Gifts

So I promised that the posts in the days leading up to the anniversary of my mom's death would be good memories... today I have been thinking a lot about my mom and dad... and so while these memories may not be as happy or jovial as others, they are good memories...

My mom loved sunsets... even before she knew she was sick she would sometimes say that after she died, she hoped God would let her help paint the sunsets... Mom was an artist and her paintings and crafts brought smiles to many people. Every year at Christmas at least a couple of my friends will say to me, "We couldn't wait to get out the Santa Slate that your mom painted..." I am just realizing I am not sure if I have a picture of one of her slates... I should do that... anyway... My mom used to paint slate shingles, the kind that were and are on many old homes throughout New England. One of her designs was this plump, jolly Santa sitting in a tall straight back chair carefully checking his list of names. He wears fuzzy slippers as his bright blue eyes scan down through the names on his scroll which gathers around his feet. Over the years I would ask my mom to make one for my friends, and Mom would personalize them by painting people's names onto the list... and several of my friends display their slates each year. She made one for my sister as well as many of our family members as well... Mom loved to paint and her skills would be well used in painting sunsets.

Sunsets are so peaceful. When I see a beautiful sunset I just like to watch it... the colors change so much form beginning to end and no matter how skilled one is as a photographer, the intensity and integrity of the colors cannot be captured in pictures. It is close, no doubt, but, there is still nothing like it.

My mom and I always had the kind of relationship where we could just talk for hours... while playing canasta or scrabble, while kayaking, or while laying on her bed before going to sleep for the night. The memory that I woke up with this morning involves one of those conversations. I was home visiting my parents, this was probably a couple of months before Mom died... maybe a month and a half... it is so hard to remember the timing of things... and it was when Mom was still able to go up and down stairs, although it made her quite tired. She had gone upstairs for the night to go to bed and I had gone up to see if she needed anything and to keep her company.

I remember watching her get into her bed.. how every movement was calculated and tiring for her. After arranging her pillows she got into bed and covered herself up with her blankets. She laid on her back with her head slightly propped up so she could see the television. I laid with her, on Dad's side of the bed, on my right side, facing her. I don't remember exactly what we were talking about at first, but I remember at one point she reached over and held my hand. And she said something about knowing how hard this was for me. I looked at her hand on mine, felt its warmth and looked into her eyes. She had a look on her face of love and compassion and her features looked so soft and gentle.

During Mom's battle with cancer I tried hard to not cry in front of her, not because she would have minded... but I felt like I needed her to know that I was strong and wanted her to think that we would all be okay...even though I didn't think I would survive losing her. I remember this evening, after looking into her eyes, I did cry... it wasn't my hyperventilating kind of crying that I have been known to do... but warm tears just streamed down my face... and I said to her, "I am going to miss you. I love you so much." And she laid there rubbing my arm slowly and after a while she said to me that she needed to talk to me about something that I might not want to hear.


She told me that she knew she was dying... and I can't remember what else she said... I remember crying a little harder and didn't say anything.. I just let her talk. She told me that she wanted me to know that she did not want my dad to be alone after she died. She told me that Dad was still very young and that she wanted Dad to keep living and that she hoped he would meet someone with whom he would spend time. She didn't want me or my sister to not accept someone into Dad's life because that woman wouldn't be her...She told me she had tried to have that conversation with my dad, but he wasn't ready to hear her, that it was too hard of a conversation...

I knew what my mom was doing was important and selfless and something she needed to say and knew I needed to hear it...but I remember being a little mad at her for saying it... because I think in my mind, in that moment, I realized that Mom had accepted the idea of dying... and she had begun, in her very caring way, of trying to take care of us at a time after she was gone...

I look back at my mom...and how many gifts she gave us as she was dying. And it really is a testament to who she was. My mom was a care-taker... always was... and I think I get some of my nurturing nature from her. She really wanted us to be okay...and when we were okay, she was okay... She had told me at one point, that she had signed a DNR order... so I knew that if there was an acute emergency (I say acute emergency, because for me, my mom's entire illness was an emergency, to which nobody could respond and save her... but at this phase of things, an emergency was deemed to be something that would have required additional, immediate care) and she was taken to the hospital or was in the hospital and things deteriorated, that there would be no heroic measures put forth to save her... She told us that she did not want to be in pain.... that if she had a choice between being able to breathe while in pain or not being able to breathe without pain, she would choose no pain. She told us she loved us whenever she could...these things helped us get through her death...helped us help her die I suppose... but by telling me about wanting Dad to have a companion... she was helping us live beyond her death.

I think my mom knew she had to have that conversation with me. This fall, when Dad started contemplating the idea of dating someone... he kind of sought permission from my sister and I, which I must say is very adorable. My response to Dad was the he didn't need my permission, because Mom had already given it to him. Dad did not remember the conversation or probably conversations, that Mom tried to have with him about his life after she was gone. He told me that he didn't remember her telling him that it was okay, that she wanted him to not be alone. And I am sure on some level my mom knew he would not remember...

Last week, as I reread my blog posts from when we lost Mom, I had written about the last lucid interactions I had with my mom.. it involved a home health care worker coming into our house to help get mom clean and to change her bed. This had become a painful experience for mom because her body was so riddles with cancer, that movement for her was painful. I remember Mom being in the hospital bed and I was kneeling on the floor in front of her.. As the home health care worker had to move mom onto her side Mom was facing me, her arms kind of on my shoulders... and she winced from the pain... and I put my forehead on hers and told her that I was sorry it hurt and that I loved her. She had so little energy at that time, and was hardly communicating with us... and I remember the corners of her mouth slowly moved into a very faint smile and she whispered, barely audible, that she knew... And I knew, too, how much she loved me.

The memory I am sharing today, is hard, and is making me very emotional... but with that emotion I feel gratitude to my mom... for caring so much about us to have those very difficult conversations. Losing someone is never easy... and in the midst of things it is hard to understand that there is anything that can be done to make things easier... or less difficult....but looking back... we are so fortunate that Mom said what she said... and those memories, as hard as they are to think about, to relive, to reflect on... are part of what made my mother who she was... there are no words flattering enough, big enough, strong enough, to describe my mom... there just aren't...

She was my mom...