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.
Monday, September 28, 2015
Sunday, September 27, 2015
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.
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.)
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.)
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