One Year Later

My Mom died 53 weeks ago. For the last week I have been pondering the significance of a year passing. My Mom lived to be almost 90. She struggled with some health issues the last few years, but overall after her bypass surgery in her seventies she had good health for a woman of her age. So when she passed no one could say that she did not have a good long life.

My Father died much younger than he should have. This made my Mom a widow in her early sixties. She lived almost a third of her life as a widow, that is a really quite something to think about. The idea of dating again was totally foreign to her. She had no interest in that. I do think that my Mom wished that she had developed more friendships in life. Having so many children and so many siblings I think that for her life as pretty closed. When she worked outside the home she might have friends from work but that rarely translated into a true friendship. Later in life she would go to church with one of my sisters and she was always admired for her resolute nature, and dedication to her family.

When your last parent dies, no matter how old you are, you feel alone. I read somewhere today that if you were attached or very interested in the moon as a child that looking at the moon always makes you feel like a child. I get that. I was scared of the dark for a time in my childhood, the moon became in that time an important friend. Looking at the moon can make me feel like I am little. That makes me think of my Mom.

At various times I have called my Mom quite frequently, we kept in close touch and while she was never one to push her ideas onto a person she was always there with quiet support. Kind of like a retaining wall you knew was there but could not see it. You just knew.

Yesterday my wife and I , and our two youngest children went to my parents graves. At the same time we took a tour or some of the haunts of my growing up. My childhood home, my friends homes, parks, schools, places where remember-able events happened. Visiting my Mom's grave is not as comfortable as one would perhaps hope it would be. Perhaps comfortable is the wrong word, comforting, reassuring, would be better. I do not have a strong sense that my Mom is there. I know the urn her ashes are in is there but I do not have a sense of her.

I told my kids about her and their Grandad who they actually never met. They had questions and I answered them. I do think if My Mom's grave was closer I would probably visit it weekly. I get a sense that even now there is no reason for me not to do so, I feel like the routine would make me feel good, but I am not sure of the connectedness I would feel. Perhaps that would come.

The winter before my Mom died she came to my sister's house in the town I live for a visit. I have too many kids and too small a house to play host but I took the opportunity of her being in town to see her each day. I would go over and spend each morning with her, by this time she had slight dementia, and would repeat herself. Still we had breakfast and it was a time that I treasure.

I do not know what this essay means. It means that I still pick up the phone every once in awhile and think that there is something going on in my life that I want to tell her. I am not sure when that muscle memory will go away.

I also know this however, the last time I saw her as I was leaving I hugged her and kissed her like I always did. I knew I would not see her for a couple of weeks. As I was leaving, everyone else was out the door, I turned and saw her there and just had a feeling. I returned to her and gave her another hug and kiss and told her I loved her.

Two weeks later I got a call at 3 in the morning that said my Mom was fading fast and while it was unlikely I could get there in time did I want to try to go get there in time. I chose not to. I felt like I had known and had said my goodbye that afternoon two weeks earlier.

It turns out I would not have made it in time as she passed ten minutes later. Even so I had no regrets of my actions. I saw her, I listened to my heart and returned to her again. My last interaction was true to my feelings.

Of course not everyone dies at ninety and fades in a predictable way. Live your life with those you love so that should the unthinkable happen you know they knew how you felt. My Mon has been gone a year and I miss her everyday. I do not have any regrets however. I urge you to make sure you do not either.