How do you process the loss of a parent? Not a sudden passing, but a protracted event where they could make an effort to improve, but have decided to give up, to let go and die.
My mother is seventy-nine years old, nearly eighty. The first eighteen years of her life were awful. She was neglected, malnourished, and abused. She was forced by her mother to drop out of school to care for her many younger siblings. She lived in a home contaminated by animal feces and mice. A young life most people would find difficult, if not impossible, to overcome.
As a pretty and intelligent teenager, mom was introduced to an acquaintance of her mother’s. He was an older man, a physicist with a good job at the University of Washington – Seattle. They married when my mom was nineteen and he, thirty-seven. My parents used to joke that although my father was more advanced in years, my mother had the older of the two souls. They were married until his early death at the age of sixty-six. She still misses him terribly.
Blonde with blue-gray eyes, my mother was often assumed to be rather vacuous. I think she found it amusing. She would not immediately disabuse people of the impression, but wait until the perfect moment to reveal her wit. Unsurprising to those of us who know her best, she was well respected in our community. She was a foster parent to special needs kids, served on our local school board, and was considered the ‘coolest’ mom. I remember intense chess matches between her and my father. My mother was so proud when she won because my dad would never intentionally allow her victory.
An unsurprising statistic among the elderly is shortness of longevity after a hip fracture. My mother fell and broke her hip eight months ago. We think she may have had a mini stroke because her cognition hasn’t been the same since the incident. Her short-term memory has worsened, but she is able to remember the past in vivid detail. Given the nature of her past, I understand why she struggles with the memories. She complained to me that she’s tired of being strong. She has fought against poverty and prejudice and prevailed. Now, when she craves peace, her past wells up, bringing distressing and sorrowful memories. Who can blame her for wanting to stop the pain? Stupid brain.
My sister and I have been going through the emotional process of accepting our mother’s chosen fate. Long talks with mom about her comfort with her decision to die leave me heartbroken, but also understanding. I truly feel that if she is ready to go, my job is to love and support her through her journey. Most days I feel as though I have successfully embraced her decision.
Less than a year ago, mom bought herself a beautiful chess table and artfully crafted playing pieces. Her face would light up whenever a guest would accept her challenge for a game. She particularly enjoyed playing against my husband whom she would defeat on occasion. For me, that table symbolizes my mom’s strength and intellect and sheer determination to be better than her origins. And that is why when she asked me to take the table home for my husband’s use my carefully constructed acceptance imploded.
My mom is dying and I don’t know what to do. I think there should be a universal rule that we don’t have to lose the people we love. They can wait around until we’re all ready and then we can die together. Unfortunately, I am not able to make that happen. I’m going to lose my mother.
What I can do is spend time with her. She lives an hour and a half away, but at least once per week I make the drive. We visit and I help with chores that my stepdad struggles to complete. A few years after the death of my father, my mother remarried. He’s a wonderful man. Although his own health is failing, he helps with her care. It pains me to see the hurt in his eyes when my mom talks about being ready to die. She may be, but he is not ready to lose her.
I listen to mom talk about her life, trying to absorb every word so I don’t forget. I watch her as she sleeps, my eyes tracing the lines and grooves in her face. Such a beautiful face, one as much a part of me as my own. I have her eyes. I savor every moment we have together because I need them. I need the store of my mom’s essence I’m building to carry me through the rest of my life. I can use it to keep her alive for my children and my grandchildren.
My mother is an incredible woman. I hope most people feel that way about their own mothers. I will always miss my mom, the way I miss my dad. I’m glad I come from a family that expresses love. Every day at some point, we say Love you.’ Not one of us doubts our importance to each other. I can let my mother go knowing how much she has loved me and that she knows how much I love her. It doesn’t hurt any less, but makes the pain easier to bear.
And whether we shall meet again I know not.
Therefore our everlasting farewell take:
For ever, and for ever, farewell,
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;
If not, why then, this parting was well made.
-William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar
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