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My mom passed 4 years ago this morning. Marcia and I had a complicated relationship. I remember thinking for many years that I had no idea how I would feel when my mom died. I was very surprised that when I arrived in Chicago and first saw her in the hospital my first instinct was to comfort her. I played Elvis and Frank Sinatra songs for her and could tell it made her happy. She could see and hear but couldn't move or speak and thinking what that would be like was so hard.
Mom, I was the last one in our family to see you the night before you died, to hold your hand, to wish you peace and to comfort you because i knew you were ready to say goodbye. There was so much fear in your eyes. I never told my dad or my sister that I asked the nurse if the priest could come before I left. I asked you if you wanted to pray and you nodded your head, and squeezed my hand very tightly. I sat with you with your rosary in both our hands and looked into your eyes as the priest offered us confession and communion and prayed for you to be free of pain, free of fear, and welcomed into the paradise of heaven. As he prayed over you, your eyes met mine and I watched as the fear turned to calm. I will never forget that moment. In one look between us, we shared love, forgiveness, and an understanding I never expected. I always knew you loved me, but I don't remember the last time I actually felt loved.
As the priest anointed your head with oil and we prayed to the Blessed Mother, your eyes cleared, your face softened and you looked peaceful. You closed your eyes as if you were sleeping. Your breath was no longer labored, but slow and steady. I stayed with you as you continued to hold my hand and for the first time In many years, I said the words "I love you, Mom." and you squeezed my hand again. I kissed you on the forehead and I don't think I'd ever done that. I left that night with mixed emotion because I realized that was probably the first time in many years that you felt loved by me too. I know I could have been kinder on many occasions. And that made me sad for both of us. Perhaps that was the universe giving us the opportunity to make up for all the years we lost feeling hurt and confused and misunderstood by each other.
You weren't easy on me. And you pushed the boundaries too much which caused me to push back. I am still struggling to understand why some of the most damaging words spoken to me in my life came from you. Nearing 54 in a couple weeks, I have just begun to peel back the layers of our relationship with my therapist. I'm sure I have some accountability mixed in, and that's what I'm trying to piece together. These last few months brought another brush with death and more than a few reminders that life can end or flip on a dime at any second. I better make peace with the ghosts that walk beside me right now because right now always has the potential to turn into too late. The fragility of living life with a brain injury that has the possibility of erasing my memories and rendering me unable to communicate effectively makes me want to say everything to everyone all at once. I always wrote for therapy. Now I suffer through the head pressure, pain and worsening vision still for therapy. But even more so to be able to remember who I am and what makes me uniquely me in the event my brain starts to forget someday.
I know that deep in your heart you loved me with everything you had. I don't question your love for me or mine for you. It wasn't all bad. We had some fun times that I will always cherish. You made the holidays special every year. You had a lot of quirky oddly endearing qualities. I honestly believe you didn't know how much you hurt me and that you were doing the best you could with the tools you were given. There are a lot of things I probably will never know that contributed to who you grew up to be. Part of it was generational. You grew up during some tough political times. You were still somewhat newly married when dad was drafted and eventually sent to Vietnam. Having to live every day wondering if your husband would return home and having stretches of time not hearing from him must have been painful and difficult. That was the first time that you were on your own. Maybe that is what caused you distress when I grew up, became independent, and moved out soon after college. I know you always worried about where i was. Whether I was safe, whether I made it home from work. I dont know for sure but I think maybe you were scared of losing me and your coping mechanism was to hold on as tight as you could with an iron grip that you didn't realize was suffocating me. My coping mechanisms led me to run further and further away. We are all in some degree a product of our upbringing and the way we cope with the child inside us manifests differently for everyone one. The people we surround ourselves with also shape our personalities and our perspectives. It took a lot of therapy for me to face my fears and insecurities. Ive spent a lot of time dissecting the parts of myself I wasnt proud of and addressing behaviors to break patterns that caused me to sabotage some of my relationships, caused me to hurt people i loved. I don't always get it right but I am able to recognize when I don't and try to do better next time.
You were programmed to think seeking therapy meant that something was wrong with you. You had experiences growing up in a strict religious home and an era that encouraged sweeping pain under the rug. And that women are sometimes to be seen and not heard. You were discouraged from showing emotion or asking for help and thats a tough cycle to break. You were raised in a home and within a peer group that taught you that showing vulnerability was a weakness. Feelings weren't talked about and admitting you were sorry, wrong, confused, scared or hurt was frowned upon. To admit you felt out of control or that you didn't have the answers was not acceptable. I wish you could have broken free of those chains because I knew there was a sadness in you that could only be healed through deep introspection and the pain that comes with letting go. The traumas that you faced in your life caused you to build high walls and a harsh exterior. Being right was so much more important to you than being happy. But I can't fault you for that. You did the best you could carrying a heavy suitcase because no one ever offered to help you unpack it. And thats just an unfortunate sign of the times.
We were polar opposites. Your traumas made you want to build walls to hide your fears and emotions. My many traumas made me want to tear down walls, let my emotions flow, and seek deep and meaningful connections. I was lucky to be a creative and have a peer group that oozed emotion, compassion and empathy. to the extreme. It was the 80s. Music, media and advertising were beginning to push the boundaries of sexuality and self expression. Embracing that also came with the price tag of being labeled "too sensitive, too emotional,too extreme or impossible to be reasoned with." The reality is that we couldn't compromise and agree to disagree or accept that we just think differently and thats ok. The rules of our generations collided in a way that we couldn't get past.
I could go on and on about our differences but it will never change the fact that those differences clashed so fiercely with each that we never really realized we both wanted to let go of them until the very last hour. I am glad we had that hour but I wish we could have found that revelation much sooner.
I'm growing tired and my head pressure is off the charts. But you were very much on my mind today. And so was dad. He misses you very much. I remember when I got his call the morning you died. I was a widow that had to prepare to watch my father become one knowing how painful that would be for him. As sad as it is, I am glad he and I share that tortured bond. I am thankful that he feels comfortable being emotional with me and that I could give him a safe place to feel understood in his grief. We just took a trip in September. Between our physical and cognitive deficits it was amazing that we made it. It was right after my wedding anniversary and during yours. I hope you and Simon were reunited when dad and I sent him over the rainbow bridge in May and were snuggling up there laughing at our misadventures. We laughed a lot, drank more than a freshly brain injured girl and her diabetic dad ever should, but it was the most fun I think either of us has had in years. Two Misfit Widows Gone Wild making good use of our time. It made me sad earlier knowing that this would be his first round of anniversaries, birthdays, and holidays that he hasn't had Simon to ease the pain of the empty house without you in it. I know what that is like.
I'm heading to Nashville tomorrow. For a memorial service in The city in which I became a widow in December 9 years ago. Four of my friends in Nashville have passed away since I was last there in 2022. It will be bittersweet and will make me wonder why I ever left a city I loved so much. I did what I do best and that's embrace the gypsy in me and the wanderlust that comes in my periods of needing to break free of overwhelming times. I always think that a new adventures are new beginnings. And they often do in certain ways. But the truth is that wherever you go, you're stiill exactly where you're at.
Cheers to you today, Mom for sparking the creative in me and getting this brain to keep ticking. I have no idea how I'll be able to get myself together for this trip but somehow it will happen.
Til next time....
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