Grief a Year Later...Losing My Mother
As the first anniversary of my mother's death approaches, I am left wondering why I am not feeling better. Not sure what I expected, but I just thought that “time” would really heal all wounds...like people were telling me. And here I am a year later, feeling, well, almost worse.
I know I am fortunate. I am blessed with 4 wonderful kids and an incredible husband. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention my loving yet still wild dog, Ace. I am lucky enough to have a sibling, my brother, who is a great person...devoting his life to the children he teaches in the inner city. My Dad, while hopelessly lost in grief himself, is loyal to his family and loves his grandchildren more than ever. While I do not have a large family, the Aunts, Uncles and cousins are dear to me as well.
Yet I am lost without my Mom. She is forever gone, and I can't seem to snap out of it.
I always knew the time would come when I would lose a parent. I guess I just never expected it to happen quickly. I always thought my kids would have my Mom in their lives just like I did. I should have known it could happen unexpectedly. I watched both my parents lose their parents. It was difficult but they seemed to move on with life rather quickly. But my parents weren't close with their parents. Not the way I was with my Mom.
My mother always made sure to tell me how much she loved me so I would always know. She said it was because her parents never told her they loved her. She wanted me to know every day that I was loved, without question. And with no doubt in my mind, I always felt loved by my parents, as a child, teenager and adult. To the day she died, I felt love.
My mother was my best friend. A confident. She was my cheerleader and life coach all rolled up into one incredible person. She was an Italian mama through and through. While she didn't grow up speaking Italian in the home, she later learned and often spoke to my kids in Italian. She learned to make homemade gnocchi from my Italian grandfather who made them for her. Her meatballs were the best I've ever tasted. Meatballs so good yet I haven't brought myself to make them since she died.
In her younger years, she was an excellent tennis player and loved the game until Rheumatoid Arthritis stole her bones making them too sore to play. But her gift of as an artist , no illness could ever steal. From my earliest memories, I remember watching her with her oils and canvas. She held art shows and painted pictures of us as kids and also of her grandchildren.
She was the kind of person who was a hard worker all her life. Even in retirement, she volunteered at the church, hospice and library. She raised money for autism walks and attended my son's endless doctors appointments. She support and accepted Tyler the way he was. She supported me in my grief over the diagnosis and the dark days that followed on our road to getting him better. That was who she was...a giving, loving grandmother who never wanted to leave her children or grandchildren.
A few months before she died, as she laid in the hospital bed, I begged her not to die...to please not leave us. I told her how much I loved her and how much I needed her. I told her I could not possibly imagine life without her in it. She said to me, “It might not be that bad.”
I cried, “But Mom, it was terrible for you when Nanny died, and you weren't even close.”
She replied, “Good point.”
But there was nothing else to say or do no matter what I wanted or she wanted. The doctors could do nothing. Praying hadn't worked. No miracle would come for her. After one tiring fight after another, she was accepting death. It was her time.
From the surgery to the chemo to her subsequent stroke, the cancer never relented. The only blessing was that she did not feel great pain as most cancer patients do. In the end, despite having volunteered in hospice myself, there was nothing beautiful or calm about her death. Surrounded by family in her home, my mother drew her last breath with her eyes wide open and teeth clenched. Her soul ripped from our world, and she was gone.
Only the shell of my Mom remained, and at that very moment, the fabric of my world and what I knew of the world forever changed. As I knew it would. I remember leaving the room, because I could not bear to see her body taken. My brother was shocked that my mother had just died on his birthday. Not so good for any of us really but I did feel badly for him. He was never much for celebrating his birthday, but this pretty much sealed the deal. And after the funeral, I awaited for the supposed closure. It didn't come. There was no closure...just emptiness.
Now as the anniversary draws near, I feel like I am approaching a year of emptiness without her. There was nothing good about her death. If I was looking for a “reason” for her suffering and death, there was none. No great revelations have occured.
It might sound bitter but over the past year, I have come to resent the saying, “There is a reason for everything.” Maybe that saying makes other people feel better about loss. Maybe it actually is true sometimes. But it isn't true all the time. One thing I know is that this experience has shaken my faith to its very core. Whatever God has planned for us or if there is a reason for her death, I will not know it while I walk this Earth.
If I learned anything from this experience, I suppose it solidified my position that there are things worse than autism. Yes, autism can be devastating to the child, parents and family. Yes, there is no denying the I felt grief over losing the child I thought my son was. But in the end, my son is here and relatively healthy albeit the autism.
I think I have also learned that sometimes grief does not go away. Sometimes it gets better. Sometimes it gets worse. In talking with my friend who lost her mother 7 years ago, she shared that it does sometimes feel worse. Maybe it feels worse because we miss the person so much and we know they are not coming back. Or in my case, every time something wonderful happens, I want to pick up the phone and call my Mom...but I can't. As I watch my beautiful daughter grow, I want desperately to share these precious moments with my Mom...yet I can't. I want her to see how Tyler has progressed. Want her to see him with friends...a miracle she will never see.
Some may say that my Mom is watching from above or where ever we go when we die. I want to believe. But maybe I am just not ready yet. Right now, she just feels gone.
So what about grief?...a year later? I still grieve the loss of my Mom everyday. Not a day goes by when I don't think of her. The loss is so raw, I still cannot bring myself to go through her things. But maybe someday it will get better...I have to hope. And like the autism I have grudgingly come to accept over the years.. Maybe the sense of loss is just something I will learn to accept as well.
With loss, there is no right or wrong way to feel. We are living and therefore, lucky to be able to feel anything. And at the end of the day, I am so very blessed to have had such an amazing mother who loved me. I am so very fortunate for what I do have...the people in my life who helped me start to put life back together the day after she died. My husband. My children. My dog. My family. My friends. I am so much more appreciative of their gifts.
Yes, a year has come and gone so quickly. So little has changed. So much has changed. But life goes on and so must I. Hopefully in years to come, the grief will ease. Time will heal. The memories and pictures won't hurt so much to look at...to share with my kids.
Hopefully, I can be as good of a mother to my children as she was to me. I need to gather my strength and dig out her recipes. Yes, it is time to teach my kids how to make homemade gnocchi and meatballs. A small step, but one I know she would want me to take....for me, for my kids and for her. Buon appetito!
Lo amo e mi manchi mamma.
I know I am fortunate. I am blessed with 4 wonderful kids and an incredible husband. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention my loving yet still wild dog, Ace. I am lucky enough to have a sibling, my brother, who is a great person...devoting his life to the children he teaches in the inner city. My Dad, while hopelessly lost in grief himself, is loyal to his family and loves his grandchildren more than ever. While I do not have a large family, the Aunts, Uncles and cousins are dear to me as well.
Yet I am lost without my Mom. She is forever gone, and I can't seem to snap out of it.
I always knew the time would come when I would lose a parent. I guess I just never expected it to happen quickly. I always thought my kids would have my Mom in their lives just like I did. I should have known it could happen unexpectedly. I watched both my parents lose their parents. It was difficult but they seemed to move on with life rather quickly. But my parents weren't close with their parents. Not the way I was with my Mom.
My mother always made sure to tell me how much she loved me so I would always know. She said it was because her parents never told her they loved her. She wanted me to know every day that I was loved, without question. And with no doubt in my mind, I always felt loved by my parents, as a child, teenager and adult. To the day she died, I felt love.
My mother was my best friend. A confident. She was my cheerleader and life coach all rolled up into one incredible person. She was an Italian mama through and through. While she didn't grow up speaking Italian in the home, she later learned and often spoke to my kids in Italian. She learned to make homemade gnocchi from my Italian grandfather who made them for her. Her meatballs were the best I've ever tasted. Meatballs so good yet I haven't brought myself to make them since she died.
In her younger years, she was an excellent tennis player and loved the game until Rheumatoid Arthritis stole her bones making them too sore to play. But her gift of as an artist , no illness could ever steal. From my earliest memories, I remember watching her with her oils and canvas. She held art shows and painted pictures of us as kids and also of her grandchildren.
She was the kind of person who was a hard worker all her life. Even in retirement, she volunteered at the church, hospice and library. She raised money for autism walks and attended my son's endless doctors appointments. She support and accepted Tyler the way he was. She supported me in my grief over the diagnosis and the dark days that followed on our road to getting him better. That was who she was...a giving, loving grandmother who never wanted to leave her children or grandchildren.
A few months before she died, as she laid in the hospital bed, I begged her not to die...to please not leave us. I told her how much I loved her and how much I needed her. I told her I could not possibly imagine life without her in it. She said to me, “It might not be that bad.”
I cried, “But Mom, it was terrible for you when Nanny died, and you weren't even close.”
She replied, “Good point.”
But there was nothing else to say or do no matter what I wanted or she wanted. The doctors could do nothing. Praying hadn't worked. No miracle would come for her. After one tiring fight after another, she was accepting death. It was her time.
From the surgery to the chemo to her subsequent stroke, the cancer never relented. The only blessing was that she did not feel great pain as most cancer patients do. In the end, despite having volunteered in hospice myself, there was nothing beautiful or calm about her death. Surrounded by family in her home, my mother drew her last breath with her eyes wide open and teeth clenched. Her soul ripped from our world, and she was gone.
Only the shell of my Mom remained, and at that very moment, the fabric of my world and what I knew of the world forever changed. As I knew it would. I remember leaving the room, because I could not bear to see her body taken. My brother was shocked that my mother had just died on his birthday. Not so good for any of us really but I did feel badly for him. He was never much for celebrating his birthday, but this pretty much sealed the deal. And after the funeral, I awaited for the supposed closure. It didn't come. There was no closure...just emptiness.
Now as the anniversary draws near, I feel like I am approaching a year of emptiness without her. There was nothing good about her death. If I was looking for a “reason” for her suffering and death, there was none. No great revelations have occured.
It might sound bitter but over the past year, I have come to resent the saying, “There is a reason for everything.” Maybe that saying makes other people feel better about loss. Maybe it actually is true sometimes. But it isn't true all the time. One thing I know is that this experience has shaken my faith to its very core. Whatever God has planned for us or if there is a reason for her death, I will not know it while I walk this Earth.
If I learned anything from this experience, I suppose it solidified my position that there are things worse than autism. Yes, autism can be devastating to the child, parents and family. Yes, there is no denying the I felt grief over losing the child I thought my son was. But in the end, my son is here and relatively healthy albeit the autism.
I think I have also learned that sometimes grief does not go away. Sometimes it gets better. Sometimes it gets worse. In talking with my friend who lost her mother 7 years ago, she shared that it does sometimes feel worse. Maybe it feels worse because we miss the person so much and we know they are not coming back. Or in my case, every time something wonderful happens, I want to pick up the phone and call my Mom...but I can't. As I watch my beautiful daughter grow, I want desperately to share these precious moments with my Mom...yet I can't. I want her to see how Tyler has progressed. Want her to see him with friends...a miracle she will never see.
Some may say that my Mom is watching from above or where ever we go when we die. I want to believe. But maybe I am just not ready yet. Right now, she just feels gone.
So what about grief?...a year later? I still grieve the loss of my Mom everyday. Not a day goes by when I don't think of her. The loss is so raw, I still cannot bring myself to go through her things. But maybe someday it will get better...I have to hope. And like the autism I have grudgingly come to accept over the years.. Maybe the sense of loss is just something I will learn to accept as well.
With loss, there is no right or wrong way to feel. We are living and therefore, lucky to be able to feel anything. And at the end of the day, I am so very blessed to have had such an amazing mother who loved me. I am so very fortunate for what I do have...the people in my life who helped me start to put life back together the day after she died. My husband. My children. My dog. My family. My friends. I am so much more appreciative of their gifts.
Yes, a year has come and gone so quickly. So little has changed. So much has changed. But life goes on and so must I. Hopefully in years to come, the grief will ease. Time will heal. The memories and pictures won't hurt so much to look at...to share with my kids.
Hopefully, I can be as good of a mother to my children as she was to me. I need to gather my strength and dig out her recipes. Yes, it is time to teach my kids how to make homemade gnocchi and meatballs. A small step, but one I know she would want me to take....for me, for my kids and for her. Buon appetito!
Lo amo e mi manchi mamma.
Beautiful!!!
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I lost my mother to cancer a month ago. Breast cancer, complications, then stroke. All the movie scenes in which people die peacefully and with instrumental music, as if death were a great allegory, seem a hoax. I was okay the first few days after...but now it's getting harder. I came across your post after trying to find others who've shared my experience. I hope you are well. Wishing you best. Thank you for sharing your story. I found some articles about scientists who've been doing experiments that may prove and have supported the existence of a spirit world. So I take consolation that our mothers are watching us right now, and they are at peace.
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all mother like you do what is the best for their child.Just move on And focus to your children.
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