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.)
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