I have never written anything so personal, but today seems like a good day to start. Twenty-three years ago today, my mother died. She had moved to California, where we lived at the time, to graciously let me take care of her in her last days. My sister had taken such good care of her for a few years prior, and I wanted to not only give her a reprieve (she too had a young family), but I wanted my mother to spend the last months with me. I had no idea that she would be gone within seven weeks of arriving.
My mother moved in with us on Saturday, September 8, 2001. She was hospitalized the next day, and two days later, the planes crashed in NYC , DC and Pennsylvania. The phone rang early in the morning and I remember thinking that she would still wake us up, even living in the same time zone. We had no idea the news she shared would be world-changing. From her lonely hospital room, she saw the news first. She rallied for a few weeks, but I could see her fading and she could, too. We had many long talks and one day she told me she wanted to go on hospice, She just couldn't fight any more. Her doctor tried to talk her out of it, and she gently asked, "Is there anything you can give me that will change the outcome, or make things better?" He said no. She said, "OK then. Let's do it." I think that was a Monday or Tuesday. My sister and brother flew in that Friday after a frantic call from me after a frightening night with my mom the night before. She died that Sunday. I wish I could say that I was patient all the time with her, that I was always loving, kind and generous. I was not. There were times when taking care of her was hard while I took care of my own family. There were times when I wanted a break and felt resentful when I didn't get one. There were also times when I saw her lovingly take care of my small-ish children, making them Brazilian treats and sneaking them candy. There were times when we had good laughs and shared deep thoughts with each other. We sat at our kitchen table and planned her funeral, but we never really talked about dying like I had so openly with my father. She was all business about the funeral, and then that was that. A couple of months after she died, I called my sister, doubled up with emotion and sadness and told her, "I am staring down an abyss and if I don't pull myself up, I'm going under." I was bereft. And in that phone call, I made the decision to stop grieving. I decided that I needed to put it away and raise my children, and that I would deal with it when they were a little older and I could take the time to do so. We moved to Texas and at some point, I decided to plunge into therapy and grieve my mother. I dealt with my guilt and trusted that she knew I loved her. Maria Cecilia was an excellent, loving, generous mother who adored her three children until she breathed her last breath. My sister and I started a tradition the year after she died that we would commemorate her death with good food and good wine, because she was the original "foodie" before that was a thing. And we never missed a date except for once, and now we are this year because I am in the PNW. At some point we brought my brother into the mix and we toasted our mom and spent time together. Nothing made her happier than knowing we were close. So, what did I learn about grief? You have to go through it. You can delay it, you can do it over periods of time, but you cannot avoid it. I often tell people I grieved my father well, but I didn't with my mother. I just couldn't deal with the depth of it at the time. Make no mistake, though, I had to go through it. And when I did, I did it well. I learned that guilt is part of it. We all regret something. And I learned that we have to revisit that sometimes and remember that our imperfect selves need some grace. I learned that grief is so much easier in a good relationship. I have sat with so many clients who have struggled with abusive parents and they grieve not so much their death but what they never had. I learned that the second year is harder than the first in some ways. Everyone else thinks you should move on. The numbness is over, and you really get that that person is never coming back. I learned that tears are healing, that laughing at stories with siblings is so helpful, and that grief is a gift. I learned that I was deeply loved, and I loved her deeply, too. Those tears remind me of that gift. Grief can be a reflection of that love.
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