Remembering Mama

I had tried for years to get my beloved Mom to move closer with no such luck, but finally after realizing how much she meant to us, she agreed. She passed two months after we moved her from Arkansas to Arizona. I saw Mom more in those two months than I had in 10 years. Grace liked sitting on her lap. Mom loved my children. Hope helped organize her closet. She was wheelchair bound and her quality of life was not great. We did all we could to make her happy. We had big plans to take her to Desert Botanical Gardens and Butterfly Wonderland. She loved nature. We loved popping through the drive thru at Dairy Queen to snag a strawberry sundae, her favorite. She loved to watch the Hallmark channel. Brian sat with her for hours to keep her company. He made her laugh. Her Parkinson’s meds weren’t working well and she often told me she was ready to go to sleep and not wake up. She fell and broke her hip at her assisted living facility. She was bedridden and keeping her still was a challenge, as her tremors were significant, even with the meds at there max. It was hard to watch. She tried to get out of bed, became combative, and would weep not understanding why she was unable to move. I remained by her bed as much as I could. I held her hand, memorizing the freckles and sun spots that’d developed over the last 72 years. She could no longer swallow pills. I fed her her last meal… strawberry yogurt. She slowly declined as her body was tired of fighting. I’d put her hymn cd on repeat and sing to her, read her scripture, and hold her hand as the morphine was administered via hospice at a steady pace. Her directives wanted no part of surgery and her weakened body may not have survived it, as anesthesia can worsen mental health. She suffered from schizophrenia. The risk was too high. Comfort is all we cared about. I read her Bible, kept her revolving picture frame on just in case, and ran a diffuser filled filled with sweet lavender and calming vanilla oils. I cried telling her how much she meant to me and thanked her for giving me life. She was my favorite person and I was hers. We were unsure how much time we had left. They said the last sense to go is hearing, so Hope played “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” on her violin. James hugged her, as she looked asleep. They said their goodbyes days before she passed. Loved ones called and Hospice put the phone up to Mom’s ear. They told her it was ok to let go, to be with the Lord, and to be with Vince, her late husband. Mom had the strongest faith of anyone I’d ever met. People prayed over her, kept her hot pink weighted blanket on, and we kept her hydrated with sponges dipped in water. Every now and then, I heard her trying to hum along to Amazing Grace. Mom’s car, Ruby, was driven to us all the way from Arkansas. I smelled her sweet scent when I plopped into the driver’s seat. It was a rainy, but sunny day. I knew the moment she passed away. I was in hot yoga. I felt her leave, as her soul flew through me before heading to the other side; saying a final goodbye. After yoga, I got into Mom’s car and smelled her all-too-familiar scent. A text appeared from Hospice… she’d died. As I drove home, I weeped. It started to rain. There is no single way to grieve the loss of another. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the loss or move on. It’s not something that ever feels better. Grief is managed. There is a gaping hole that has been cut out of my soul and there is no filling it in. It may soften a little, but the fact that Mom has been physically removed from the Earth is gut-wrenching. People say she’s in a better place, but that doesn’t’ feel better because I, selfishly, want here here, on solid ground. The pain of losing Mom will never go away, it may lay dormant, it may not be as hard some days as others, but never does it disappear. I lost a part of my soul the day Mom left. The Earth will never be the same. Mom had a heart of gold and she passed it to me. She was one of the sweetest people. She had a calm disposition. To know her… was to love her. We try to get over grief, numb the pain, busy ourselves to get over the heartache and heartbreak of the loss and none of that works. Once all the numbing subsides, the pain remains. The only real way to manage grief is bearing witness to it. Making space for someone else that is grieving, for you to listen, without judgement, interrupting, correcting, making better, or smoothing it over. There is no smoothing over, there is no making better. Make space for people to feel the feelings, all the feelings. There is no right way, there is only your way. To not acknowledge the loss at all, to push it down, is to create more pain later. Cry as much as you can; as hard as your can; as often as you can. Our loss doesn’t mean we fully understand someone else’s. Try not to compare your loss to someone else’s. Bear witness. Hold space. Don’t pacify, don’t fix. There are no words to make it better. It’s hard. It’s really really really hard. Mama visits me. Birds are the closest things to heaven. I find feathers sprinkled throughout my yard on the daily. White feathers will fall from the sky, no bird in sight. On bad days, I see more… reminding me the day is temporary and the feelings will pass. Butterflies, rainbows, feathers, and lights coming on by themselves are all signs. I see her in the salmon- colored skies, the dark clouds appear and there is a single sliver of light that shines through. It’s Mama saying hello, reminding me there is always light in the dark. There is always something to be grateful for. Mama was grateful for a new day, her breath, for my children, for me, for God. When I missed her months ago, I slipped on my Mother’s butterfly bedazzled top. As I did so, the doorbell rang and it got stuck. I checked the front door, no one was there and no packages were present. I had to unstick the doorbell. It was Mama. Yesterday, I was having a horrible, no good, very bad day. I felt like no one cared. I hopped into the pool. I was floating on my back thinking of how much my mother loved to backfloat. I admired the cotton ball looking clouds and the soft cotton candy colored sky. I glanced once more in the sky and I saw a rainbow. It wasn’t raining, it wasn’t stormy, and I knew it was my Mother saying hello, reminding me of her unconditional love from the other side. I ran into the front yard, in my black bathing suit, and admired the gorgeousness of the rainbow. With tears in my eyes, I whispered, “Thank you, Mom.”