity as well, my mother had 2 days speaking to each of her children alone. I\'ll never forget my last real talk...even though I didn\'t record it( which I wish I had to remember her voice) I remember each and every word. All my daughters have her eyes, the beautiful crystal blue eyes and dark hair. It\'s my daily memory of her.
I still have times where I wish I could go over to her house, plop down on the couch while she and my dad sat on their chairs and have those two people just listen. Not advise, not interuppt...just listen. I miss that, but I am ever SO grateful that I got the time that I had with them, that I too grew up learning the value of giving of yourself (because that\'s all they had most of the time). I grew up to be the kind of person that I am because of what both my parents taught me, not by lecture, but by watching them lead by example.
A Tree is a beautiful idea! One that you think best represents her.
This is beautiful.
What about a willow?
Matt, I totally understand that you describe your mother\'s death as \'good\'. I think that would be my desire for everyone, that we have a good death. It is as you would have wished it, if you could ever contemplate planing for something like that. I am so pleased that you feel that way, that despite the pain and sadness of loss, there are some good things woven in.
And River\'s letter....what an amzingly sensitive, emotionally intelligent little boy he is. I am so glad he got to express things to his grandmother and so beautifully, I can imagine her being so proud and laughing too (in a good way) at what he wrote.
I guess your Mum has, in a strange way, left us all a legacy, that, as you said, she was \'truly happy and the first to affirm the fullness and richness of her life\' - something for us all to work towards. I never met her, but I am truly grateful to know about her.
I have the job of providing our family with three urns, and we\'ve agreed that maple is the wood of choice (to represent Canada).
Since losing mom, I\'ve felt strange. I find myself facing doubts I\'ve never had before--is heaven even real? Is there an afterlife?--and it makes me wonder where she went, or if her life suddenly halts when biological processes cease.
The book \"The Giving Tree\" was an appropriate reference in my journal. I have sometimes teased the book as being \"The Codependent Tree\" but there is a poignancy about it, too. The tree loved a little boy, even more than she loved herself. My mom was handed this enormous responsibility of raising me: a hyperactive, strange, ridiculous boy, full of energy, challenges, problems, promises, and unforseen difficulties. And yet she was able to see my value, even in this troubled, hyperactive, moody kid. I don\'t know if any other mom could have handled me. Mom went through depression because she doubted herself so much, and she struggled with how to parent me. It seemed that no matter what she tried, she couldn\'t figure out the right combination of skills to reach me. What she finally discovered was that I needed a creative/artistic life, in which I could plunge into an interestm, devour it, and then move on. It wasn\'t that I became obsessed with things, it was that I became fascinated with them. Once I was fascinated, I was devoted and focused on them--I was hyperactive, but not ADD--and my attention was complete to them. Who can count how many art classes, music lessons soccer practices, camps, drama workshops, and nature trails she shuttled me to? Looking back, I can\'t believe the hundreds of thousands of miles she drove to make sure I had a rich, experiential childhood. I was never deprived of opportunities to learn, explore, and be curious.
Mom learned to be patient with me and watch as I experimented with life. Whether it was dabbling in Boy Scouts, or trying art which became increasingly strange, or even immersing into punk-rock culture with a rebellious attitude, bizarre appearance, and frightening music blasting from my room (while friends with dredlocks, mohawks, piercings, and army-surplus/thrift shop clothes ventured in and out of my room, writing their poems and lyrics right on my walls in magic marker). Keep in mind, all of this was in the 1980s, before all of this stuff became \"trendy\" and commonplace; at the time, it was downright subversive for our Alabama home. Because I was allowed to be creative, expressive, artistic, and nonconformist, I made it through many years of parties, punk rock shows until 2 AM, all-night road trips, and art fairs without ever becoming troubled with drugs or alcohol. If mom was scared, she hid it well and expressed only interest and respect. I remember her telling me, \"I think you\'ll be good at whatever you choose to do with your life\" when I was in 10th grade, and it stunned me to think of myself as a success. I wonder how many of my friends\' lives would be different if their parents EVER told them something like that. I\'ve lost friends to suicide, drunk driving, drugs, and even inexplicable disappearance into realms unknown.
Mom wasn\'t a flighty, dreamy, artsy person herself. She was goofy, but not a cliche \"free spirit\" woman. She was, in the language of her youth, a \"square.\" She wasn\'t a hippe, she didn\'t experiment with drugs, she wasn\'t a follower of \"if it feels good, do it.\" Her guiding principle was, \"if it serves others, do it.\" I am still angry at how many people took advantage of that. So many people received help and support from her: friendship, crisis money, transportation, advice, free child care, unfaltering support...and so many of them promised her they\'d be there for her \"no matter what,\" convincing her that they shared her commitment to hope, love, and uplifting of one another. But when times got tough, they scattered. they never thanked her, they never repaid her, they weren\'t there for her. But mom never gave up her principles of \"love in action,\" never showed spite for them, never even took their pictures down from her wall! She just saw them as hurt, lost people, and felt it would be wrong to increase the hurt in the world by becoming calloused. She taught me that even when we\'ve been hurt, we must not become hard like flint or resentful, but must continue on with what we hope will help others. I\'ve adopted much of this teaching, although I am more likely that her to draw back from people once they\'ve been spiteful or callous to me. I have a simple rule: I will help anyone who asks it from me, on the one condition that you simply be nice to me in return. (and it\'s amazing how many people won\'t even do that, and then get furious when I close the door on them afterward!)
When I arrived at the house, I found that mom had made one last apple pie for me. She\'d planned for me to eat it while visiting her after her surgery when I would help her recovery. One last apple pie, made entirely from scratch. Mom standing for hours in that kitchen, making it just right, anticipating my happiness as I cut into it.
Always working in anticipation of someone else\'s happiness.
This was a beautiful description of your mother. One that closely resembles my mother mothering (minus the punk rock, artistic teen boy:) I learned all that I learned about caring and giving to others from her and my dad usually silent by her side. She always just let us be who we were going to be.
There were plenty of people that took advantage of that as well, but even up until the very end she would say \'everyone needs a friend..especially when they don\'t seem to deserve it\'..she was speaking specifically about one of her friends that she bent over backwards for always, but who undoubtedly failed my mom at every opportunity. But \'at least she\'s consistent\' she would say.
I know the first Mother\'s Day is hard, especially it being so close to her passing. I hope you really enjoyed that apple pie:)
Matt, what a beautiful tribute to your mother. Made me cry...
I\'m sure that Mothers\' Day must have been especially bittersweet for you this year.
I still believe in an afterlife...even moreso after losing one I love. I suppose it is the hope that all of this means something that makes it possible to hold on to that belief.
You are too close to it to see it Matt, but your mother was satisfied with her contribution to your life. Because, she got to see you \'make it\'. She also got to see you face adversity and not crumble. She got to see you be a husband, a father, and her grown-up son...no longer seeking to find his way, but able to live with values and principles that you refuse to back down from, no matter. As a mother of an adult son, I can tell you unapologetically, that is what a mother holds on to, and is able to rest peacefully at night because of -- her child is okay.
I don\'t have the sweet memories of a parent so focused on my needs, but I am glad you do. Our first retreat, I handed your mother a letter. Remember me asking you if it was okay for me to give her something? I did. I wrote to her about all you had done for me in the short time since I had \'met\' you. How it wasn\'t even necessary for you to have laid eyes on me for you to reach across the miles and offer support to a woman who believed herself to be broken. I told her, that without her, none of that would have been possible.
Matt, don\'t dwell...don\'t visit too often the things that others were not. When it comes to remembering your mother, don\'t allow what the others in her life failed to do for her. I believe in \'stars in our crowns\'. I believe the genuine good we do here follows us into an afterlife. I believe your mother is the picture of one who would recieve her crown...and simply lay it at the feet of the One whom she served in this life. Selfless. Oh...and each of those miles she traveled to get you from place to place...time she got to spend with her boy. No matter how exasperated mothers may sound...each mile is driven out of love, not obligation.
Wow Matt. Of all this, I am so absolutely glad you are grateful for what your mother did to parent you. I know that sounds like an odd statement, but she sounds so special... So understanding and just GOOD that I love you recognize that and revere her for who she was. There is no \"she should have\" or \"she did the best she could.\" She accomplished and achieved the title of a great mother and that in itself is amazing. How blessed you are. I wish there are more mothers like that in the world. And I really, really wish I could have met her.