On March 27th my sister called me early in the morning saying that our mother had stopped breathing during the night and was gone. She and my middle son had just spent several days with her and had left the previous evening. They had thought they had seen an improvement with her and were positive about her future. They had even had a providential conversation about her wishes for her funeral.
Mom's biggest driving force was her independence. She wanted to be in charge of her own life, and refused to budge on that point. Who really knows why your life ends when it does, but I am sure the idea of not going back to her homey apartment with her cat and car and TV was discouraging to her. She had spoken often lately about how much she missed her own mother, and I think the prospect of that reunion gave her hope.
My mother's steadfast refusal to give up any of her independence, her very stubborn insistence on the path that she chose for herself was both a problem in our relationship and one of the reasons for this tribute.
My dad died when I was 12. We were living in Houston and Mom decided we needed to be closer to family, so we moved to Rolla, Missouri where her parents and sister lived. I know I was not easy to be with during that transition. I hated Missouri, I missed my friends in Houston, and thought Rolla was a "stupid town, with nothing to do". I even convinced myself that I was going to spend our first Missouri Christmas in Houston. I made a chart with the days numbered and took great delight in marking off the days. With somewhere about 10 days to go, Mom told me I wasn't going. There was lots of door slamming for a while.
Mom wanted my sister and I to have a solid Christian background, so she found a church that had a school and enrolled us in it. This was not a popular decision, either. They wore UNIFORMS in that school. Skirts and vests. It was awful. Our school was on top of a tire store, and the whole town make fun of us.
But there was no talking her out of it. She had made up her mind that this was the direction to take, and she took it, dragging us along with her. Who is to say if it was the right or wrong choice. I do know that she gave up the opportunity to get a good paying job so that she could be the secretary for the school/church. I know that my sister and I probably paid more attention to learning than we would have in the public schools. I know that the opportunities to get into trouble for me were seriously limited.
As I grew older, got married and had children, my relationship with my mother grew more complicated. She had a lot of influence over me, and that clashed with my husband. When I tried to become more independent, that was hurtful to her, and that caused problems as well. Eventually, I think we found a comfortable middle ground, and she was closely involved in my kid's lives.
In thinking about her past, I don't think I gave her the credit she deserved. She lost her husband and moved her children with her to a new place. She was fierce in her protection of us, and made us her life's work. It didn't matter who she offended, if she was convinced that her plan was the right one, she never waivered.
She successfully raised two teenaged girls, supported us financially and emotionally, created an environment that convinced us we could do anything we wanted. My mother was a powerful ally and a very strong woman. I am grateful that she was my mother.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
5 YEARS
Tomorrow will mark 5 years since Jason died. Even as I write that, I can feel the downward spiral of denial and I can hear my own voice yelling, "No! No!"
How can that beautiful child born to me be gone? Memories flash in my brain. I can't breath and my eyes are overflowing again.
The 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
What little I've read about these stages insists that the order is not necessary, nor is there a fixed or equal time given to any particular sage. That's good, because, while I have dabbled in all these responses, the one I live in most is denial.
"You have to move on." "Life is for the living." These stupid cliches are nevertheless true. I still have to get up everyday, interact with other people, continue to grow and learn so I can help others walking through the valley of the shadow of death. Those who, although they may not have experienced the death of a close loved one, still grieve and hurt and are stuck where they are. My husband is a big believer and encourager that God uses the difficulties we have faced to teach us to lend a hand to those going through what we did. It's a positive position and gets me out of my own sadness. Sometimes it's all I can do to walk on. Sometimes I just put my head down and cry and grieve and yell at God.
In moving on, once again I fear that I will the loose the essential Jason. I will remake him using rose colored glasses as my tool.
The last time I saw him was Christmas 2009. All the kids were in San Antonio with us for the last time. Because Christmas and winter coincide, schedules got mixed up and we were not able to spend as much time together as we had planned. When Jason finally got here, I grabbed him and hugged him and didn't want to let him go. Here's the part I have never told anyone: he pushed me away. I am certain he did that because he was cranky and needed a cigarette. My logical, conscious mind knows this. But my soul still hurts. I still feel him brushing past me to make for the nearest exit. I would like the opportunity to talk to him about that.
As a matter-of-fact - this is a line of thought that started this past Christmas - I would like the opportunity to travel to the past. Just certain times that maybe had more of an impact on future events than others. Partly to fix damage I did to my children and partly to fix damage my own thoughts did to me.
Because I thought I was at fault for Jason pushing me away - I must have hugged him too long - in the effort to be completely truthful, I knew that I was not at fault. Clicking back through the pictures I've taken in my mind, the ones where I felt failure, I would like to grab that girl Leigh's hand, look her in the eye and tell her, "You are doing the best you can. You yield your children to God everyday and work tirelessly to put good things in their lives."
So my next task is to let go of my "failures". To remember that my efforts were inspired by a desire for the best for my kids.
Jason, I love you. I miss you. I want to put my arms around you and squeeze you so that you can't get away. I can't wait to see you again.
How can that beautiful child born to me be gone? Memories flash in my brain. I can't breath and my eyes are overflowing again.
The 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
What little I've read about these stages insists that the order is not necessary, nor is there a fixed or equal time given to any particular sage. That's good, because, while I have dabbled in all these responses, the one I live in most is denial.
"You have to move on." "Life is for the living." These stupid cliches are nevertheless true. I still have to get up everyday, interact with other people, continue to grow and learn so I can help others walking through the valley of the shadow of death. Those who, although they may not have experienced the death of a close loved one, still grieve and hurt and are stuck where they are. My husband is a big believer and encourager that God uses the difficulties we have faced to teach us to lend a hand to those going through what we did. It's a positive position and gets me out of my own sadness. Sometimes it's all I can do to walk on. Sometimes I just put my head down and cry and grieve and yell at God.
In moving on, once again I fear that I will the loose the essential Jason. I will remake him using rose colored glasses as my tool.
The last time I saw him was Christmas 2009. All the kids were in San Antonio with us for the last time. Because Christmas and winter coincide, schedules got mixed up and we were not able to spend as much time together as we had planned. When Jason finally got here, I grabbed him and hugged him and didn't want to let him go. Here's the part I have never told anyone: he pushed me away. I am certain he did that because he was cranky and needed a cigarette. My logical, conscious mind knows this. But my soul still hurts. I still feel him brushing past me to make for the nearest exit. I would like the opportunity to talk to him about that.
As a matter-of-fact - this is a line of thought that started this past Christmas - I would like the opportunity to travel to the past. Just certain times that maybe had more of an impact on future events than others. Partly to fix damage I did to my children and partly to fix damage my own thoughts did to me.
Because I thought I was at fault for Jason pushing me away - I must have hugged him too long - in the effort to be completely truthful, I knew that I was not at fault. Clicking back through the pictures I've taken in my mind, the ones where I felt failure, I would like to grab that girl Leigh's hand, look her in the eye and tell her, "You are doing the best you can. You yield your children to God everyday and work tirelessly to put good things in their lives."
So my next task is to let go of my "failures". To remember that my efforts were inspired by a desire for the best for my kids.
Jason, I love you. I miss you. I want to put my arms around you and squeeze you so that you can't get away. I can't wait to see you again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)