Today I thought, "I have to write Mom about that recipe...", and "I want to write Mom about the new puppy's first bath..."
The devil really is in the details, the small, reliable details that make up days and lives, more important than one knows until one of the links is gone. Mom was always interested in the funny, quirky details of each day--the recipe that was great or that flopped hugely, the antics of two dogs climbing over the waterfall in the back yard and then rolling in the dirt, what her great-grandchildren were doing, all the emails with pictures. She wanted to know everything. I wish she still could.
miércoles, 22 de agosto de 2012
martes, 7 de agosto de 2012
Mom
On August 1, my mother died.
My brother was with her at the last. When he texted me that she was gone, I was driving with my daughter from Austin to Monterrey with a new puppy. I had tried to put off picking up the dog as long as possible because it was evident that Mom's health was failing fast, but the breeder's husband had just been diagnosed with lymph gland cancer and she needed to clear the decks for her own particular nightmare.
Mom was ready to die. She was spared pain, but she was tired, breathing was hard, and life was a burden that no longer held any satisfaction or pleasure. Her funeral was wonderful--Elizabeth, the minister, gave a magnificent eulogy, just as she had done for my father. She is a dear and beloved friend whose words came from the heart.
It's different when the person who dies does so at the end of a long life. There is as much celebration as loss--anecdotes, memories, funny incidents, accomplishments, and in the case of Mom, no regrets. She wasn't perfect, but she did the best she could, and it was a lot. Some of the choices she made have had consequences we are unable to appreciate, perhaps, but I think she made the right ones.
For some reason, funerals in our family seem to be raucous affairs. The funeral home that took care of Mom and Dad is a family-owned business and the owners have known my mother's family almost since the founding of the city. They have buried generations of our relatives. I guess they are used to the way we handle grief--or maybe I should say, life. A sense of humor is the hallmark of most of us. You can't get through life very well without it, and believe me, we've needed it.
Even Elizabeth, the minister, was cackling--when she wasn't the instigator! My only first cousins came, a childhood partner in crime of mine (that's you, Cary!), and others who knew Mom from these last years. Even the funeral home personnel couldn't resist grinning at some of the silliness that went on: Mom's tendency to order everyone around so that things would come out well included all the information we would need to expedite things after her death, she had picked out her casket in 1995 (!!), she had given me everything she especially wanted me to have, and to top it off, when the nurse came in to see how she was doing and it was evident Mom was in her last moments, she ordered the nurse "Do not resuscitate!" Mom had a horror of not being allowed to die because she was ready to do so.
Her partner Hutch, very hard of hearing, was listening to Elizabeth greet him and say that she would be visiting him. He told her that "he couldn't hear that fast", typical of his sense of humor.
My brother and sister-in-law have shown a generosity of spirit and a sincerity of the truest Christian values that should be a lesson to others, especially to those who espouse Christian values but don't live them. "For as the body apart from the spirit is dead, so also faith apart from works is dead." James 2:26.
Their works include transfering my mother and her partner to assisted living and experiencing the uproar and stress of both of them at having, suddenly, to leave their belongings behind, including many of their clothes, in order to move into a modified hospital room at the senior community where they lived. Mom and her partner had barely settled in when she died.
Their good works also include not just making the funeral arrangements but also advising many people and organizations that she had died; and especially the care and affection they have lavished on Mom's partner, who is crushed by her death and is suffering from Alzheimer's disease. This wonderful man had been with her for years and paid for their stay in the senior community, and now he is alone, far from relatives (which in some cases, is just as well). He has a social life where he lives, but my brother says he finds him sitting alone staring into space, overcome surely by a grief that no one can lighten.
Each of us will miss Mom in our own ways. I notice I no longer open my email frequently. She won't be there any more. I almost decided to stop this blog: she was my follower every time I wrote and she got news about family, dogs, adventures, complaints, everything that is here. At the moment, I don't know if I will write or not, but it was necessary to say goodbye to Mom here.
We love you, Mom. We will miss your terribly.
My brother was with her at the last. When he texted me that she was gone, I was driving with my daughter from Austin to Monterrey with a new puppy. I had tried to put off picking up the dog as long as possible because it was evident that Mom's health was failing fast, but the breeder's husband had just been diagnosed with lymph gland cancer and she needed to clear the decks for her own particular nightmare.
Mom was ready to die. She was spared pain, but she was tired, breathing was hard, and life was a burden that no longer held any satisfaction or pleasure. Her funeral was wonderful--Elizabeth, the minister, gave a magnificent eulogy, just as she had done for my father. She is a dear and beloved friend whose words came from the heart.
It's different when the person who dies does so at the end of a long life. There is as much celebration as loss--anecdotes, memories, funny incidents, accomplishments, and in the case of Mom, no regrets. She wasn't perfect, but she did the best she could, and it was a lot. Some of the choices she made have had consequences we are unable to appreciate, perhaps, but I think she made the right ones.
For some reason, funerals in our family seem to be raucous affairs. The funeral home that took care of Mom and Dad is a family-owned business and the owners have known my mother's family almost since the founding of the city. They have buried generations of our relatives. I guess they are used to the way we handle grief--or maybe I should say, life. A sense of humor is the hallmark of most of us. You can't get through life very well without it, and believe me, we've needed it.
Even Elizabeth, the minister, was cackling--when she wasn't the instigator! My only first cousins came, a childhood partner in crime of mine (that's you, Cary!), and others who knew Mom from these last years. Even the funeral home personnel couldn't resist grinning at some of the silliness that went on: Mom's tendency to order everyone around so that things would come out well included all the information we would need to expedite things after her death, she had picked out her casket in 1995 (!!), she had given me everything she especially wanted me to have, and to top it off, when the nurse came in to see how she was doing and it was evident Mom was in her last moments, she ordered the nurse "Do not resuscitate!" Mom had a horror of not being allowed to die because she was ready to do so.
Her partner Hutch, very hard of hearing, was listening to Elizabeth greet him and say that she would be visiting him. He told her that "he couldn't hear that fast", typical of his sense of humor.
My brother and sister-in-law have shown a generosity of spirit and a sincerity of the truest Christian values that should be a lesson to others, especially to those who espouse Christian values but don't live them. "For as the body apart from the spirit is dead, so also faith apart from works is dead." James 2:26.
Their works include transfering my mother and her partner to assisted living and experiencing the uproar and stress of both of them at having, suddenly, to leave their belongings behind, including many of their clothes, in order to move into a modified hospital room at the senior community where they lived. Mom and her partner had barely settled in when she died.
Their good works also include not just making the funeral arrangements but also advising many people and organizations that she had died; and especially the care and affection they have lavished on Mom's partner, who is crushed by her death and is suffering from Alzheimer's disease. This wonderful man had been with her for years and paid for their stay in the senior community, and now he is alone, far from relatives (which in some cases, is just as well). He has a social life where he lives, but my brother says he finds him sitting alone staring into space, overcome surely by a grief that no one can lighten.
Each of us will miss Mom in our own ways. I notice I no longer open my email frequently. She won't be there any more. I almost decided to stop this blog: she was my follower every time I wrote and she got news about family, dogs, adventures, complaints, everything that is here. At the moment, I don't know if I will write or not, but it was necessary to say goodbye to Mom here.
We love you, Mom. We will miss your terribly.
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