Missing my mother... one year later.

January 17, 2013.   Today is the one year anniversary of my mother's death.

If you missed earlier posts about my wonderful, warm-hearted, fiesty, always sassy/sometimes brassy, totally endearing, blingtastic, fiercely-loving mom, please look HERE, HERE and HERE for some of my favorite "[Amazing] Grace" stories.

Someone recently said simply, "Grace was quite a gal."  Yeah... she was.  She really was.

It's hard for me to believe she's been gone a year now.  A whole year without her?  How can that be?

We were very blessed and fortunate that she had 88 wonderful, healthy years.  That was a gift that I am thankful for every day. She was living independently in her own apartment, active, driving, visiting with friends, and enjoying her life until she got sick in mid-November, 2011.  She died 2 months later, on January 17, 2012 -- in my home, with Hospice support and family caregiving.

I think of her every day, and although I am grateful for all the years and memories we had together, I miss her every day -- so very much.  And I know I always will.

I thought about her when my daughter graduated summa cum laude with her Master's Degree in Social Work.  Mom would have LOVED to have shared in that.  She was always so proud of each of her 6 grandchildren and 3 great-grand-children.   None of them ever had a greater fan.

I thought about her when my sister and my daughter and I traveled recently to Maryland to visit our other sister.  My mom would have LOVED that. She'd have probably gone along, too, the Queen Bee Riding Shotgun.

I thought about her when my husband and I recently spent two weeks in Cancun;  I made a Photo Journal of that vacation and since my mother ADORED photos, she would have LOVED that!

I thought about her when my sisters, our husbands and I recently made plans for an upcoming Arizona vacation together.  Mom probably wouldn't have gone along on that trip (in her later years she really shied away from flying) but she would have been thrilled that "her girls" were vacationing together, and she would have expected (and received!) daily updates (phone calls AND emails), and of course a copy of every photo any of us took.

I think about her every time I have spaghetti with really chunky meat sauce; it was her all-time favorite food EVER.  In fact, sometimes I make spaghetti (with really chunky meat sauce) -- just because.

I miss her when something good happens because she would have rejoiced with me in that wonderfully unselfish way that only mothers can.

I miss her when something is troubling me, because she always patiently listened to me, and genuinely shared any sadness I felt.

I miss her when I have a question about my dad, or my grandparents, or about how things were in our family before I was old enough to remember... those kind of questions now will always remain unanswered.

I miss her when something silly happens, or I read or hear an especially funny joke.  She loved to laugh.  We had the same quirky sense of humor, and she and I would frequently *CRAAAACK UP* over things that other people barely found funny.

I miss her whenever I see bright, glitzy, over-the-top scarves and jewelry. She LOVED that, and she had a totally inimitable style -- colorful and unique (and always sparkly!)  I think of her hundreds of times every day.

Life changed a year ago when she died, and it's sad and sobering to know that it will never be the same.   But yet, in many ways, she still lives on, in me and my sisters... and in our children.  Those thoughts, along with the many memories, photos and letters I have and cherish are what help me to live without her. 

I love you and I miss you, Mom.   So very, very much. 
And I always will.

Grieving is Not for Wimps

If you read my last post, you know that my mother died in January. She'd been with us in our home, with Hospice support, for a month before her death.

I think about her and miss her every day.  In ways large and small, she is always still *right there*... in my mind, and in my heart.

Apparently sometime when I wasn't looking, the traditional, well-known "5 stages of grief" became 7 stages.  I do agree.  I never thought that denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance could really encompass it all... and that was before I'd ever even had this kind of up close and personal experience with grief.  The 7 stages of grief, according to recoverfromgrief.com are: shock and denial; pain and guilt; anger and bargaining; depression, reflection and loneliness; the upward turn; reconstruction and working through; acceptance and hope. 

Yeah... I'd say that pretty much covers it all.

I'm surprised at how accurate that is.  I don't think I ever really felt the anger and bargaining part... but other than that... oh yeah.  Been there.  It is getting easier, though.  Thank goodness or I'd have never lived through it.  The first 2 weeks were horrific.  Truly torturous, suffocating pain.  The next two weeks, not much better, but at least I could breathe.  Then slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, I started to feel better.  Hour by hour, day by day, the veil of hurt started to lift a little.

Oh, it hasn't gone away... and I know it never fully will.  And I wouldn't want it to.  But I also know that she wouldn't want me to feel that way forever, either.  She would hate that.

So I'm carrying on... trying to be strong... trying to learn to live without my mother.  *sigh*   I guess I'm doing OK.

A few things really blindsided me, though.  Once she was gone, every photo, every letter, every little memento of her took on such new significance with me.  Pictures I had for years suddenly became incredibly precious, because the dawning reality was: there would be no more.

And every morning at 8:00 I still think, "Time to call Mom ---"  Oh.

Every time I drive by her apartment building, I still think, "I'll stop and visit Mom ---"  Oh.

When I'm planning dinner for family or friends, I still think, "I want to invite Mom ---"  Oh.

When I read or hear a corny joke that I know she'd love, I still think, "Gotta tell Mom ---"  Oh.

I wonder how long that will last?

My humble (though admittedly rookie) advice to others who are dealing with grief after losing someone they love?  Be gentle with yourself.  Give yourself time.  Take a nap, take a walk, take a bath.

Keep a journal, if that helps you.  Two weeks after my mom died, I wrote her a letter.  I knew she wasn't ever going to read it, but it helped me immensely to put all those powerful, swirling emotions and feelings down on paper, giving them identity and a voice.

Treat yourself and others kindly.   I think that is so incredibly important.  Sometimes when we are in terrible pain, the human tendency is to strike or lash out at those closest to us.  Try not to forget to appreciate and cherish those who are still with you.

Allow yourself tears, but remember it's OK to laugh and smile, too.

But most of all, find peace and joy in remembering -- because every precious memory that you carry in your heart means that in some very special way, they are still with you.



Top photo credit:  HERE

AMAZING GRACE

3/31/23-1/17/12

This memorial post is dedicated to my dear mother, Grace, who passed away in my home on January 17, 2012.

When I think of my mother, I just can't help but smile.  My mother ADORED her family, and treasured her friends.  She was loving, generous, funny and feisty.  Anyone who knew her described her as "full of life".   With her love of bold, bright colors and *alotta bling* (rhinestones and sparkle and goldtone, ohmy!), plus her VERY witty sense of humor, she truly was the life of any party.

My mother would be the first to tell you that she was a little bit "spoiled".  An adored youngest daughter and pampered wife, she would often brag that she had never balanced a checkbook, painted a room, stripped a floor, planted a garden, hung wall-paper.   ("Why?", she would ask, "when someone else would do it for me?!")

So (obviously!) there were many things I did not learn from my mother, but that's OK, I could learn those on my own.  But my mother did give me one invaluable, priceless gift -- that I never could have learned without her -- and that was unconditional love.  My mother loved my sisters and me with a fierce, protective, mother-bear love -- and we always knew this.

I have always been close with my mom.  When I was little, she used to lovingly refer to me her "shadow", because where she was, I was... stuck to her like velcro.  I loved nothing better than sitting on the porch with her on warm summer nights, side-by-side and "talking", feeling ever-so "adult".  As I grew a little older, we had our normal teenager vs. adult squabbles, but honestly, they truly were few and far between.  As I grew into adulthood and got married, we remained close, and she even moved 100 miles to be closer to me, my husband and our son.  She was always a supportive mother and doting grandmother, and she loved her sons-in-law as her own.

My mother was 88 years old when she died.  The first 85 years were active, independent, healthy, wonderful years.  At age 80, after the death of her second husband (whom she married at age 68 after a less-than-one-month courtship -- I kid you not!), she sold her home and moved into a lovely senior high-rise apartment.  Talk about easy livin'!  And in her usual "Grace fashion", she charmed the managers and the maintenance staff alike (the little stinker didn't even have to change a burned out light bulb!) and made many dear friends in her building.

At that time, she was taking only a thyroid pill and a blood pressure pill -- period.  When she was 85, she had a very scary episode of brief confusion and left-sided weakness, was taken to the hospital, and diagnosed with a TIA (commonly called a "mini stroke", because the symptoms, thankfully, fully resolve.)  The doctor prescribed an aspirin and an anti-platelet medication and in a few days, my mom went home, fit as a fiddle.

A couple of months later, she fell in the hallway of her apartment building, and broke her right hip.  She had surgery, went to Rehab (where she charmed all the doctors, nurses and therapists) and soon returned again to her independent apartment living that she so loved.

Well, they say troubles come in 3's, and right before her 86th birthday, she was rushed to the ER with a heart attack.  I rode in the ambulance with her, and never left her side, even while the doctors and nurses were actively working hard to save her life.  And save her life they did... and after a few days in the hospital, and a heart catheterization, mom went to our local hospital's Transitional Care Unit  (where she again quickly became everyone's favorite patient) and then back home again to her apartment.

Now the doctors added a few heart medications to the daily mix, and she used to say, "With all these darn pills I have to take every morning, I don't have room for breakfast!"  But thankfully, while she was admittedly a little more tired now than she had been before, no other problems occurred (except for a skin cancer successfully removed from her leg), and life continued well for my then 86 year-old mom.  I started balancing her checkbook for her (hey, someone had to do it!), setting up her pills (she hated doing that!), and continued the regular mani-pedi's.  But she still was still happily living independently, driving, doing all her own shopping and meals, socializing with her friends, getting her hair done and attending exercise classes.

Because she had become quite hard of hearing (and the dang hearing aides never really worked well for her... we can put a man on the moon but we can't develop decent hearing aides??!)  I would take her to all of her doctor's appointments.  I kept a notebook of careful notes, and she always deferred all questions to me.  Here is one actual conversation that took place at her PCP's office:

MD:  So, are we having any problems?
Me:  Nope, she's doing great!
MD:  Good!  How's the hip pain?
Me:  Much better, not needing any of the pain pills any more.
MD:  Great!  Has she seen the dermatologist yet for that spot on her back?
Me:  Yep, last week.  He said it's nothing to worry about.
MD:  That's good news.  How about the eye doctor?
Me:  We see him next week.
MD:  Good.  So, did you get the routine labs done?
Me: Yep, on Monday.  Your office should have received the results by now.
MD:  Good, I'll go check.
Mom:  [sitting on the edge of the exam table, tapping her toes impatiently]  *Hmph!*  I don't even know why I have to come!

This past October, we had a big family dinner party at my house (one of my mother's grandsons was home from Alaska), and the next week, I hosted a Spanish tapas party with friends.  My mother was definitely the  Belle-of-the-Ball for both events.  She was beautiful, lively, funny, sweet, and feeling good.

But sadly, within 2 weeks of those parties, and without warning, she was rushed to the ER with crushing shortness of breath and a new diagnosis of congestive heart failure.  One heart attack, several episodes of flash pulmonary edema, two thoracenteses, renal insufficiency, a complete heart block and a devastating new lung cancer diagnosis followed.  She got weaker every day, but still, through it all... she remained amazing Grace.

She was in the hospital and then TCU for 5 weeks.  We virtually lived there.  My daughter barely left her bedside.  My sisters came from out of state.  My mother had so many visitors that at one point, we had to ask them to be limited, just so she could rest.  She began to speak about being "very tired" and "ready to let go."  She had private conversations with each grandchild and great-grandchild, and assured them all of her love forever.  She gave away her cat, her car, and her wedding ring.

On one particularly difficult day, a dear friend named Dean came to visit.  She smiled at him but said quietly, "I can't really talk right now."  And holding her hand tight, Dean said softly, "That's OK... I just wanted to see you, Grace."

On Dec 20 my mother was discharged from the hospital -- to my home with hospice services.  We rearranged our living room to accommodate the hospital bed, over bed table, oxygen concentrator, bedside commode and new lift chair, so that on good days she could be engaged and involved in our daily family life.  We hung curtains in each archway and on the French Doors for privacy.  She was warm and cozy covered in soft cotton blankets and a light down comforter.  She often had a kitty or two at her feet.  We joked that she was the Queen Bee and we were the willing worker bees!  With the help of my husband, daughter, sisters and the hospice team, we were able to care for her, keep her comfortable, and even have a surprising number of laughs along the way.  We looked at each day as a gift.

She enjoyed Bonanza (do you know it is on aaaaallllll afternoon???!) but every now and then I'd wrestle the remote off of her (!) so I could watch a show or two of my choice, LOL!  She was a fanatic for Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune (on Mondays through Fridays at 7 and 7:30 pm respectively, but opposite on Saturdays, and not at all on Sundays... who knew?!) and on good days, she loved calling out the answers before the contestants.

She was home with us exactly 4 weeks.  Yes, we had some hard and scary moments.... but in general, having her here, surrounded by the love of family and *home* was one of the most rewarding and satisfying things I have ever done.  It just felt so *right*.

I am proud and humbled to be able to say that in the last weeks of her life, my dear mom was never alone. She knew we were here with her -- come what may -- and she knew she was loved.   My husband and I were at her bedside as she passed away early that morning, and I know she knew it.   I know we will never forget it.

Thank you for everything, Mom. I love and miss you so much.  And I always will.

3/31/23- 1/17/12

For more posts on my dear mother, please look:

HERE

HERE

HERE


And for a wonderfully fun, touching blog tribute by my niece (The Daring Librarian) for her dear Grandma, please scroll down to the end of  THIS POST.

Day # 26 ("A Funny True Story")

Well, if you have been following this blog at all, you have probably noticed that my hair style(s) tend to be a little... um, tousled-looking.  At least that's what my hair stylist (bless her soul) nicely calls it.  Some people might call it "messy", or "windblown", or whatever... but all I know is that I have never been a big fan of sleek, smooth, perfectly tailored hair - on me, anyway.

So my father had been gone for several years, and when my mom was 68, she remarried a really great guy named Bob.  And Bob loved all of us, and our families, and the feeling truly was mutual.

Well, one day while we were all together shopping, Bob (who had a quirky sense of humor) said to me teasingly, "Did you forget to comb your hair this morning, Lynn?"

Well, my dear well-meaning mother (protective Mama Bear that she still is) didn't miss that remark and she immediately jumped to my defense, saying, "BOB!!!  I happen to know for A FACT that Lynn spends A LOT OF TIME trying to make her hair look like she just got out of bed!!!"

LOL!  Way to go, Mom!  ;o)

Mom and Bob:

Day # 14 (An Old Photo)

Day # 14 of my September 30-day blog challenge.
 


















In this photo, I'm the 3-year old in the peach-colored dress.  Otherwise, from left to right is my sister, Lana (who ALWAYS has her eyes closed or half-closed in pictures!  It's a family joke!), my mom, my dad, and my maternal grandma, Emma.

The occasion was my oldest sister's wedding.  Too bad she isn't in the picture!  Anyway, what else you can't see in this picture is MY SHOES. 

I got new shoes for the event, and OH!  I just LOOOOOVED them.  There were two problems, though: (1) they were about a size too small (the store didn't have my size) -- AND (2) they had little heels (maybe 3/4" high??!)  that I had never had before and was not used to.  But my mother says that I LOVED those shoes from the second I saw them in the shoe store, there was NO talking me out of them, and I wasn't going to let a silly little thing like them being too small stop me from getting them!  

She warned me about the size:  "They'll hurt your feet!" 
My reply?  "No, they won't!"

She warned me about the heels: "You'll trip and fall!" 
My reply?  "No, I won't!"

So she bought them for me, and I left a VERY happy and excited little girl. I could hardly wait to wear them!  (I asked every day, "How many days till the wedding, Mom???  Huh?  Huh??  Huh???!")

FINALLY, wedding day came!  I got my pin curls taken out, and I put on my pretty new dress and ruffly socks and SQUEEEEEEZED into the shoes (*ouch, ouch, ouch* -- but I didn't tell mom!)   I felt like a million bucks, and was just about ready to waltz down the stairs to ever-so-gracefully make my glamorous grand entrance and... *CRAP*!  Wouldn't you know I TRIPPED AND FELL!!!  Yes, just like Mom said I would!!!  I didn't get hurt (well, only my pride!)... but dang, WHY IS THE MOM ALWAYS RIGHT???!!

*******
Tomorrow:  "A Celebrity Crush"!  Really??!

The Memory Jar

It was an idea I'd had for a while... gathering some of my own "memories" and those from family members to put into a jar for my wonderful 87-year old mother. Reminiscing is always fun, and I thought this would be something that she would especially enjoy.

I sent out e-mails to my sisters and our kids, letting them know what I had planned, and asking them to please take a little time to think about special memories involving Mom ("Grandma" to the grandkids), jot them down and send them to me.

Once they all rolled in (and I had a few good belly laughs reading some of them!) I printed them out on different colors of paper, cut them apart, folded them and placed them inside a Mason jar. The project was a joy for me, and especially so as the memories started stacking up (I ended up with almost 150!) Each one was a heartfelt and unique testimony of family love, and I knew that within those memories, lay a very special gift for my mother.

I decorated the lid of the jar with pretty fabric, ribbon and beads... and presented it to my Mom yesterday. She received it (as she always receives gifts) -- with genuine delight and appreciation. We talked a little about what was in the jar, and she read one or two "memories" before I left... but honestly, I don't think she realized the significance yet of what was actually in the jar.

Well, a little later that evening I got a call from my mom, who tearfully told me how deeply she had been touched by the Memory Jar. She said she spent over an hour reading all the memories in the jar, and that it was one of the best hours of her life. She said she laughed... and she cried... and she remembered. Oh, how she remembered! She said it was a gift that she would forever cherish.

So thank you, my family, for helping to make this Memory Jar possible. But most of all, thank you, Mom, for being the wonderful, loving mother (and grandmother) that you have always, always been.















I love you, Mom, and I'm so glad you enjoyed your Memory jar. But believe me, the pleasure was all mine.