Only in my dreams

Soon after my mom died, I received a handwritten letter from my father-in-law. It read:

“I write to share something with you that you may find intriguing and consoling after the passing of your mom. This message was sent to me by a musician friend right after my dad died. He told me this information is invariably perfectly true and I could count on it. He was right. He told me to pass this message on in the future to people who would need it, and I have.

“Here’s the good news: In your dreams, your mom will always appear to you just as you want her to. I’ve found this to be completely true in my case. Completely. And it has been a relief to me. I know you’ll be well pleased when you find this is true for you. You know something that only the bereaved know. I guess it’s a sign of experience, growth, and maturity. Pass this comfort along to others in the future.”

Interestingly, it took about a month before I had my first dream about my mom, and I’ve only had two or three total, but in them, she was just as vibrant as could be; she wasn’t shackled by illness or worn down from life taking too hard of a toll on her.

I find one of the hardest parts about her being gone is not being able to tell her things or ask her random questions that I know she’d know the answer to. In fact, on the day of her memorial service, one of her former co-workers came, and I talked to her for probably 10 minutes, and she was just so broken up about my mom’s death that she was crying and I ended up having to comfort her instead of the other way around, and I found this so incredibly touching. At one point later that night, I actually had the thought: “Oh, I’m going to have to call Mom and tell her that I saw [Former Co-Worker] today and how she went on and on about how great she is.” But alas, that’s a phone call that can never be made. It feels like such unfinished business that I’m unable to do that.

This morning I had another vivid dream about her. I was traveling out of town and ran across her and my dad in an airport or somewhere similar. In my dream she had indeed died but she was able to come back and chat with those of us left behind, so I finally had my chance to tell her all those things I’ve been wanting to tell her. I finally had an answer to all of those unanswered questions. I went to a nearby grilled-cheese-and-tomato-soup restaurant and brought back lunch for us and we just sat and got caught up with each other. We could talk matter-of-factly and without sadness about the fact that she died, and she told me that she was indeed aware of everything that had gone on at her memorial service, including the fact that The Former Co-Worker and I had talked for a bit. Overall it was a happy dream; I felt very content when I first woke up, though that was replaced soon with the realization that it was just a dream and such an interaction is no longer possible.

It’s been almost two months since she died. I don’t really cry about it. And overall I do feel a sense of peace about everything, even still. But there’s definitely something missing. A piece of me is no longer here, and its absence is felt greatly, even in little ways. People say she’s watching down on me, but I’m not sure I believe that. People say I’ll see her again eventually when my own time here has expired, but I can’t say I really believe that either. What I do know is that I do feel a sense of comfort when she returns to me in my dreams, looking and acting just as I want her to appear to me, and that’s going to have to be good enough from here on out.

This ‘n that

I’m so incredibly behind on kid updates from the past couple of months, so I’ll just rattle off what I think of right now:

*The Big Sis (finally!) has her first loose tooth (and her second loose tooth). I don’t think they’re coming out anytime soon (the first one has been loose a couple weeks already), but there’s definitely some wiggle to them. It’s interesting — with nearly all of her (and The Little Sis’) milestones, I haven’t found them to be sad or even bittersweet. I tend to embrace the stage she’s at currently and welcome with open arms the new things to come. But for some reason, the tooth thing is getting to me, and I can’t quite pinpoint why. Maybe it’s because to lose the teeth she had from so early on really seems to be sealing the deal on ushering out babyhood. I don’t know.

*The Big Sis completed her spring MAP reading test and improved her score 9 points from her winter test. With a 186, this puts her at above-average reading level for 1st grade; in fact, she’s just 4 points away from being considered an average 2nd-grade reader. She absolutely loves reading — both being read to and also reading herself — and it’s so amazing to reflect on this school year and think about how far she’s come with just this one skill. But it’s an important one, and like all parents, I hope she continues to nurture this passion and ends up with a lifelong love of reading.

*Over the past month, The Little Sis’ communication has exploded. She has just started to say a few very basic sentences (“Mama, come!” for example), she knows way more words than I can count, and she is at the stage where she will parrot nearly anything you say to her, if you ask her to repeat it.

*The Little Sis has taken to calling The Big Sis “Sissy” now, as well as by her real name. However, she still calls the dog either “dog” or “dog-doh” but won’t repeat his actual name to us yet. (Confession: I’m going to miss the word “dog-doh.”)

*The Little Sis’ #1 current obsession: buckles! She insists on doing the chest clip of her car seat by herself, which was frustrating at first because she took so long to do it (and insisted on no assistance), but now she’s much better at it, so it doesn’t take 15 minutes just to leave the driveway. She also loves fastening the buckles on the booster seat. We can set her to doing that and she’ll seriously keep herself occupied for 15 or 20 minutes.

*I’ve discovered that The Little Sis loves to have her back patted at bedtime. I put her in the crib after stories and songs, and she lies on her side, then twists her arm around and taps her back and says, “One mo’?” I’m guessing they do this to her at daycare for nap, as it’s not something we’ve done with her since she was a few months old. I love indulging her when she insists, though. 🙂

*The Little Sis is really starting to use her manners, offering a polite “thank you” when appropriate. And also sometimes when not appropriate. 🙂

*There is probably nothing The Big Sis would rather do than play outside with her friends on our street. This is both awesome (yay for being active!) and hard to get used to, as it takes away from her time with us. It also leads to many battles, as she still hasn’t accepted that our rule is that she’s not allowed to go play outside after dinner even though apparently everyone else is allowed to (there’s not realistically enough time before bedtime, plus it’s impossible to bring her inside if she goes out again, plus it makes it harder for her to settle her body for bedtime).

*I know kindergarten graduation is rather pointless, as it’s not like they’re graduating to a different school or anything. (I know some people think junior high/middle school graduation is pointless too, but I actually can understand that one, as it’s a big transition to high school and usually involves physically changing schools.) Many schools around here seem to be doing a kindergarten graduation anyway, but ours doesn’t seem to be. I mean, that’s fine, but I just find it a little surprising, I guess. The last day of school is this coming Friday. We’ve almost survived the first year! Just 12 more to go!

Wordless Wednesday: Cool cat

Foto Friday

The girls’ school pics weren’t the best when I know they can take better pics, so here are some better ones:

Wordless Wednesday: Spring school pics

Happy (Belated) Mother’s Day

I am not a perfect mom.

Right now I feed my oldest daughter chicken nuggets or fish sticks nearly every night because she’ll actually eat it.

I let the kids jump on the bed from time to time.

Sometimes I yell when I know I should just walk away for a moment to compose myself.

I don’t do arts and crafts with my kids. (That’s what daycare/school is for.)

The house might be tidy, but it is almost never spotless.

So while I might not be a perfect mom, I think I’m a good mom. And yes, I realize it’s not the cool or trendy thing to say that. Moms really seem to be all about playing martyr and talking about themselves in a harsh, self-deprecating way. But no way. I refuse to do that to myself. If I don’t pat myself on the back, then who will?

I hug my children and tell them that I love them. Often.

I do my best to pick my battles.

I try to do what’s best for them in the long term.

I make sure we have fun as a family. (Board game night, anyone? Time for a frozen yogurt outing? Or a mini-hike?)

I make reading to them a priority.

We eat dinner together.

We explore a variety of active things to do — but also know when the moment is right to curl up on the couch with a movie.

I do my best to learn from my mistakes.

And I have two wonderful daughters, both of whom are thriving in their respective environments, so surely that indicates I’m doing something right, no? The true test will come when they are adults, of course, but for now, I think the progress report is positive.

I will make mistakes.

I won’t always know the right thing to do.

But I will always love them. Always advocate for them. Always cherish them. Always protect them.

And I hope that one day, they too will get to make their own mistakes as moms and finally understand that while moms aren’t perfect, they are always doing their best.

Celebrating life

This is how I updated family and friends about the celebration of life on Facebook:

“The day was perfect. One of my favorite things about living here is the gorgeous spring weather, and while that’s been quite delayed this year, it did not disappoint today for my mom’s celebration of life. Clear blue skies, vibrant green grass, and everything in full bloom. Spring has sprung, and it was so fitting as we aimed not to mourn our great loss but to celebrate the vibrant life of my mom; nature reminded us that while things do die, they are eventually reborn again, often more beautiful than before. And so appropriate to drive past the horse farms on my way to the legacy center and look over and see mares with their babies as I was preparing to celebrate my “mare” who loved her babies so much. The mother-child bond is truly a special thing.

“We greeted familiar friends. We hugged old friends and picked up where we left off 10 or 20 years ago and vowed to not let that much time elapse until our next meeting. We made new acquaintances. We ate and drank. We remembered and reminisced. And most of all, we laughed. Oh, did we laugh. I used to not understand how the immediate family could often seem so composed during their loved one’s funeral, but this truly was a celebration and not a sad occasion at all, and the love for this woman could be felt all around. That’s just as Mom wanted it, and we gave it to her; she would have been pleased, I think. As I drove home tonight, reflecting on today and on the nearly 36 years I had with my mom, I couldn’t help but grin. The day was perfect.

“Mom did her job, enjoying her life and preparing my sister and I for our lives as women and mothers. And I have to say, she performed well. Even though I lost my original anchor in the world, I am working at re-setting my new anchor, and I draw my strength to do that from the memories that live in my heart. Because of her, I can and will move forward, and I will live a life that I know will make her proud. It will always be bittersweet that she left us so soon, but she’s always within me. She’s always within my daughters. And we will do our best to honor her memory. She is at peace, and I am at peace. And that’s all I can really ask for.”

Everyone naturally asks me now how I’m doing, and that’s a difficult question to answer. I’m mourning the loss of my recently deceased mom, so of course that’s a sad thing, but I really think I’m doing okay. Part of me feels bad for saying that — shouldn’t I be deeply distraught and cry at the drop of a hat? However, I never full realized what a stress my mom’s health was on me all of the time, always wondering if the phone ringing would be my dad calling me to tell me she was in the hospital or had passed. Wondering how she was going to manage at home without any sort of therapy or nursing care to help her improve. Hoping desperately that my dad didn’t die unexpectedly first, putting me in a position of trying to figure out how to care for her while caring for my own family as well. With that lifted off my shoulders, and with the knowledge that Mom really is free from the bodily pain that constantly plagued her, I do feel a sense of relief and contentment.

That’s not to say there aren’t difficult moments, of course. It caught me off guard when I was at my dad’s house recently and we let a telemarketing phone call go to the answering machine, and it was her voice on the greeting. The holidays will be hard as well, and the first major one to hit will be Mother’s Day in just under a month. So challenging, yes, but I’ll continue to push forward and remember that while she was not perfect as a mother, neither am I.

I do hope my girls can come to that conclusion for themselves before it’s my time to leave them.

Take my breath away

My mom is a tough woman. We’d known that all of her life, but she truly showed it at the end too — she hung on through all of Monday, and through most of Tuesday. On Tuesday morning (April 2), they moved us up to the 5th floor, which is the palliative area for patients that are terminal but do not go the hospice route. (We would have done hospice, but there wasn’t really time to get set up at home since her death was pretty imminent.)

We moved rooms around 10 a.m., and she was taken off all continuous monitors, though every couple of hours they would come and ask if we wanted her vitals checked (we could decline, but never did). Her blood pressure began slowing considerably. Her hands were cold and getting colder. All the signs were there that death was truly impending. Dad and I sat on either side of her bed for hours that day, each of us holding one of her hands, not really saying much, but letting her know that she was not alone. We turned on Days of Our Lives for her one last time.

Around 4:45 p.m., my dad decided to go to the cafeteria to get out for a bit and get some dinner to bring back to the room. Shortly after, one of the palliative nurses came into the room to check on me and see how we were doing and that Mom was comfortable. Mom had started with some deeper breathing earlier that day, and I asked if that was normal (answer: yes). I said, “I just have to think that it’s going to be any time now.” Right as the nurse said, “Yes, I think it’ll be any time now,” my mom took her last breath.

I tell everyone that it was a peaceful ending, and overall it was — she did not give any indications that she was in pain or discomfort. However, that last breath…it was more of a gasp that was never let out. I walked to her side, held her hand, kissed her head, and said, “I love you,” and waited to see if she took another breath, as she’d started doing apnea breathing a few hours before and I had been tricked a few times earlier into thinking that was it. The nurse went over to feel for a pulse, and gave me a knowing look to indicate there was none there. I sat there holding her hand and just looked at her, trying to remember the moment as best I could, knowing it would be the last time I’d be in the physical presence of my mom.

I didn’t cry at first — but strangely felt at peace. All of the suffering she had endured over the years had finally been resolved.

*********

I called my sister first, and she knew why I was calling (I’d just texted her a few minutes before that they took her vitals and her blood pressure was 40/20, so we knew it was close). “I know why you’re calling, and I don’t want to hear you say it,” she cried to me. I did tell her that Mom took her last breath at 4:55 p.m., just in case she wanted to know. For some reason, I like knowing that. The hospital physician came in to check for a heartbeat and officially declared her deceased, and soon after that, my dad returned from the cafeteria. I got up and went over to him and gave him a hug, then we stood at the foot of the bed looking at Mom, with his arm around my shoulder and my arm across his lower back. My dad is hard to read and he’s typically a man of few words, especially with emotional stuff, but he said to me between tears and sniffles, “Now she is free.” Really, that’s all that needed to be said.

At age 66, after 10+ years of health struggles, she was free.

 

After that, I called my mom’s sister as well as her best friend to tell them the news, then the nurses called the funeral home and we stayed in the room until the funeral director got there. We left before they took her from the room.

The walk from the room to the elevator was a long one. I stepped outside, and it was surreal to know that I’d stepped into that hospital with a mom, and stepped out without one. In fact, it was at that hospital where my mom and I first met when I was born nearly 36 years ago, and it was where we parted ways for the last time. I drove home, stopping at the library in a daze before arriving at my house and trying to resume life as normal. But how is is possible to resume life as normal when the person you’ve been associated with the longest is no longer around? Your anchor is uprooted and you feel unsteady. Your past has crumbled beneath you. You have to find a way to set a new anchor in place and truly be for others what your mom was to you for so long.

I took the entire week of her death off (after being off the week before as well when she was in the hospital…my work was super understanding about everything). On the day after her death, I took a Tylenol PM and slept in the next morning, finally giving myself a chance to decompress. My dad and I went to the funeral home that afternoon to finalize memorial service/celebration of life plans. My parents had both done preplanning/prepayment for their funerals, so there really wasn’t much to go over other than finalizing some details.

I spent the rest of the week at my dad’s house (that’s weird to say it that way, as opposed to “my parents’ house” or “Mom and Dad’s”) helping him clean the house. At first I was taken aback a little by how soon this was happening, but I knew this was Dad’s way of coping, and I did my best to be supportive. My main job was to go through all of her clothes, see what I could take, and then get it ready for my sister to look through when she would be back in town. To say she had a lot of clothes would be an understatement, so this was a pretty major job, but I was able to get through it in a couple of days. I also helped clean out a lot of her other stuff (medical equipment no longer needed, old books, etc.), and my sister and I went through her jewelry together when she’s in town.

The service was held on Saturday, April 13, at a legacy center that focuses on life-affirming celebrations rather than traditional funerals. I am so glad my parents chose this place, as it was a wonderful venue and the perfect place to not say goodbye but to celebrate a woman who might not have been perfect, but deserved to be honored in the way she wanted….

Slumber party

My sister and I took advantage of Mom’s 90 minutes of post-bath wakefulness and awareness on Saturday night — and it ended up being truly one of the best nights of my life. She clearly understood what we were saying. She would squeeze our hands in response to things we said or asked her. She smiled and raised her eyebrows. She even semi-laughed a couple times. We reminisced. We laughed. We showed her pictures and videos of our families on our phones. We talked about serious stuff. We asked her if she was in any pain or discomfort. And once again, as we’d done several times in the preceding days, we gave her “permission” to die: We told her that we’d be okay, and that we’d take care of each other and take care of Dad.

But most of all, we told her that we loved her. Over and over and over. And we hugged and kissed her endlessly. Even though this was happening late at night and I was tired, I would have stayed up all night if it meant additional moments with her. We occasionally asked her if she wanted us to keep talking or if she wanted to rest, and usually she wanted us to continue, but she finally indicated to us that she was ready to go to sleep around 2:15 a.m. after an hour and a half of communicating with us one last time.

I was on a bit of a high once we got ready for bed, and not surprisingly I had trouble falling asleep. I was laying in the not-very-comfortable sleeper chair next to her bed, holding her hand and watching her as she rested and then tried to go to sleep. I could tell it was a meaningful night for her too. I could see her laying there with her eyes open for quite a while, then finally she closed them to sleep, and she just looked so incredibly peaceful and happy and content — enough that I thought for sure she would die probably sometime that night or in the morning. It just seemed like a fitting end.

And in that moment, I realized that any of the issues we had between us? They didn’t MATTER anymore. It came down to the fact that she loved me, and I loved her. She took care of me and made sure I knew I was loved, and it was my turn to take care of her and assure her of the same thing. Letting go of my anger and bitterness in regard to her last year helped me reach that point, and I’m so glad that was the case, as it allowed for an amazing experience at the end of her life — definitely for me and hopefully for her too. I can’t put into words how much it meant to me, truly.

On Sunday, my mom was still hanging on, and she had her eyes open some in the morning and she smiled when my dad walked into the room, squeezing my hand. Not that long after, she went to sleep for what eventually turned out to be the last time. My sister had to leave to return home that day, as they couldn’t keep my niece out of school indefinitely, and we started Mom on morphine drip on Monday, knowing at this point, with a heavy heart, that she was not going to wake up again….