Saying goodbye to mom
I feel a little strange writing this particular post; my mom used to read my blog (and probably was my only reader!) and now she is not. Yesterday was what would have been my mother's 72nd birthday--she passed away two weeks ago on October 29th.
I've been dreading this post for a long time. I can vividly recall writing a post right after my mom was diagnosed with brain cancer and how scared and sad I felt. Those feelings are still so fresh, and yet, I haven't really cried too much, or as much as I thought I would, since her funeral. Probably because the last 2.5 years were so emotionally taxing already. It's possible my family is in a daze right now. I don't think I'm in denial--I haven't felt those feelings as if she's going to appear around the corner nor have I reached for my phone to text or call her mindlessly, only to remember she is gone and I can't do that. No, I'm perfectly aware she is gone. She HAD been gone for the last 6-8 months as her mind and body gradually shut down and she became more and more of a stranger to us. We wrongly thought that witnessing her slow decline would aptly prepare us for her death, but in the early morning hours of the 29th, when my dad burst into my old bedroom where I was sleeping with my two young kids to tell me that "she's gone"--the three of us (brother, dad and myself) sobbed inconsolably over her body. I will never forget the night before and the morning of her death.
Three days prior, my dad called to tell me I should probably come home as he thought that "this was it". There had been so many times when we all thought that "this was it". But my mom pushed through and lasted longer than we or her doctors thought she would. She was so tough.
This time, though, was different. She was completely paralyzed and wasn't eating or drinking now, and when my dad called, it was because her heart rate shot up and oxygen level was decreasing. As my dad said, this was the point of no return. So we knew--as Ryan drove us and our kids the two hours north to my hometown of northeast OH--that we would be saying goodbye to my mom.
I miss her so much. It hurts. I know we all have to go on, and I have a young family to take care of--but man, when someone so special to you is no longer present, life really can feel like it's lost meaning. I don't mean that in the bleakest sense like I don't want to be here (!) but just that from here on out, every milestone, every joyous event will be noticeably less special because of her absence. I am looking ahead to all my children's achievements and milestones and I cringe at the fact I will be feeling my mom's absence at recitals, graduations and weddings. I find myself extremely envious when I see much older women shopping or walking out and about with their elderly moms and I inwardly scream, "Why?! Why couldn't that be me and my mom? Why so young?! My mom took care of herself! She deserved 10, 15, 20 more years!!"
At other times, I lecture myself on how lucky, blessed I really am that I got my mom for 36 years. I had a happy childhood. She devoted herself to my brother and me completely. We have so many good memories. I contrast that with people who never met their mothers and agonize their whole lives over what she was like. I never have to guess or wonder. I knew I was loved. It's true: her legacy does live on in me and my children.
I laugh whenever someone says that, because the first thought of how true that is is when my daughter throws epic tantrums and we all look at each other laughing, saying that that's exactly how we picture my mom being when she was that age. She was known for being feisty, stubborn and independent minded. She passed that along to me, and I to my daughter. Her memory lives on.
But none of that means I'm okay with her being gone. I accept it. But I'm not okay with it. A lot of people over the past few months and even on the day of my mom's funeral commented to me that I seemed "okay" just because I wasn't bawling my eyes out. A person can only cry for so long and so much. Perhaps if I didn't have kids, I'd have more space and free time to indulge in those feelings, but I've learned to substitute those emotions with daily tasks and running after two rambunctious kiddos. Perhaps that is a blessing. But it's so bittersweet. I'm married, but with my mom around I truly felt I had my "village" to help me raise my babies. Now--not to diminish the work my husband does--I can't help but feel like I'm a single mom struggling, especially when both kids are crying and screaming and I'm so drained. My mom would always come to the rescue, and never begrudgingly, but with joy--they were her babies, too! No one loves your children like your own mom:/
I miss my best friend, mentor, shopping and coffee-drinking buddy, the person I talked or texted multiple times a day, never feeling like I was bothering them. You only get one mom in this life.
I miss you, mom. I love you. So much.
I've been dreading this post for a long time. I can vividly recall writing a post right after my mom was diagnosed with brain cancer and how scared and sad I felt. Those feelings are still so fresh, and yet, I haven't really cried too much, or as much as I thought I would, since her funeral. Probably because the last 2.5 years were so emotionally taxing already. It's possible my family is in a daze right now. I don't think I'm in denial--I haven't felt those feelings as if she's going to appear around the corner nor have I reached for my phone to text or call her mindlessly, only to remember she is gone and I can't do that. No, I'm perfectly aware she is gone. She HAD been gone for the last 6-8 months as her mind and body gradually shut down and she became more and more of a stranger to us. We wrongly thought that witnessing her slow decline would aptly prepare us for her death, but in the early morning hours of the 29th, when my dad burst into my old bedroom where I was sleeping with my two young kids to tell me that "she's gone"--the three of us (brother, dad and myself) sobbed inconsolably over her body. I will never forget the night before and the morning of her death.
Three days prior, my dad called to tell me I should probably come home as he thought that "this was it". There had been so many times when we all thought that "this was it". But my mom pushed through and lasted longer than we or her doctors thought she would. She was so tough.
This time, though, was different. She was completely paralyzed and wasn't eating or drinking now, and when my dad called, it was because her heart rate shot up and oxygen level was decreasing. As my dad said, this was the point of no return. So we knew--as Ryan drove us and our kids the two hours north to my hometown of northeast OH--that we would be saying goodbye to my mom.
I miss her so much. It hurts. I know we all have to go on, and I have a young family to take care of--but man, when someone so special to you is no longer present, life really can feel like it's lost meaning. I don't mean that in the bleakest sense like I don't want to be here (!) but just that from here on out, every milestone, every joyous event will be noticeably less special because of her absence. I am looking ahead to all my children's achievements and milestones and I cringe at the fact I will be feeling my mom's absence at recitals, graduations and weddings. I find myself extremely envious when I see much older women shopping or walking out and about with their elderly moms and I inwardly scream, "Why?! Why couldn't that be me and my mom? Why so young?! My mom took care of herself! She deserved 10, 15, 20 more years!!"
At other times, I lecture myself on how lucky, blessed I really am that I got my mom for 36 years. I had a happy childhood. She devoted herself to my brother and me completely. We have so many good memories. I contrast that with people who never met their mothers and agonize their whole lives over what she was like. I never have to guess or wonder. I knew I was loved. It's true: her legacy does live on in me and my children.
I laugh whenever someone says that, because the first thought of how true that is is when my daughter throws epic tantrums and we all look at each other laughing, saying that that's exactly how we picture my mom being when she was that age. She was known for being feisty, stubborn and independent minded. She passed that along to me, and I to my daughter. Her memory lives on.
But none of that means I'm okay with her being gone. I accept it. But I'm not okay with it. A lot of people over the past few months and even on the day of my mom's funeral commented to me that I seemed "okay" just because I wasn't bawling my eyes out. A person can only cry for so long and so much. Perhaps if I didn't have kids, I'd have more space and free time to indulge in those feelings, but I've learned to substitute those emotions with daily tasks and running after two rambunctious kiddos. Perhaps that is a blessing. But it's so bittersweet. I'm married, but with my mom around I truly felt I had my "village" to help me raise my babies. Now--not to diminish the work my husband does--I can't help but feel like I'm a single mom struggling, especially when both kids are crying and screaming and I'm so drained. My mom would always come to the rescue, and never begrudgingly, but with joy--they were her babies, too! No one loves your children like your own mom:/
I miss my best friend, mentor, shopping and coffee-drinking buddy, the person I talked or texted multiple times a day, never feeling like I was bothering them. You only get one mom in this life.
I miss you, mom. I love you. So much.
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