There are times when you just want to call your mom

My mom has been on my mind a lot this past week, but it had nothing to do with Mother's Day. A week ago today I fell down a flight of steps at work. I landed hard directly on my shoulder, dislocating it. I spent several hours at the local ER with a coworker who brought me there. She said that while I was still under anesthesia I expressed a desire to do water aerobics. I do not have a clue where that one came from. Before they put my shoulder back in place, I felt the greatest physical pain I have ever felt in my life. When it was done I woke with my right arm and hand immobilized in a brace. The right is my dominant arm. I would be forced to be a lefty until I healed. The doctor’s orders were to not use or raise my right arm.

My sister, Cheryl, came to get me and took me out to her farm in WI.  Together we figured out how I could do things one-handed. Dressing was difficult the first time. Have you ever considered how hard it would be trying to put a bra on with one hand? Fortunately, I was wearing a front clasp sports bra. It is doable. Cheryl expressed the fact that she felt a little helpless watching me. I could see her frustration in wanting to assist me. But, I would not let her help me. I needed to know that I could do it myself and I did, mostly. In retrospect I realize that this is nothing new. I seldom let anyone help me. In the end, the only things I needed help with were shoes and socks.

I had many hours last week to think and memories of my mom kept creeping in. In my struggle to adapt to using one arm, I was reminded how she adapted her life so that she could function on her own with declining skills after my dad died. As good as she was, putting on socks was always difficult for her too. At odd moments when I was alone in the house, while my sister and her husband were out doing chores, I found myself wanting to call my mom. But, she is gone now.

Surprisingly, with everything that happened last week, I had totally forgotten that tomorrow was Mother’s Day. It is the first without her. I realized it while I was checking in on Twitter this morning. There were numerous posts for Mother’s Day. It hit me hard. I had not shed many tears from the intense physical pain from my broken body, but tears flowed from the emotional pain of grief and loss.

In the past I had been told by several of my mother’s friends that I remind me of her. This past week reminded me of the struggles she faced as I myself struggled with this injury. But, right now, I just wish she were still here to talk to. No matter what your age is, when you are hurting you just want your mom.

Grief and Loss

I lost my mom on July 13^th. It had been anticipated and expected for the past several years. But, it still took me by surprise. There were so many times in the past few years that I thought I was going to lose her, but she rallied and got better. To have her just die in her sleep was not the scenario I expected. There was no particular health issue. She just died.

I miss my mom. But, I have been missing her for many years. She changed when she went into the nursing home. The strong-willed mother who never feared giving her opinion was gone, replaced by a vulnerable woman with a far-away look in her eyes. I missed her advice. And although I didn’t always agree with her, I missed the conversation over coffee after breakfast. We often would talk so long that by the time we cleared the dishes, it was time to make lunch.

These past few years when I shared a meal with her it was at the nursing home. I watched as my mom just pushed the food around her plate, nibbling here and there, but eating little of it. We didn’t talk much anymore. There was a lot of uncomfortable silence; at least it was on my side. I am not sure how it was on her side. I felt that I no longer knew her.

I am told that there is a lot of my mother in me. It wasn’t until I got older and could appreciate her for the woman that she was that I took it as a compliment. I loved her independence and even as her skills started to deteriorate, she found a way to compensate so that she could live independently. I believe she started to die when she realized she had lost that independence, forever.

It was hard for me to go see her at all. I dreaded the drive down and many times cried after I left. I put myself in her position. I knew how I would feel. It hurt to see her.

Now she is gone. In a way it was almost a relief. Her soul was set free, independent of an aging body that no longer worked well. She would say that she had finally gone home. But, I still hurt.

Tuesday night it all came back, triggered by a totally unrelated event. Grief and a profound sense of loss overwhelmed me. It was as powerful as that first moment I heard she was gone. Once again tears flowed and I sobbed uncontrollably. I could do nothing, but grieve.

No matter how old we get, I think it is always a comfort to know you have a parent out there. That connection to unconditional love is a precious thing. When they are gone, you realize that you are truly alone. It is up to you and you alone. And maybe in reality, it had been that way for many years. The death of a parent confirms it.