The morning my mom passed, the sky was incredible - vivid oranges and yellows mixed with blues and pinks, it was stunning and like nothing any of us had seen before. Belle took video as McHeaty drove from the airport; we were collectively holding our breath and hoping to make it in time for them to see her. Sadly it wasn't meant to be and we got the news from Kitty while we were driving. They say people in palliative care often pass when they know loved ones who wouldn't cope well aren't there. My oldest sister told her kids not to visit the morning she died because they were taking her somewhere else. I wasn't in the room when my dad or my father-in-law died despite spending many days and nights in the hospital. The last weekend of her life, I was by my mom's bedside until I left to pick my kids up from the airport. Even though my Mom was heavily sedated, she knew they were on the way and briefly smiled when I told her. I believe knowing they were coming gave her tremendous peace. For years she'd worried about me and Kitty carrying the weight of her passing without tangible support as my two oldest kids live across the country and she'd given up hoping on her other daughter and grandchildren who live relatively local.
She wasn't wrong, despite me using definitive language that this was the end and they had to make that clear to everyone. Words like removing all life support intervention, do not resuscitate order, no food or water, just keeping her comfortable with morphine and diazepam. Organs shutting down.
As difficult as they were to say, the burden was on me to put my hurt aside, not allow it to taint their last chance to say goodbye if they chose to. To be that selfish...no, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. One nephew, who did have plans to come see her five days after she had a massive heart attack, expressed shock to McHeaty when she actually died because, "She's been so close and always pulled through before."
Guess what? You guys didn't do anything any of those times either. You had years. None of you called her, thrilled her with a visit, or sent a holiday card or Mother's Day flowers. Nobody brought your children to meet her, nobody RSVP'd to the 70th birthday party I threw - the only party she ever had - and aside from my cousins, nobody ever showed up when she was ill, followed up when she was recovering, or when she was living her quiet life asking nothing of anybody. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me that her dying was a minor blip in your lives.
Neither my sister or her adult kids helped me at all as my mom aged and her health worsened, requiring several surgeries. My texts went unanswered and as the years went on I stopped wondering or caring why we were ghosted. As she slid into dementia, it was me alone who had to make decisions, try to comfort and reassure her, visit more hospitals than anyone should have to, scared and alone. More than once I was asked if I'm in healthcare because I have a good understanding of the patient's care requirements and communicated like it was my job. How ironic that one of her daughters actually does work in healthcare and it isn't me. When she went into the hospital for the last time before being transferred to long term care, a nurse told me she had no idea how I'd managed to keep her home as long as I had. Kitty supported me emotionally and I treasure the times our three generations giggled together over life, men, kids, and families, assisted by some fine wine. (It may have been boxed wine, but the focus is memories, okay?) I don't think Belle ever had any intention of returning to Ontario, which makes me sad, but she stayed in touch with her Oms on Facebook and phone. McHeaty always made a point of seeing her when he came home for visits. Several Christmases ago, he had long face-to-face talks with his cousins but nothing came of it. My cousins, however, faithfully showed up every time to offer support and I can't ever repay them. I'm finally getting back to the person who has the ability to reciprocate and hope they can forgive me for disappearing in my grief.
The last two years have been a recovery, not just through grief, but also from the toll the last couple of years of her life had taken on me. The responsibility of caring for this woman I adored, who really was my best friend, and ensuring her dignity was safe in her final years rested solely with me. I wouldn't have it any other way because while it was hard, I wanted to make sure she had the best possible, but it would have made a world of difference to share the emotional pain with people who knew her entire journey. The day she died, my son rubbed my back and said, "You did good." The recognition almost broke me.
Caring for an aging parent is hard at any time. For me, my own disability and financial struggle made it that much harder. She could no longer shop or do household chores. Getting dressed required help and planning. Doctor's appointments were day long affairs. She constantly apologized for being slow, weak, or troublesome. It is incredibly hard for an independent free spirit to need to ask for help. Knowing this, the only thing to do was be positive and reassure her, even as my heart broke. Once she could no longer bathe herself, I got a PSW to come in three times a week, but she was uncomfortable with a stranger doing these intimate tasks and so I protected her privacy the only way I could. Money was never anything I wanted from my sibling, niece or nephews, but the truth is each of them was in a far better position than me to at least visit with her and I never let money stop me from being there to support them in crisis. There's a nasty little kernel deep inside me that I'm not proud of, but it hopes each time they pass my town on the highway, as they pass that hospital, they remember a summer night that was filled with shock and horror, who was there for them, and they feel a twinge of guilt at their epic failure to pay that kindness back. Having lost both parents and my oldest sister not so long ago, and determined to rise, that first Christmas after my mother's death I sent cards but they were never acknowledged.
My conscience is clear. I've already cried plenty of tears over being abandoned and denied the emotional support I gave so freely over the years. To this day, I have not received a phone call or condolence card from three adults I helped raise or the sister I adored and looked up to. Worst of all, I have no explanation of why. There are times in life when petty differences should be put aside. Even the wasband, who had suffered a tremendous loss when his sister died two days prior, lent my kids the exorbiant last-minute plane fare to come say goodbye to their beloved grandmother. They wouldn't have been able to support his ex-wife without that help and while I know he did it for the kids, there's a part of me that believes that despite our differences, he remembers how I supported him, his brother and sisters when my ex father-in-law died and that I was the one holding and comforting the widow in the limo bus, not because it's some feat, but because the rest of the family was wrecked and there are times that call for going above feelings or past beef. Nearly twenty years ago, my mom and I took a day away from our camping trip to attend my sister's ex mother-in-law's funeral and pay our respects - my nephews and niece had lost their grandmother and although they were divorced, the brother-in-law I'd known since I was fourteen had lost his mother. Doing what we did deserves no accolades. It's common decency. My actions have to sit well with my soul.
Years after his paternal grandmother died and more than a decade before his maternal grandmother would, my nephew and I spoke of what a trigger the scent of my mom's signature perfume would be for the rest of his life. I told him when it happened, he should try to think of it as a sign from wherever we go and let it remind him of her and the love they shared. The week she died, I bought eight little glass bottles with cork tops from the dollar store, sprayed cotton balls with her distinctive perfume and stuffed them inside. The intention was to give one each to my sister, niece and nephews, along with my own kids and grandson. A cheap but meaningful memento of the woman who wore a scent that's forever entwined in all of our memories of her. Four of them are still in a baggie on my counter. Sad reminders that loving people leaves you exposed in ways you never imagined.
There is no way anyone could have convinced younger me that it would all be on my shoulders: finding a suitable long term care home, getting her affairs in order, closing up her apartment, moving her belongings into storage and then disposing of them. Visiting every chance I got, constantly searching for little things I could afford to brighten her life just a little. Just as it was me who fought for six cousins to grow up a close-knit family, it was me who made sure they were all included in the memory prompts for her room. I framed photos of her with all her grandchildren, and of them with the great grandchildren nobody bothered to introduce her to. I made scrapbooks with pages dedicated to her and each of her descendants over the years. For my last birthday that she was alive, I brought her chocolates, balloons and a bouquet of flowers, but she didn't remember the significance of the day or gesture. Towards the end, she believed all the treats that were dropped off came from the nice nurses. Correcting her would only make her feel bad and all that mattered was that she was happy. Rushing to the hospital after every fall or heart-related incident, hoping she was being treated with empathy and praying she hadn't broken anything, that this wasn't it because I wasn't ready - all would have been easier to bear shared with a sibling who also cared. Sitting in my car, I wept like a child on the days she asked me if she was still in BC and her great relief that she wasn't, when it dawned on me that she thought of me as the PSW she trusted, the realization of how well she'd had me fooled for so long, the daily questioning of where all the other cats were, or yet again talking about a car accident she never had as the reason she required help...and the worst, the first time she didn't recognize me at all. I needed my big sister especially badly on those days.
The day my mother died, I didn't cry. In the past I'd said if certain people didn't make an effort, I would cut them out of her funeral and my son always played devil's advocate, arguing for choosing kindness. As my kids and I sat in the funeral home, raw, dealing with the business of death, I took the high road and included my sister, niece, nephews, their spouses and families in the obituary. My son looked at me with an approving glance and I mouthed, "For you." That's one of his mom's actions he'll never need to defend. When scrolling through photos to accompany it on the home's website we were all silent until Forget-Me-Nots appeared and Belle shouted: "THOSE!" My mom used to teach her how to paint them when she was little and they are a family favourite. It sparked loving anecdotes about the woman we will remember with love for the rest of our lives and it helped ease the burden of the terrible work families have to do when someone they love dies. I took a lock of hair from myself, my kids and grandson, and wrapped it in a note that has "Bloom Where You're Planted" on it. Another of her favourite sayings and she lived her life adhering to the concept. On the note, I wrote: "Each of us are here because of you and you'll be a part of us forever. Now a part of us will be with you forever. We'll keep trying to bloom in your memory until we meet again. Thank you for it all. We love you." I gave it to the staff and asked for it to be put in her hand before cremation.
I also asked them if I could keep the pen after signing the contract. For what they charged, the least they could do is throw in a pen, yanno? My kids looked aghast. My mother would have loved it.
I didn't cry the day my Mom died. I made her family favourite chicken and rice soup, for my family, because she loved to care for us with food and kind gestures. That dinner was filled with endless stories and recollections about the beautiful woman we loved, nourishing our souls.
So, no, it's no longer about who's court a ball is in. I'm done lobbing. Healing would have to start with an invitation and a heartfelt request to listen. Who knows if I'd still even be willing and I highly doubt that it will ever be a question that needs to be answered. We couldn't have a funeral due to pandemic protocols. I've put off scattering her ashes or planning a celebration of life. As much as everyone dreads funerals and memorials, they serve to help us through the grieving process and take comfort from the people who have empathy for the tremendous pain, shock and vulnerability everyone who suffers a loss experiences. My defacto godmother met us at the funeral home for a private goodbye, and my kids, who loved their Omi fiercely, have the peace of mind knowing they supported their mom and honoured their grandmother with the love and compassion she helped instill in them. I don't know how I would have gotten through those days without the kindness of people whose actions spoke louder than words or deafening silence. That it took three days and me yelling at him on the phone for my nephew and his siblings to tell my sister our mom had died says a lot about their family dynamic, but make no mistake, your collective messages were received by her and me; even when I stupidly expected an effort, she was able to focus on the beauty of life in a way that still inspires me.
My mom loved flowers and colour and the abundance of beauty found in nature; she would say they are to be enjoyed in the moment. We feel she painted that spectacular sky for us that day as a sign of her love for us and to give us comfort. Since then (despite logical scientific explanations of atmospheric weather patterns) each of us now takes special notice of beauty in the sky, sure it's a sign from the woman we love deeply and miss each day, reminding us she's still with us. We send each other text photos, remembering her, the myriad lessons she taught us, that she loved and was loved. That she mattered. Those who have passed live on in the hearts and actions of those they touched.
As Kitty drove to pick me up on my birthday, she saw one such sign, and she cried. Those beams of light shining down are directly over my little town. Happy Birthday message received, Mum!
Darling Kitty, thank you so much for getting Momma the birthday gift requested. You saw how thrilled I was and hope you know exactly how much it means to me that you took the time to make my day special. The wrapping paper was lovely and Mancub's efforts tug at my heartstrings. Once a week nail night is a solid date for us! We dropped McHeaty off at Pearson two hours before his flight. He was through security in fifteen minutes and likely spent his time waiting to board chugging back coffee in the lounge. It was such a good visit, but I'm feeling a little tender (as expected) and my plan was to be gentle with myself (as I've learned to do.) Of course...signs, signs, everywhere a sign:
Who do I talk to about this? Far be it from me to judge the universe but I was
already pretty fond of all my kids. Bella probably wants to have a chat with somebody in charge, too. She is not a fan of the purge/pack activity happening and was confused by the necessity of a 7 am Caturday wake-up call.
Mia tells me she senses my melancholy and that I am in need of her catwork, so our pillows are pouffed as she warms up her vocals. Purring is what peace and comfort sound like. ❤
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