It has been more than three weeks since I lost my beautiful mom, my lifelong touchstone, my best friend. I have not been able to post until now because I have been trying to find the ground beneath my feet again and to make some sort of sense of a world without her. I have had a storm of conflicting emotion within me that I have been trying to settle with joyful memories to override the shock and pain of her final hours.
My mom was a force of life, a person who spent her entire life curious, optimistic, adventurous, positive, supportive, generous, kind, and loving. She was interested in everything and spent hours exploring (mainly grocery stores, but also different places), cooking the most remarkable meals you could imagine, spending time with her grandchildren, roaming different countries with friends. She was never done, and even when her mobility was affected, she spent hours on her computer researching anything and everything.
I talked to her every day, multiple times a day, about everything and she was always the voice of reason and kindness. She was strong-willed, vivacious, energetic (I could barely keep up with her), and engaging. Anyone who met her loved her. She had just moved to a lovely little home one mile from my house seven months before she passed and we were able to see each other several times a day for visits and meal deliveries during which I would sit and watch the Alaska shows with her and listen to how much she would have loved to live off the grid and survive like the people in those shows. Those seven months brought us closer than we have ever been if that is even possible, and I am grateful for them, even though things were becoming more difficult for her and she was not always feeling her best.
I look for her everywhere, in signs, in my dreams, and going to that house is oddly comforting. She did come to me in a dream just a week after we lost her. I told her that it was strange that she was here because I thought she had died and she said that she only had this short time to visit so that we could tell each other all the things we didn't say at the end. Strangely enough, neither of us said anything. Andy tells me that's because we had actually said all that we needed to say and I think he is on to something. I guess all we would be saying now is what a shame it is that our journey together through life has come to an end.
The last two things she said to me in the hospital were that this sure was an awful day and "thank you for being so sweet to me". I guess I'll keep that last one in my heart forever. Miles, Andy, and I were with my mom when she passed, loving her, listening to a Beethoven Sonata, holding her hands. I am sure she knew we were there and that gives me comfort. I like to think that she is with my Dad, catching him up on all that he missed, and watching over us.
If I live to be 100 years old, it will still not be enough time to fully grasp the enormity of this loss in my life. It will be with me forever, as will she. In the words of Elizabeth Kubler Ross and David Kessler, "Your loved one still exists. On the long road you now walk alone, you have unseen companions." And "You have not lost all of the things that you loved most about your loved one. They are in you. You can carry them with you for the rest of your life."
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