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Good Grief – Thursday, September 19, 2019

It’s a month to the day since my mother died. 

Although I know intellectually what has happened, I’m not sure what just happened.

I saw her on August 4, 2019, a Sunday. I was in the area both to see her and attend a birthday party for my brother and his wife, who both have August birthdays. The party took place on a Saturday night. I sang karaoke: “Superstar” by the Carpenters, “It Only Hurts Me When I Cry” by Dwight Yoakam, “Crazy Train” by Ozzie Ozbourne, and “Rebel, Rebel” by David Bowie.

In the morning I got up and made my way to see my mother. She was living at The Pines at Brooks House, near Hiram, OH, an Amish area. I found her in the common or living/dining area, in a wheelchair. Her eyes seemed larger than ever before, almost glowing–they appeared to recognize me in some way although I can never be sure of that. None of us, her children, could. I like to believe she knew me as someone who loved her despite our tumultuous history; someone who always loved her despite our history. Her eyes showed what looked like joy, the likes of which I can’t recall myself ever experiencing. They seemed to take up the larger part of her face and were lit with a kind of fire, like the kind of fire you might see just as it’s about to exhaust itself. Burning, burning, burning, but burning out? I didn’t think so. The thought didn’t cross my mind even though I told her I hoped she didn’t have to live this way much longer, unable to speak, walk, remember, write, read, eat, drink, think clearly, tell people what she needed. More importantly, to accept being unable to be free and independent of others; even worse, being unable to help anyone else. Knowing her strength, I took for granted she might have to live in her state for a long time, even though she was in hospice.

I’ve driven back and forth a lot, from where I live in Cincinnati, to Cleveland, over the last five or six years due to our ailing parents, in order to give my siblings and in-laws, who were the constant caregivers, a break once in a great while. My father had been on dialysis since 2009 and died in 2015. My mother remained in the house, against our wishes, until September 2017 when I spent her last week with her there. Then we moved Mom into assisted living in September 2017. I continued to make trips, but less frequently. When I visited, I took her out to restaurants and to shop. I brought her clothes and shoes, most of which (the shoes) didn’t fit. I was forever in a quest to find her a “pretty” pair of comfortable shoes but I failed. After two years of sporadic visits on my part (I live 3.5-4 hours away)  I was beginning to feel I wouldn’t be able to keep it up, even as I knew I needed to visit her more frequently now that she was in hospice. 

On August 4, I drove back to my home, keeping in mind I’d need to see her within two weeks. I planned my next trip to occur Friday, August 17, but had been experiencing a near constant infection that required I see the doctor on Friday because I felt so badly. I postponed my trip to the next morning, and then when I still didn’t feel any better, to Sunday morning. It seems she waited for me. The staff later told me they thought she might not live past Saturday night. I like to think she waited for me.

Mom. Mom. Mama. I’m sorry you were so all alone all that time. I know better. I know who you are, who you were. Fearless. Accustomed to being alone and even possibly, abandoned. Tough. Like me, Mom. Once when you were still living at Maplewood, your first assisted living place, you referred to me to your fellow residents by saying, “She’s tough.” 

I’m not as tough as you, Mom. In fact, I’m pretty fragile. I always was. Others can work their whole lives without complaining, others can know who they are, others have a realistic attitude about life, others self-realize. Me? I don’t have a clue what I’m doing here, Mom. Except to love you even though we once hated each other. 

I often think in circles. Rather, ellipses. Ellipses is a better term. Oval. 

Growing up, I thought of the year, the time/space of “the year” as an oval, much like the orbital routes of the planets around the sun. I thought of seasons and saw winter and blue white icy dreariness at one point on the ellipse travelling a long arc toward spring, which rounded a curve; summer the long length side of the other side, and then fall, orange, brown and red, around that curve…

I also thought in unorganized, frantic, curious circles, as those of us as yet undiagnosed ADHD folks will do, but here I mean, I thought about a lot of things in terms of circles, cycles, orbits, and ellipses.

What’s my point? I don’t know except I’m rounding autumn toward winter, like you did, Mom. 

I miss you so much. I’m lost.

Love, 

Your Daughter Anne