Mother's Day 2013

This last year was different. This year, I saw my Mom in a way I had never seen her before. I finally saw her as a totally separate being from myself. Seeing her life at the moment of my Grandfather's death, is one of the biggest "growing up" moments I have experienced.

Of course, our Mother's will forever be a part of us. We shared their bodies for a time, and when we finally emerged into this world, we maintain a part of them inside us. What does that all mean? I am still unsure. But this past December, I think I learned something.

My Mom had parents, obviously, but I never really saw that. Seeing my Mom care for my Grampa, showed me how deep familial connection is. Family. As she sat at his bedside, holding this old man, I saw her youth, I saw that despite our complicated relationships with each other, all that is put aside, to do what is necessary. I saw my Mom as a child, sitting with her Dad. I listened intensely to her words. I watched them closely. I saw my Mother's faith as a Christian, something that I had always known about, but never really seen. I saw my Mom as a raw human. She showed me her humanness. And I am changed, because of it. I grew up a little, well, maybe a lot.

When one of us is hurting, she has taught me that nothing else matters. That is the biggest strength of my family. My mother has taught me this over and over again. My family continues to rise up for one another, in spite of all the other demands of the world, and it always works out - no one gets fired from their job, the house eventually gets clean, the groceries are eventually bought... She has shown me time and time again, that love conquers all, even death...

So on this Mother's Day, I love my Mom because she has shown me what it is like to be human. She has shown me how to let a parent go, how to let them die. I love my Mom because she gets passionate about things that matter to her. I love my Mom because she loves animals. I love my Mom because she gives me snacks and treats. I love my Mom because she let us eat in the car ~ a luxury she was not allowed. I love my Mom because she raises chickens. I love my Mom because she is relatively spontaneous. I love my Mom because she let me play dress up for far longer than I probably "should" have. I love my Mom for always coming to my play performances. I love my Mom because she always stood up for me (even when I likely didn't deserve it). I love my Mom because she gave me two wonderful and adorable little sisters. I love my Mom because she got divorced, and can relate to my pain.  I love my Mom for showing me how to be with the dying. I love my Mom because she has shown me life and death. I love my Mom, I'll love you forever, my baby you'll be.

The Greatest Man

A few years ago, I remember pondering the men I trusted.  Sadly, the list wasn't very long, and as I grew older, the list only grew smaller. On December 26th, that list dwindled even more.

My Grandfather was at the top of that list. I always felt safe with him. He would never do anything to put me, my sisters, my Mother, or my Grandmother in harms way. My Grampa was not a wealthy man, but I understand now, that we were all his treasures.

I called upon my Grampa several times in my young teenage life for a ride, or to take me to Les Schwab for tire repair. He always told me to get gas when the gauge was at a 1/4 tank, a habit that I have always followed. I would take Gramma shopping, and he would always tell us to "hold on to your purse!" Upon returning, he would make the same comment, "What'd you do!? Buy out the whole store?!" He'd look at what we'd gotten with a grin on his face, simply happy that we were happy.

I fear that the list of trustworthy men is also short for many girls and women. I am so proud to say that my Grandfather was the greatest man I have ever known. I miss him so much. I keep trying to hear his voice in my head. I want him to pat me on the back, and get sheepish when I would tell him "I love you". He'd just say, "Oh, yeah, I s'pose" He did say it back to me, at the hospital, I think he knew he needed to. We all needed to.

I miss Grampa. He made the top of my list, and it breaks my heart, that instead of the list growing, it simply get smaller with time. But I am blessed to have had him for a time.

Growing Up

Have you ever been present when someone takes their last breath? I have. Twice. This most recent time, it was different. My Grandfather, Keith, departed from this world on December 26th, 2012.

The events leading up to this are not as important as the approximate hour or so before that eventually brought me to his bedside that afternoon. That morning was spent with my Grandmother. During this visit, she had expressed hope that he would simply "go in his sleep".  At about 1 o'clock, I had a strong sensation to go and visit Grampa. Upon departing, she asked me to tell Grampa, "Hi".  I got in the car, and called my Mom. Immediately, I knew that it was time. I told her to relay Gramma's message.

I arrived in the hospital room at about 1:25pm. "It is time for Grampa to die," was my thought. My sister, Kimberly, and Mom we at either side of Grampa. I sat removed for a few minutes, simply taking in the energy of the room, along with the emotions of those present. I was confused and calm at the same time.  I first saw my sister, with tears running down her face, just sitting, holding one of Grampa's hands. The presence of my Mother, however, is what struck me.  She was sitting on his right side, holding his hand and looking into his eyes. I moved in next to her and wrapped my arm around her, and no longer could fight back the tears that were pooling up behind that dams of my eyes.

The sound of my Grampa's labored breathing broke my heart. It was the most horrific sound that I have ever heard in my life, and to know that nothing could be done, made it all the more wretched. Things happen during the death process that do not need to be written here, but my sister and I, without words, went straight to work, giving him as much dignity as we could. It was a task, that only strong souls could handle, and I am proud of my sister, and myself for that matter.  Then my Mom started to speak. She could have been speaking the whole time, but the energy in the room was vibrating and only to be drowned out by the sound of her words.

My Grampa's eyes were fixed upwards for the most part, until she started to tell him it was time to go. My hand now wrapped his and hers. Mom's words, "Dad, it's OK. You can let go. We are here. Mom will be OK." He fought it for a moment, but then his breathing became more gentle, far less laborious. His body relaxed a bit. She continued talking to him, with a tone that seemed to come from a Holy place, one that I had never heard from anyone before. She spoke with gentle authority "Dad, come on, it's time to go Home. Let go, Dad. It's alright... let go..." His eyes teared up... my Mom wiped them away... And with that, he was gone...

Tears poured out, as I stood slowly, my hand giving him Christ's blessing on his forehead, and closed his eyes. I then began to pray The Lord's Prayer over him... my Mom and sister joined in... forever and ever... Amen. 

I sat down, overcome with grief. "That was my Dad," my Mom said, as she pointed to his now lifeless body. She wept over him. I was slammed by intense rage. It was scaring me how angry I was. I kept thinking I would do anything to make my Mom not be sad. Then I thought about my Gramma, how unfair it was going to be that she would suffer with the pain that grief brings. My fingers dug into my flesh to distract my brain from screaming. Nurses, and now more family, and noise that had disrupted this sacred and now Holy ground.

This rage continues to flow through me. It has lessened some, but there are times I feel like I am going to explode from the depths of my stomach.

I was told today, that it is an honor to be present at someones death. I had forgotten that I have always believed this to be true. I have also come to realize that I see my Mom is a new light. She is a woman that I truly respect, love, and cherish. She showed me how to say goodbye, how to let go, and ultimately, how to die. I am still learning from this experience, but it has left me changed, and far more grown-up.

Tortured

I hate living like this. When the fear of abandonment comes haunting my thoughts, all my brain does is assure me of my imminent death. My heart pounds, my stomach cramps, my limbs shake, I cry. While in this state, I can't eat, I can't sleep. I feel like I am trapped and there is no way out.

This fear is deep and pronounced, almost primal. I try and breathe, but it is as if my breath does nothing, like my lungs are steel, and no air is moving in or out. My body goes into a survival mode - shut down time. I am jittery and nervous. I can feel my whole body; the blood moves in my veins, the electricity in my brain fires. My muscles shaking. I am alert and aware of all sounds and movements. I cannot rest.

Eventually, I pray that exhaustion will take over, because feeling like this is unbearable.  It is at these moments I find myself fantasizing about death, anything to make these feelings STOP! But my fear of death stops me from really carrying out any plan. I wonder if there will be a day that the desire for the feelings to stop will finally overtake my fear of death - this thought makes me scared and sad.

I am trapped in this ball of anxiety, fear, dread. Trapped & tortured.