For many friends with whom I’m connected on social media, the news of my mother Anne’s passing on April 29 is not new “news”. Although on a limited basis because I don’t have words to properly describe the cavalcade of emotions I’m feeling, I have been sharing a bit.
I’d thought that by now, I would have the wherewithal to write an eloquent tribute to Mom. That would be the post that would break my silence here at the blog, a worthy summation of the amazing woman who was Anne. But it turns out I don’t have the words. Thankfully, my sister Erin does, so you can get to know more about Mom at the beautiful obituary that Erin wrote.
Yesterday was the day I circled on my calendar and told myself “Back to work. It’s time.”
Saying that and feeling it are two separate things. I can (and have) written to do lists (topped by sending thank you notes, which are overdue). But somehow, I can’t summon the energy to do the lists.
This slogginess I’m feeling (not a word, but I’ve coined it because I can’t find a better one) is grief, but also other things. Mom’s long, painful, ugly journey with Parkinson’s disease and related mental health battles meant that her death did not catch us by surprise. For months, counseled by many wonderful men and women of faith, I prayed for Mom’s happy death to come at the moment when God decided it was time.
Many nights, separated from her by a few thousand miles as she slept in her Covid-locked-down skilled nursing facility, her body shedding weight and twisting in on itself with atrophy, I spoke words to Mom in the middle of the night. I told her about my days. I apologized that she was alone at a moment when I wanted nothing more than to hold her hand and wipe her brow. I expressed to her how we were trying to care for Daddy, even as he faced his own set of challenges. I asked her advice. I confessed to her that I was mad at God (and some other people too). I told her about my soon-to-be granddaughter and expressed to her I wanted to be just as good a grandmother as she was.
And I told her, lots of times, that it was ok for her to go when she was ready.
That day came, April 29, the day we celebrate my husband’s and nephew’s birthdays. I was blessed to be with family at Mom’s side in the days leading up to her passing. I shared a bit of that moment on Facebook a few days ago and can’t really summon the emotional fortitude to write about it again here yet. Since the day Mom went to heaven (and yes, I know theology around that but firmly believe that Mom’s purgatory was served in that SNF bed), we celebrated her life with a beautiful funeral liturgy and gathered with family and friends to remember her legacy.
And now I am back home, kicking around in the office I really never properly unpacked since we moved into our new house in November. I spent the last several months with Daddy here, so lots of time was spent seeing to his needs. I haven’t done much of any “work” since then. He is now with my wonderful sister for a while and I have a few months before officially becoming a grandmother. New opportunities are presenting themselves, each a blessing and a continual reminder to give praise to God who opens every door despite my fears and self doubt.
I’m sure that my writing here will occasionally include references to grief, to caregiving, and to other familial topics. But for now I’m inclined not to write on those things. The feelings for me are too new and too big. I need to sit quietly with them for a spell and allow the Creator to work in my soul for a while. So on those things, after this post, I will perhaps stay mum for a bit.
But I want to jump back into the kind of writing I love most these days: good news about fun projects, movies, and great things that other folks are doing. It felt sort of weird to do that without first letting you know where I’ve been and what’s been happening while the blog was silent. I have some decisions to make too: what to write next, whether to pick my podcast back up, and a super special project I hope to share soon. I hope you’ll stick around for those things and that if you have ideas or comments on things you’d like to see here that you’ll pass those along as well.
To those who have passed along prayers and support, thank you. Your words truly help.
Dear Lisa – I shared with you about my beloved 35-year old son’s death Dec 16, 2019, at the Mayo Clinic and how after only eight days, we are certain that his Guardian Angel was in that upper left-hand corner of the room that my son would glance at. He couldn’t communicate much, at this time, and I hate that I didn’t think to ask him what he was looking at, but I’m sure it was his Guardian Angel letting him know his time was very near. I am SO THANKFUL that God took him before Covid so his wife and I could be with him the entire eight days. He received his Last Rites, a tiny piece of Viaticum the day before (Sunday, Dec 15) and had a beautiful, large Funeral Mass presided by our then newly ordained priest who was one month older than my son. That was 17 months ago. Losing my son is indescribable. No pain has ever taken me to this place before and from what I have heard from others in my same grief of losing their child, and the Parent Grief Groups I attend, it only gets harder over the years (of a parent losing a child). We just have to learn to live THROUGH the pain. I recall how kind and supportive you were when I shared my sadness with you; although you and I have never met in person. However, God took my father when I was 43, and my mother when I was 48, and so I DO understand your sadness of losing your beloved mother. Your memories take you back through the prior years and sometimes it hurts to think of those times, and other times, you laugh at the silliness or fun you had together. Your dear father will need you even more now. God bless you and I’ll ask the Lord and our Blessed Mother to bring you some comfort and to ease your sadness. +JMJ+
I wish I was there to give you a hug, Lisa. Your reflection is so beautiful. Having lost my mom thirty years ago, I understand everything you are feeling. Our moms are with us always. God bless you.
Mary, thank you for your friendship and prayers. I love watching your relationship with your beautiful daughter. It often reminds me of Mom and me! I feel your virtual hug. Thanks!
Oh Gwen, thank you so much for taking time to share your kind support and comments, and especially for openly sharing about grief and your process toward healing. I will definitely take your words to heart. Thank you!
Dear Lisa,
My thoughts and prayers are with you as I sit beside my mother’s hospice bed. She is asleep, but she won’t let go of my hand. After 9 months of isolation in an assisted living facility, she contracted COVID on Thanksgiving day. She “survived” COVID, but for the last 6 months has suffered terribly. COVID left her on a feeding tube, wheelchair bound and suffering from terrible, uncontrollable tremors. She is no longer able to tolerate the feeding tube without aspirating, so we are saying goodbye. I can’t even begin to describe the range of emotions. I will keep you in my prayers. I always enjoy your blog and look forward to your continuing it however you and the Holy Spirit see fit.
Barbara, my heart is with you as I can so clearly picture you with your mother. We knew it was “time” (and they permitted us in) when Mom stopped swallowing. She was gone to heaven within five days. I hope you have the same level of amazing hospice pastoral care that we did. Coincidentally, the facility’s chaplain was my sister’s former pastor. He came quickly to give mom her final anointing and sacraments – and then actually kindly said her funeral mass as well. It was like the Holy Spirit was totally in charge of everything! Sending you hugs and prayers
Thank you, Lisa.
Your transparency and vulnerability have always been a blessing to me and to many. You give us all permission to be real and truly present in our walk with each other, and especially with God.
God bless you as you move so thoughtfully through this time of loss, and thank you for being you.
Lisa, your kindness is a gift. Thank you for the ongoing blessing of your friendship.