Dear Mom...

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

The last time I journaled I couldn’t have guessed there to be only 2 more days left of my Mom’s life. Her precious life. She took her last breathe at 11:50am yesterday, May 12^th. I don’t want to go to bed because I’m afraid to distance the memory of her. I want to be able to always say, “I lost my Mom yesterday,” “I got to see my Mom one last time yesterday,” “I was able to hold her hand yesterday,” “kiss her forehead yesterday.”

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

I couldn’t finish yesterday’s journal because my emotions crept up as I was thinking of those last moments with my Mom. I’ve been laying in her bed off and on, taking in her scent before it leaves the room, staring out the window as she did for a year and a half, listening to the birds chirping outside, listening to the muffled conversation and activity going on downstairs, trying to feel her presence and her spirit. I miss her so much and my heart is in so much pain when I think of my short visit with her ten days ago for her 55^th birthday. Last week when I came home I made it a point to lay in bed with her for 10 hours straight, only getting up to go to the bathroom and get something little to eat. I laid and held her hand, stroked her hair as she always did for me growing up, and kissed her – giving her zurburts on her cheek – every so often.

I just woke up from a nap in her bed and am now sitting outside admiring the backyard my sister and I grew up in, sitting at the patio table where we shared so many summer dinners, memories, BBQ’s, parties, and laughter. Everywhere I look there is something sentimental: a picture, something she last touched, a special gift Molly or I had given her, sympathy and get well cards, a Happy Birthday balloon still floating from last week, my Mother’s Day card that arrived an hour after she passed, and all of her gizmos and gadgets that she just HAD to have from TJMaxx.

I’m numb. It doesn’t feel real. Dad came in to town yesterday. What a joy to see him, hug him, cry with him, let him cry with us, and have his support with memorial service planning. Though he never saw her in her sick state, it is evident that he gets it and he understands. He loved her and he loves us. A lot of memories and a lot of fun times.

I’m still in shock and don’t think it will hit me until after it’s all over and we are back in Spokane. There is a small part of me that wants to leave, wants to run away from it all TODAY. There is another small part of me that doesn’t want to ever leave FW, because it would symbolize “moving on” and “forgetting.” There is another part of me that wants to pretend she is still living, still sick, and still upstairs in her bed, where I always knew I could find her the last year and a half. I could count on her joy in seeing me – the many times I chose to come home and surprise her!!!

My head is spinning and my body is constantly aching. My joints hurt and it is too painful to attempt anything strenuous. Two days ago my body was in full shock, from head to toe shaking, chills, headache, the works. I’m grateful for the Lord’s timing. I could have been alone, I could have been driving, but I had just gotten to program. Was getting up to go to the bathroom one last time before lunch when my phone rang. It was on silent, so what cued me in on looking down at my phone to see Aunt Becky calling? My heart lurched and I swallowed hard. Possibly a 24-hour notice call? Possibly a malfunction in draining my Mom’s stomach? But I never in a million years would have guessed I would hear my Aunt, amidst her own tears, say, “Your Mom just passed away.”

I almost dropped the phone but tried to get off as quickly as possible. I wanted to drop down to the ground then and there – in the hallway. My vision blurred and the only thing I could take in was Krista walking down the hallway. The next hour is hazy. I cried. I gasped for air. I felt a weighted pit in my stomach. My mind raced. My mind blanked. I shook violently. My teeth chattered. I wanted so desperately to be in the arms of my Mom at that moment. I needed her touch. I felt so alone but thankfully wasn’t alone. I was safe in the arms of Krista and Monique. That pain is still so raw. I can empathize with that hour, still feeling those strong emotions every so often.

Craig and I caught a flight out and made it home. It didn’t feel right the moment I stepped through the front door. My Mom was there, but she wasn’t there. Her body was upstairs waiting for my goodbye. That is a sight I will never forget. I knelt by her bedside and held her hands and stroked her hair as I had gotten to do just the week before. I kissed her forehead every so often and whispered in her ear that I loved her, letting her know that I would be okay. I sat there for an hour, wailing, mourning, praying, and being. The family gathered around her bed and we took communion and prayed for her. It was then that the funeral home arrived to take her away. As I watched the process I just kept telling myself, "that's not her. she isn't in that body anymore." But how hard it was to watch two strangers take away the only mother I've ever had - only to never get to see her again, laugh with her, joke with her, and lay in bed with her.

Bye, Mom. 

Your love is always and forever in my heart and I too "love you with all my heart and always will" (her last words to me). Your tenderness and selfless character will never be forgotten. 

Don’t worry about us. Dad is still our Dad and you have been divided up amongst your 5 brothers and sisters who have done a great job at reflecting your spirit to Molly and me. Watch us from above and smile that beautiful smile.