then the rains came

My mother is at rest now. In her heart and soul. No more confusion or fear. No more days lost between her and the beloved husband who shared a lifetime. For this I am grateful. Yesterday, we interred her, alongside my father and a Chinese maple whose leaves shine red in the summer sun. Behind a gray piece of stone that bears the name but doesn't even begin to tell the story. These last few months have tore at the deepest part of me, in so many ways, and now I have no choice but to stand up and move forward. The sludge will give way eventually and Life will band-aid, then renew and heal itself. It always does.

Mom was a giver, cackle-laugher, great cook, a heart on her sleeve type of gal. She worried, loved carbs, worked hard and her kids were her life- completely. She had the most loving touch and deepest hug I have ever had the fortune to receive and she believed in me when I wasn't able to. She liked elephants and humming birds. She buried her only son but somehow managed to keep one foot in front of the other and the light within. She cared deeply about the homeless. There was never a sullen face she would lock eyes with on a street corner when she did not give him a bill or two. She believed in second chances, her God, the power of love and she was my mentor. I will never be as protected as I was within her prayer. I have written about her before and the times we shared, so now I will tell you the part of the story that was her finish. Or let's just say...the goodbye to her next hello.

The vicious hand of dementia had really worn my mom down these last three months. We were medically advised not to share the news of my father's March passing with her. The one time I followed someone’s head and not my own heart. To be totally honest with you, because this entry would be lacking if I didn't share this but...I do believe it will go down as my deepest regret and something I will spend my lifetime questioning. It was surely not for cruelty's sake that I wanted to tell her but as a hospice professional once shared with me- there is dignity in truth, truth within dignity...always.

Despite the twisted warp of this disease, I think my honesty regarding this matter would have given her answers. Reassuring answers to some possibly odd scenarios I was afraid that might have been brewing in her sick mind. Silly imaginings to us, I know. But not for a person whose brain is ravaged by plaque. I pray wholeheartedly that this pounding ache within me will lessen as I continue the grieving process and that I will learn to live with the choice I made and trust in the love and Fugi Mountain understanding of my mother that it is all okay. Perhaps somehow she saw behind my eyes and knew this secret..the only one I have ever kept from her. I must say the prayer regarding this will undoubtedly be my deepest dig yet and I hope I can forgive myself. This may seem a Debbie Downer of an entry but I guess what I am trying to share from my heart to yours is...always do it your way, even when you are out of your element...feeling frightened, overwhelmed..confused. Move in steps of confidence, because no one..NO ONE...knows the love you share and the mechanics of it. Trust your heart. Always. I know I will.

I feel it incumbent upon me to spend the rest of this page praising a most remarkable place we have here within our community. It is a temple of a hospice, quite frankly...the Circle of Life. My sister and I were fortunate to bring my mom here to complete her journey after a long struggle in nursing homes that just weren't able to really do the job. From the moment we entered, I can not remember when I was ever treated so kindly...so compassionately. Death and its process are not to be feared here. Within these walls there is solace, for the dying and for the living. Comfort and beneficence surround you. It feels like home. I remember one evening there was song and celebration from musician volunteers. I gripped the back of the sofa to keep from crying as I listened to some inspiring gospel music (something my mom loved) and I prayed wholeheartedly that the waft of its goodness would fill her ears, accompanying her on her way to the mystical beyond.

Within minutes of our arrival there, we were told by a lovely nurse that we could now go from advocate to daughter. Just the place where my sister and I needed to be. And it was there we stayed for eleven days. Some were long and stormy. Many were spent by the fireplace where our tummies were filled with hot, homemade soup and cookies...always a kind greeting from passersby. Each smile, each soft hello was something I grew to hold onto...collect...and used to infuse me when I wanted to scream out from my core. A few were spent in the quiet of an Adirondack, looking out over the water, surrounded by the most beautiful garden whose stones and benches bore the names of loved ones who had transitioned there. The butterfly, their mascot, are peppered throughout the grounds. The metamorphosis of this ethereal creature..a beautiful symbol of rebirth, the fragility of life and the amazing color of it all! I know from now on, each time I see an iridescent wing, I will think of her.

I love you, Mom. My deepest wish is one where I get the honor of walking the path beside you again, in some way or fashion. Learning and growing from your amazing example. Fly, fly, sweet lady. See you in the next tomorrow.