A few years ago, my daughter and I were watching "Dancing with the Stars." It was one of those episodes where the celebs were dancing to songs that reminded them of their most memorable year. One star chose a song that represented the year her or his (I don't remember which) parent had passed. My girl said out loud, "Why would you pick that as your most memorable year?" I think it surprised her because to her, memorable equals happy. I thought about it and I could totally understand how an event like that could be the most memorable for some—because I feel the same way.
2013, the year my mom passed, is my most memorable. Her sickness and subsequent death (while occurring at the start of the year) defined that entire year for me and, in many ways, changed me forever. While the passing of time has lessened the heartache, if I go back to that day or the days leading up to it, I can instantly feel that pain like it was yesterday.
I cherish that hurt as much as I cherish the memories of the love and joy she brought to my life. The hurt reminds me that I loved her deeply. It reminds me of how grateful I am for all the ways she showed her love for me. It reminds me of how much my health and happiness meant to her and that I owe it to her to pay it forward by taking care of myself and those I love. That painful loss reminds me of the life lessons I need to continue learning and practicing so I can honor her in the best way possible—by living my life to the fullest.
Still, as much as I cherish this pain, I wonder if I haven't worked through my grief enough to really move past it and "live my life to the fullest." What does that kind of life really look like and am I holding myself back from it? Sometimes I think I know the answer and other times I doubt myself. That's why I think finally writing about this will help. So in the spirit of "working through my grief," I will go back to that fateful day. I don't know how accurate my memory of this is. It seems to get cloudier as I get older. But this is what was burned into my memory—and it's haunted me ever since.
I was working at a local tv station at the time as the dayside news promotion producer. After lunch, I was sitting in my cubicle thinking about what else I had to do that day when I had this overwhelming feeling that I needed to make the one and a half-hour drive to see my mother. Part of me tried to ignore the feeling and chalked it up to what happened the night before ...
It was the middle of the night. The ringing of my phone woke me up. My cousin Trisha was calling. She had been sitting with my mom as she lay in her hospice bed. Trisha sensed that Mom was close to death and wanted us to talk to her—to say any last words before she passed. I was groggy and in disbelief that my younger cousin could possibly know this. My older brother Noel, my sister Eileen, and I were all conferenced in on the line with Trish. As usual, Noel, even after an unexpected wake-up call, kept a level head and knew enough to trust Trish's instincts. He was able to say exactly what needed to be said on behalf of all of us.
He told Mom that we loved her and thanked her for the time she was able to give us. He told her that we knew she fought as long and as hard as she could and that if there was any hope in her recovery, that she would continue fighting. He told her that if she was ready to be free from her pain, that it was ok. He told her that we would be ok.
We heard short, heavy breathing turn into more steady breaths. Then Trish's voice came back saying that Mom seemed to return to normal and she may have gone back to sleep. But she's sure that she heard Noel's message and was calmed by it. I was in tears and unable to utter a word.
Back to my feeling at work ... I argued with myself saying it was just that call that spooked me into thinking I needed to see her. There will be time to go after work or on the weekend. It's not time yet. Not ... Yet ...
But I couldn't shake the feeling, and I told my boss that I needed to see my mom. He understood the situation and said I could go. I was packing up my things when I felt something else. It's a feeling I can't describe but it was unlike anything I felt before. I think deep down I knew what it was, but I didn't want to admit it.
I started walking out the door when Noel called me with the news. Trisha had left the hospice care facility to either freshen up or get some food. While she was gone, Mom died alone in her room.
A wave of guilt washed over me. I could have left sooner. I could have been there with her when it happened. The shock that she was actually gone and I didn't get to say goodbye hit me like a ton of bricks.
It wasn't until later that I realized it happened the way she wanted—the way it was meant to be. It was like Mom was waiting for Trish to go so she could move on. It was fitting; she often suffered in silence, not wanting to subject people she loved to painful situations. Still, I've never completely let go of that guilt. It's mixed with years of wondering if I could have done more to help take care of her so she could have lived longer—if I could have done more to love her.
These questions will never be answered and I find a way to live with that. I tell myself the rational, faith-filled argument—there's nothing more I could have done; this happened the way God planned. Most days, I fully believe that. Most days ...
This is not exactly the tribute I thought it would be, but I have to go where the writing takes me. And I needed to go here today. To reflect on my most memorable year and see how I've come out of it. To give light to these demons haunting me and hope that it helps me stay out of the darkness. I owe that to Mom. 💓
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