The First Christmas Without...

For some strange reason, Christmas wasn’t a problem for me. I got up like it was any other Christmas morning, gave the family their gifts from me, and relaxed until it was time to go to my cousin’s house for her annual Christmas party.

Strangely, my sister decided to add my mother’s name to the gift that I gave her. Even though I thought it was totally weird for her to place Mama’s name on the gift that I purchased for her after Mama was dead, I didn’t trip too hard. The truth is that I bought the gift with the money that Mama left me. So, I guess that in a way, the gift was also from Mama. My heart went out to my sister, who wanted to do anything she could to keep Mama a part of our Christmas. God bless my sis.

I did wish that Mama was there to watch my six-year-old niece, Elyssa, open all her gifts. But that desire wasn’t coupled with pain. It was just a simple wish that couldn’t be achieved. I dealt with it and kept it moving.

Later that night, we headed to my cousin’s house and had a good time with family. I was glad to hug and kiss everyone. I chose to focus on the family I did have left. I perhaps gave more gift than I usually do. I guess that was another way I coped with the loss. I gave from my heart to the people that were still left with me.

I’m quite thankful that Christmas 2016 was tolerable. I’m glad that I was with my family. I’m just glad that I wasn’t in the bed, crying all day because of Mama being gone.

Happy Holidays!

Hot Fun in the Wintertime!

This past weekend I got a chance to travel to Miami!!!!!!! It was my first time to the beautiful city. Unfortunately, it was rainy for most of the days we were there. But thankfully, the sun forced its way through the clouds long enough to shine and cover us with its love. What a joy it was to experience beautiful, winy, sunny weather in the winter time. Thank you Florida!!!!!!!
We were in Miami celebrating my friend’s Chad birthday. While I will not comment on the birthday celebrations or the people that were there to celebrate Chad’s birthday, I will talk about myself and what this trip meant for me.

Aside from the tropical winds and the occasional sun, the trip was filled with a lot of emotional ups and downs. What was I doing the whole time we were in Miami? You guessed it… I was thinking about Mama.

I was wishing that Mama was there with me to experience the wind, see the palm trees, smell the ocean, and enjoy the view from our 27th floor balcony. I wished she was there to tell me how glad she was to visit Florida for the first time in her life. But sadly, Mama never got a chance to visit Florida. And she never got a chance to take a “real” vacation with me.

By the time I was old enough and had enough money to invest in travel and vacation, Mama had her first stroke. It was a downhill slide for her health once that happened.

Here’s what I decided when I turned 40… I decided to visit somewhere I had not been at least once a year for the rest of my life or until my health fails me. When I turned 40, I went to New Orleans. Last year, I went to Miami. I’m trying to decide where I will pilgrimage to this year. I’ll keep you updated.

And when I go, I’ll be thinking of Mama. But I’ve now decided that instead of feeling sad that she’s not with me, I’ll be enjoying life in her honor. I’ll take every advantage of “living” that my mother didn’t get a chance to do.

So, here’s to the next trip!!!!!!! Can’t wait to live it up for myself and Mama!!!!!!!

Turkey, Dressing, and No Mama

Thanksgiving was good for me. I didn’t think too much about how terrible it was that Mama is gone. I focused on providing a good meal for the family despite our recent loss. I wanted to make sure that the holiday season didn’t miss a beat, even though we missed Mama.

We had a pretty good meal. After we ate, I hooked up with my daddy and headed to my aunt’s house to round up my effort to keep Thanksgiving as festive as it would be as any other year.

In a way, I felt a little guilty for having a good time for Thanksgiving. People were calling me and asking me how I was doing. They made me feel like I should have somehow told them I was doing terrible this Thanksgiving. What was wrong with me that I didn’t feel so bad this first Thanksgiving without her?

I guess it’s because Thanksgiving is about “family” in general. Yes, my mother is a part of my family. But there are so many others in my family that I was given the opportunity to focus on and create a good experience for during the Thanksgiving weekend. So, that’s what I did.

At this point, I’m thanking God for the few moments that I have that I don’t feel like crying. So, in honor of Thanksgiving 2015… God, thank you for a fairly peaceful, no tears Thanksgiving.
AB

If Only I knew

If I knew that I was going to miss Mama this much, I would've smothered her with my love and attention when she was here. She would've had to literally beat me off with a stick. Hind sight is always too late.

Dreaming

I’m very glad to report that I’ve been doing much better. The tears are showing up less and less. I haven’t cried in about three weeks.

However, the salty water has been replaced with dreams about Mama. I’m fine with that though. The dreams allow me a chance to hear Mama’s contagious laugh, take a look at her gorgeous smile, and have a quick talk with the woman I respect the most. I hope I never stop dreaming about her.
Although the grief is become less burdensome, I do find that I still think about Mama all the time. There’s very little that I can do in a run of a day that doesn’t somehow link to a memory of my mother. Shopping at Target, drinking lemonade, sitting outside on the porch, watching the Price is Right, picking out a new mattress, and getting dressed for work are just a few examples of the tasks I’ve done that cause me to think of her.

I’ve decided that I absolutely cannot stay at this house. Although I’m dedicated to holding my mother’s memory close to my heart, I do believe that the memory of Mama’s presence in this house is too much for me. I must find me a new home to create new memories. This house contains memories of Mama that are too painful to live in. While she didn’t die here, she did become deathly ill here. I cannot get those last moments here at the house out of my head.

And I’m still having issues with her room. I haven’t been in there to clean anything out since the last time I posted here.

Yeah, I know… I’m going to have to get better with that. All in time, my friends. All in time…

When I leap that hurdle with triumph, I’ll let you guys know.

Both a Savior and a Killer

Even though I am completely aware of the multiple co-morbidities my mother possessed prior to death, I can’t help not feeling that a drug that was given to her to save her life was the actual cause of her death. What was the drug?
Brilinta: A drug given to patients after a heart attack of heart surgery to prevent a heart attack and/or stroke. The drug is supposed to prevent the formation of blood clots.

But as we all know, the most well intentioned and high performing drugs come with possible adverse side effects that can even lead to death. And sadly, my mom fell prey to the most adverse side effect listed on the website for the drug. https://www.brilinta.com/safety-and-side-effects/side-effects.html

My mother died of acute blood loss, which I believe was caused by the Brilinta. Prior to being diagnosed with Brilinta, she had no trouble with major bleeds in the GI track. But since March, almost a month after having heart surgery and being prescribed Brilinta, the episodes of acute blood loss started occurring quite frequently. The doctors would stop the blood thinner (Brilinta), but would warn us that she could have a stroke or a heart attack for not being on the drug. Then once the bleeding was under control, they would put her back on the drug to prevent a fatal cardiac event. But what would happen a month later? She would be bleeding internally all over again.

It was an awful see saw of treatment methods to try to save her life. If she didn’t take the medicine, they were sure she would die. If she did take the medicine, they weren’t sure of much. I say this because they could never track the bleeding. They would just give her blood transfusions until the blood count would increase and then hold steady at a manageable level.

This most recent time, her blood loss was massive. She had lost so much blood, the doctors were shocked she was still alive. The doctors said she was surviving on a fourth of what a normal person has in their body. They told us she needed five pints of blood products transfused in her body to save her life.

But my mom guaranteed her death by refusing to continue with another round of blood transfusions. This time, she said no to any medical interventions to save her life. The doctors still had no clue where she was bleeding from. And my mom was tired and ready to go. So, the doctors respected her wishes and sent the blood products back to wherever they came from. And less than 24-hours later, my mother was dead.

My heart grieves as I write this because I know that Brilinta, the drug that the docs gave her to save her life, was the drug that ended her life. How freaking ironic?

I’m not mad at the manufacturers of the drug though. I’m not mad at the doctors that prescribed the medicine. I’m not even mad at my mom for refusing the blood transfusions.

I’m just mad. Not sure at what or who though…

I’m for sure mad that my mother is gone.

I wish there was no need for Brilinta. I wish that my mom never needed a blood transfusion. I just wish that my mom was healthy, well, and right here with me.

With all of that being said, I do plan to report to the FDA that I believe that my mom died because of the adverse effect of Brilinta. I think it is important for the FDA to keep a documented count of the patients that did not respond well to this drug.

Here’s the FDA website that I’m using to make the report.
http://www.fda.gov/Safety/MedWatch/HowToReport/ucm337471.htm

Always on my Mind

So, I’m running to the computer to stop myself from crying.

It appears that I get some kind of solace from writing about my grief and sorrow. I don’t know. Well, until I figure it out, I’ll be using this 2015 version of the pen and pad to help me cope.

I don’t know why Mama just crossed my mind all of the sudden. Heck… What am I talking about? She’s constantly on my mind. I don’t know how to get her off of it.

The truth is that it feels sort of like a betrayal to try to push her out of my head. How dare I try to not think of her?

I wonder how long will I feel like this? Will I ever get to a place when I can wash dishes, lie in my lover’s bed, enjoy a great dinner, listen to an emotionally driven gospel song, or fall asleep without thinking of Mama?

Do I even want to get to a place where I don’t think of her all the time? I’m not sure. I think so. But again, how can I let my thoughts of her escape me without feeling bad for leaving her behind?

I wish I knew I would have had all of these thoughts and feelings upon her death before she died. I would’ve certainly handled my time with her differently.

Oh, well… It is what it is. I can’t recapture the past and make it into something new or different. The only think I can do is remember it for what it was. And one thing I am glad of is that my memories of Mama are for the most part fond. The only memories that bring me pain are the ones that contain my and her physical health problems.

Good night, world. I’m going to read a new book. Interestingly enough, the book is called Memory Man. Isn’t it a bit ironic that I am now thinking about my memory right before I picked up this new book?

Mom's Funeral-Daddy's Birthday Party

I’m been feeling a lil’ better the last couple days. I got a good cry out of my system Sunday night. That cry should last me for the rest of the week. 

I haven’t been back in Mama’s room to do any additional cleaning and packing. I suspect that I’ll do a little over the weekend. Hopefully, I won’t get and be emotional.

On another note… I’ve decided to give my dad a 70th birthday party in December. It kind of sort of feels like a betrayal to be planning a celebration of life for one parent while mourning the death of another parent. But it is what it is. I cannot neglect to honor my dad’s birthday, just because my mom won’t have another one to celebrate.

Actually, I think that planning Daddy’s birthday party will prove to be therapeutic and healing for my soul. It’s giving me something to think about other than Mama. And it’s also allowing me to focus on what’s positive rather than the negative.

I’ve learned in this whole process that we should for sure give someone their flowers on this side of life rather than the other side. So, on December 12th, we will shower Daddy with all the flowers his allergies will allow. 

Oh, one more thing… I think that keeping this journal is helping me. I haven’t told anyone about it. I’m simply writing for me and not an audience. Getting my feelings out of my head and heart has proven to be just what the doctor ordered. I’m not sure if I’ll ever tell anyone about this place. If they stumble on it, I’ll be okay. However, I’m not ready to announce this location.

I’ll check in soon.

AB

One Death of Two Mothers

When my mother had her first stroke thirteen years ago, so much of her personality traits, critical understanding, and innate gifts were forever buried by the brain damage caused by the stroke. When she first came home from the hospital, she was simply a shell of a woman. Well, I should say that she was a shell of the woman I knew. Her idiosyncrasies, vigorous laugh, bold wisdom, and basic understanding of the world around her were snatched away by one tiny, microscopic blood clot that got lodged in her brain.

When she got well enough to be discharged from the hospital to home care, I had to sit down with her each day and remind her that she was a teacher, an American, and a musician. The one thing I didn’t have to remind her was that she was a mom. She didn’t know what planet she lived on, but she did know the names of each of her daughters. That’s how incredibly important we, my sisters and I, were to our newly disabled mom.

Although Mama remembered us, she didn’t respond to us in the same way. She would sit in an almost lifeless manner and just say nothing. Her personality seemed as if it was robbed from her by some weird alien being, who snuck to our planet and zapped her soul away.

I pushed, probed, and nudged at her to laugh, to smile, to remember, to even cry. But despite my best efforts, in the first six months post stroke, she just sat there, not mumbling more than a few words a day. She had no requests, no distinct memories, no likes, no dislikes, no regrets, no aspirations, no real self concept.

I honestly feel that my mother… At least, a great portion of my mother died August 2, 2002 when she had the stroke. I grieved for six months over the death of the woman I knew as mom. I would cry, ache, and wish that I could just have one conversation with her. I wanted to hear her sing, laugh, tell a story, teach a lesson, or even fuss at me.

I didn’t understand how or why I was grieving for her so intensely, yet she was sitting in my living room for most of the day. How was I grieving a woman that was still alive? And even though I didn’t understand it then, I was indeed experiencing real grief. Mama had not died per say. She had absolutely changed so drastically, her new persona was not recognizable.

After my grief began to lift after about six months, I had to learn to love the new woman that had emerged during the year of physical, occupational, and speech therapy. This new woman was temperamental, impatient, sorrowful, depressed, and less amused than mom pre-stroke. But I decided to love her yet and still. I knew that underneath the splash of blood in her brain that had drowned a large portion of her intrinsic traits, the woman I would always know as “mother” was there. She was just hidden.

So, I ended up loving two women: Mom pre-stroke and Mom post-stroke. And I must say it was an honor to love and be loved by both.

I suspect that now I’m grieving two women. Perhaps that’s why I’m hurting so badly. In my psyche, I have memories of two women I called mother. And now, both of those women… Both of those mothers… Both of those loving figures are gone.

I need much prayer and support as I adjust to this new normal.

Progress in the Room

This past week has been tremendously hard for me. I did make some progress though. I was able to get started on Mama’s room. And I only broke down three times, but on separate days.

You know… It’s funny. When I have these breakdowns in her room, it’s when I touch something that seems to lack in sentimental value.

When I touched her adult diapers, a rush of tears overtook me. When I picked up her medicine strip off the dresser, I was assaulted by grief. And when I picked up a package of CrystalLight, I broke down all over again.

Three little packages of CrystalLight were the last gifts someone gave to Mama. I was shook that she never got a chance to enjoy them at home.

I was very glad that I got a chance to get most of her clothes out of the closet. I gathered up her more dressy items and sent them to my aunt, who is around my mom’s size. I figured she would like the dresses to wear to church.

The things I didn’t think were worth keeping, I gave to Goodwill. Sounds crappy, right? Why give something to Goodwill if I don’t want it? Well, I guess because I didn’t want it. I figure what’s my supposed “trash” will be someone’s treasure.

I’m not sure what I’ll do with Mama’s furniture. I’m keeping the television for myself. I’ll see if one of my sisters would like to assume the payments for the bedroom set. The company that provided my mom the hospital bed and wheelchair will be out this week to pick up their items. And I plan on giving the other durable medical equipment to Goodwill. The other items, such as her collectable items, will be split amongst us daughters.

I miss Mama so much. I sat upstairs and cried tonight for about fifteen minutes. I couldn’t get myself together. Again, I miss her. I wish so badly I could put this thing in reverse. No daughter should have to live without her mother.

I wish Mama wasn’t so ready to get out of here. I wish she had just let us give her the blood transfusion. I wish she was downstairs in her room, watching her television on the highest volume setting the device would allow.

But there’s nothing I can do. She’s gone. Her room is filled with things, yet it is so empty.

So, I will continue to clean up her things, sort through the artifacts, and issue them out according to my sisters’ reasonable requests.

Pray for me. I’m heart broken.

Not as Prepared as I thought

Three weeks after the death of my mother, I went inside her room for the first time. I pushed open the door, stepped over the threshold, and wept for the first time since the day before my mother’s funeral.

I leaned my head against the wall and mumbled, “Mama, why did you leave me?” When I heard the words fall from my mouth, I was startled by the pain and desperation in them. What did I mean by that question? Did I wish she was still here? Or did I wish that she took me with her?

You know… My mom has been sick for thirteen years. She had heart failure, hypertension, diabetes, end stage renal failure, permanent damage and complications behind two strokes, and end stage renal failure. I knew this day would come. I really did. I prepared myself for it each day of the thirteen years I was taking care of her. Or maybe I should say that I tried to prepare myself for it. But the truth is that there is no real preparation for the “real” departure of a great parent.

I stood in Mama’s room for about five minutes, trying to muster up the courage to take one more step. I couldn’t do it. I turned around, closed the door behind me, and prayed that I would have the strength another day.

I’m hoping that today will be that day. I will say a prayer, take a deep breath, and enter my mom’s room once again. This time, I hope that I’m able to walk in with the boldness and courage that I saw my mother function in for at least the 41 years I’ve been alive.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Am I Still a Daughter?

As I read all the National Daughter's Day posts on Facebook, I was forced to pause and reflect for a second. I felt weird, being that I have no daughters of my own, yet I love three little girls (my nieces) immensely.

I also felt weird that I have spent 41 years of my life being a committed daughter to my mom, who is now gone from my physical presence forever as of September 2nd.

Does her physical absence somehow make me less of a daughter because I don't have a mom anymore?

Strangely enough, I do feel like I’m not fully a daughter anymore. I feel that I lost a piece of my daughter status when she slipped away from my grasp the early morning of September 2nd. I feel that as a daughter… A good daughter… I should’ve been able to do more to save her from leaving forever. I should’ve been able to do something to help her live without the physical burden of chronic illness and disability. In a way, I feel that my daughter powers failed my mom. And so, she left me, without me being able to do a damn thing about it.

It makes me sad to feel this way. But I get better every single day.

When Mama left me, I embraced the guilt of her pain, sickness, and even death. I punished myself for not making her life better. All of my friends and family told me to not beat myself up. They reminded me of how much I’ve sacrificed for my mother. But even though I knew all that they were saying was indeed the truth, I still felt like I should’ve done more.

Today, I don’t feel as guilty. But even in my dissipating guilt, I don’t feel that I’m as much as a daughter as I was prior to September 2nd.

I don’t feel motherless or orphaned. I just don’t feel like a fully functioning daughter anymore.

It’s strange. I guess this is just grief in all of its vivid, less than delightful colors.

My Undeniable Grief

One of my sisters accused me of not grieving over the death of my mother like she thought I should. I told her that I’m not the type to put my personal grief on display on a public stage for everyone to see or approve of. It’s my grief and it belongs to me. I’m not interested in getting others to validate my grief.

And the truth is that I certainly have no motivation to convince her, of all people, that I’m truly grief stricken about my mother’s final departure. All of my sisters should realize what a loss I’ve experienced in the death of my mother. For the last thirteen years, I put my life on hold to give my mother life. And the other day, all the life I have given her wasn’t enough. She slipped from my grip and life departed from her as she rested quietly in a hospital room on the 25th floor.

Knowing the professional challenges that I already had because of my disability, I chose to quit my job and care for my mother, who required 24-hours of care and supervision. I put my personal and professional dreams and aspirations on an indefinite layaway plan for thirteen years to be a full-time caregiver to my mother. And now that mom is gone, I do indeed have more free time. But now, I simply don’t know what to do with myself.

From 27 to 41, my life was on loan to the most important woman in my world. I now feel like a lost library book, looking for a shelf to rest on or someone to pick up and read to gain knowledge. Not only am I sad about Mama’s death, I feel void of direction.

I’m 41, with a significant disability (total blindness), no kids, no husband or significant other, no full-time job, no significant ownership in any property, and no Mama to take care of. I’m not only grieving for Mama, I’m grieving over what has been lost when she left me: my primary purpose for the last thirteen years.

But with all that being said, I’m still mostly sad for the loss of my mother’s life. I miss her and think incessantly about her. I wish so badly I could call her, touch her arm, hear her laugh, fix her some ice water, iron her clothes, give her a piece of candy, play a gospel song for her to enjoy, tell her a story about my college students, or give her a kiss on the cheek.

I’m I grieving the death of my mama? You damn straight I am.

I find myself grieving quietly and privately throughout the day while loading clothes in the washer, while washing dishes, while teaching my classes, and even while sitting on the sofa doing absolutely nothing.

Yesterday, I was chewing a piece of gum and enjoying the savory taste of the sugars in the gum. And without any warning, grief struck me in the belly. I was reminded how my mother was begging for water, ice chips, and a wet towel to put in her mouth as she was dying. She said her mouth was so so very dry. When the nurses weren’t looking, we put tiny drops of ice on her tongue to allow her some comfort in her dying moments.

When that thought entered my mind, I pulled that piece of gum out of my mouth, let down the passenger window of my sister’s car, and tossed the chewed up piece of gum out the window on to the freeway. My sister was like, “What’s wrong with you?” Before I knew it, I was blasting her and telling her how and why I was so offended when she accused me of not grieving. I told her that my grief pops up all the time and rather unexpectantly. And no one… And I mean no one has the right to tell me I’m not grieving the loss of my mother.

In the next few weeks, months, and perhaps years to come, I will continue to have memories of Mama that will haunt me rather than provide me comfort. My only prayer is that my grief is replaced with thanksgiving and joy as I heal and recover from the second greatest challenge of my life: the loss of my mom.

(I’ll give you one guess of what is the greatest challenge of my life.)