My mom passed away on Saturday. Almost exactly a year after her diagnosis of melanoma she is gone. It has been a wild and terrifying journey filled with a few ups and some major downs. But I am determined to get something out of it. If nothing else so that her loss is not for naught. I know she saw it this way. She fully embraced life during every step. Because, she knew, what would be the point of fear and sadness? It wouldn’t change a thing and we would all be miserable. So when I cried to her, afraid of life without her, she would say to me, “this is my journey”. And now this is mine; a motherless mother.
My mom’s last few days were hard. They were hard on her and hard on us. My dad could barely stand it. The woman he spent nearly 43 years married to was struggling and suffering. It was just too much for him to bear. So Kath and I stepped in. We took shifts sitting with her, holding her hand, and comforting her in whatever way we could. We were there. That is all we could offer.
People keep saying to me “you girls are amazing!” or “you enabled her to keep her dignity”. But this is all wrong. She was the amazing one, unwaveringly strong and selfless and she was dignified but it was not because of us. It was all her. She felt no shame in what was happening to her and we were honoured to offer her what loving support we could in her final months and days. It was an absolute privilege to have known her and even more so to be loved by her. Comforting and caring for her while she died was for me. It was purely selfish.
Despite the fact that we were prepared for what was happening, her death was still a shock. You want her suffering to end. You want the stress of not knowing to be gone. But as Kath and I held her hands and she finally took her last breath, I panicked. No! I wanted to yell. I didn’t mean it! Come back! Because now she’s gone forever and I just can’t face it. We will have no more new experiences or firsts. It all ended there and now all we’ve got are memories. And for me, right now, it is just not enough.
But then I am reminded of her in little ways. Like when the thunder boomed as she passed away, our cries echoing out in unison, then the sun broke through reminding us that there is still so much joy to be experienced and shared. This is her legacy, the gift she gave to me. It is the gift of happiness and I owe it to her to use it.
Later that evening as Kath and I pondered the unfairness of it all and sat heavily in our sadness the sky exploded with shards of light. And there were fireworks the night she died.
Okay so it’s now October 2010 and I decided I needed to go back and read all the posts about your mom….at work…not smart. What an incredible post Jen. So so similar to my experience as well…that last two days almost killed us as well. Thankfully, I’m not sure she was ‘there’ to much but my dad, oh my dad….I get it. Like Annabelle…I’ m so grateful to have been there to see her take her last breath. I’m not afraid of very much anymore…not even dying…it’ll take me back to her.
I am thinking of you and Kath and the rest of your family. Hugs from Atlanta.
Jen,
your sharing of your experience is a generous and grand education of profound mutual love.
It reminds us to transcend the pettiness we think is life.
I find what Ekhart Tolle says about coping during times of duress helpful.
I wish you a million comforts and more.
Our love,
Id
Once again, my prayers are with you and your family. I remember Kelly Corrigan saying something like it is as much an honour to witness the birth of someone as it is it witness their death. As you know, I too held my mom as she took her last breath and I am forever grateful for that. Hugs Jenn.
There are no words that I can say to easy your loss. Thank you for sharing your special momments with us.
Sherrie
This urbanmoms update caught me off guard this morning. I was not expecting to read this but now sit here thinking about the preciousness of life and how difficult and overwhelming it is in times of change and loss.
I don’t know what to say except I am so sorry for your loss and I hope that you are able to embrace her memory and let it inspire you in your life moving forward.
All the lessons, all the talks and discussions and planning never prepare you for when you lose a loved one. As an observer, we can but send a prayer and give condolences, and hope it is enough.
I applaud you for your poignant and truthful post that says so much about the strength your mother infused in you, the ability to write about her death in such a meaningful way.
There will be messy tears, happy laughter, and quiet contemplation as you remember her. Embrace each one, for in that, you will create your lasting remembrance, and begin to heal.
Is there a specific Cancer charity you would like donations directed towards?
Thank you for sharing such a personal part of your life with us readers, who are simply strangers. Your story touched my heart in so many ways, I do not even know how to express in words. I am truely grateful to have been reminded how fragile life is and that it is necessary to remember and appreciate the simpliest experience. You think I would appreciate life more, since I am am in my mid 30s and a mother of 3, who has been battling cancer. After a 2 yr fight, a stem transplant, my body is recouperating and on the verge of healing (I hope). Unfortunately, now my mother is dealing with the same ordeal. It pains me to see her in pain, but I have to remember to be strong, as she was for us children.
The strength that you and you sister had to be there for your mother in the greatest time in need is astonishing. Then to write about your experience in words is unbelievable, after so recent.
I could barely get through reading your story, especially when I read,
“So when I cried to her, afraid of life without her, she would say to me, “this is my journey”. And now this is mine; a motherless mother.”
The tears poured down my cheeks as I read….thank you again for sharing.
What a wonderful wonderful post! I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing with all of us, your tears and happiness, but most of all, thank you for helping me appreciate the great family I am gifted with.
Jen.
I am so, so sorry for your loss. So sorry. Warmest hugs to you.
Jen and Kath, my deepest sympathies go out to you and your families. I too have lost my beloved mother, 13 years ago, just after finding out I was expecting. I was a wreck and for many months after would run upstairs to tell her something only to remember that she was no longer there. Her memories live on and the lessons she taught me will never be forgotten. From favorite recipies (which she never wrote down) to a glass figurine that she wanted so badly and I purchased for her, little things my daughter does which remind me so much of her. They say all good things must come to an end, and when our parents pass, and we are left not knowing how to feel, we remember all the good.
Take comfort in knowing your friends and family are there for you and continue on as the strong person that your mother knew you became. Relish all your accomplishments and believe that she will always be watching over you.
There are no words.
Lovely post.
Thinking of you all.
My sincere sympathy. There is no age where it will feel right to lose your mum.
Oh Jen, what a post. It brings it all back to me so vividly: the fireworks, the thunder and lightning, the brilliant afternoon sun. The incomparable woman we had the great fortune to know as our mother. The gaping hole where she once was. Together we will keep her memory alive through our words, our thoughts and our deeds. Love you!