Thoughts

Even if you try not to turn into your mom, no matter how different you are or how much you rebel, there are parts of your mother that stick with you like dog hair.

And now, I embrace that fact because I can no longer embrace her. My mom died unexpectedly 14 days ago. She was sixty-nine. I am still in shock, of course, and can hardly believe I am writing these words. Part of me thinks she might call my cell phone any minute, to ask why I haven’t called her recently.

This post can’t begin to sum up my mother.
I haven’t mentioned her love of Nielsen’s caramel cashew frozen custard or her marathon baking escapades. I’m sure I’ll write more about her in the future.

For now, it helps to know that Dave, Garrett and Madison are reaping some of the priceless gifts she gave me.

I suppose that with any death there are questions. Some are easier to answer than others.
The hardest question I’m facing now is why she was taken with no time for me to say goodbye.
There’s no denying that my mom had her share of health trials. I know many times we were reminded Mom’s diabetes was a glaring reality – it was stressful and emotionally overwhelming.

Intellectually, I know that she departed this life in the way she wanted.
She never valued longevity over quality of life.

Our memories of her are good ones . . . . We’ll remember her hmmm-sniff, or playing Nertz in the kitchen, or sitting around the counter all watching the little tv.

In the last couple of weeks I’ve talked with many people who have lost close family members. Some had a sudden loss like ours. Others nursed a loved one for months, watching them slowly deteriorate.
These people understand the conundrum. They understand the value of getting to say goodbye, but don’t minimize the emotional toll of watching a parent suffer and die. They understand that labeling this particular manner of death “a blessing” is too easy.

You can’t have everything. I was spared the sight of watching her in pain.
In exchange, I have no choice but to hope that she knew what was in our hearts.
That she was a great mother.
That she taught us well.
That we’ll try to never forget to say I love you.
That we’ll travel and hang out with friends and family while we’re able to enjoy them.

The question of why she was taken so abruptly is one without an answer. As with anything, I suppose you must take what life gives you, and look for the good in your situation. So I choose to be thankful for the circumstances surrounding her death, and I have faith that the things that were left unsaid didn’t really need saying at all.