Saying Goodbye to My Mom

I knew the call would come that my mother had died, but it was still excruciatingly painful.
She died peacefully at home with my father and family at her side. Unable to travel because of a medical condition, I could only say goodbye virtually.
It wasn’t the same, not being able to touch her hand or kiss her goodbye, but it was better than not seeing her at all.

From the moment that mom went on hospice, the weight of grief began filling my entire being. My eyes ached from the tears held by a dam that was ready to burst at any moment. My face became a mask of sadness that I could feel without looking in a mirror. I walked around in a fog, having trouble completing simple tasks. My limbs were heavy and numb.

Days before my mom died, I felt a deep sense of loneliness and isolation, even though I was around others. It was only when I began writing that I realized that a hole had opened in my heart, leaving a vast chasm where my mom had dwelled. My mom was ninety, and I’m sixty, yet I still needed her in my life. She is the person who brought me into being, and now I must continue without her. The paradox was I didn’t want her to linger in a state of suffering, but to let go of her physical presence was just as hard.

In the days between her death and funeral, my emotions ran the gambit of profound sadness and tears, anxiety and numbness. On the day of mom’s death, I was fortunate to have my son and his girlfriend, as well as friends, stop over. In between, I received comforting texts and calls. It was the moments that I was alone that the raw pain seeped through my body, and the tears would flow. I’ve been living comfortably on my own for a while, but grief is an unpleasant companion.
It makes your world feel unsteady as you try to make sense of it all. I’d find myself walking along when it would hit me that my mom was no longer in this world. My head understood, but my heart could not comprehend it.

The reality that my mom was dead came crashing down as I attended the wake, thanks to my daughter Sarah through google duo and the funeral, which was being streamed on YouTube. No longer could I deny the reality that mom was not coming back. The dam burst as I saw her still body absent of her magnificent spirit. It was a beautiful funeral that was made special because it was celebrated by a priest who knew my parents. My family each played a role in the service honoring my mom. Alex and Brittni watched it with me from my home. Alex held my hand, grounding me as I cried through most of the mass. Once the live feed ended, the pain of the grief came roaring through as I wept from the depth of my soul. It was a comfort to have Alex put his arm around me and let me cry.

Now begins the hard part of living without my mom. What I learned from my husband’s death almost ten years ago is that the only way to get through grief is to embrace it and feel my feelings. I know it won’t kill me, but it will hurt for a long time. Just like with Mike, my mom’s death will become a part of who I am and how I approach the world. My heart will soften to those who are also suffering. I will also continue to carry the light that my mother brought to the world by the example she left behind.