I’ve had such a difficult time even contemplating writing about this even though most of you already know. My mother died on May 14.
She had a number of health issues plaguing her in her final years. It came to the point that she was under palliative care at home for the last month (or so) of her life. In fact, in addition to the twice daily visits from caretakers, she was scheduled to have a nurse come to spend the nights with her to take care of her. The nurse was to start the night of May 15, so that didn’t happen.
When my father died some years ago, Mom told me that he was lucky because he went very quickly. He rode his bicycle to get the mail on Friday and was dead Monday. She said it wouldn’t be so easy for her. I’m glad that she was largely wrong. She died in her own bed at home. If how she looked was any indication, it was a very peaceful departure because the next morning, I peeked in on her and thought she was sleeping in. Only when I tried to wake her for her medicine an hour later, was I shocked to find her cold to the touch.
Many years ago she told me, with a hint of apology in her voice, that I would be the one to find her. She was right.
In the time since then, my sister and I have dealt with almost the entirety of her estate, including emptying her home. It was more work than I could have imagined. It was more difficult than I would have ever imagined. I continued to live in her home for three months after she died and that was not good. There wasn’t a moment I wasn’t reminded of her, and while I certainly won’t ever forget her, being submerged in it was not good for my mental well-being.
I’ve since moved in with my fiancée and things have improved for me a great deal. That’s not to say that the grieving is over, because it’s not. I miss her so much and I don’t think that will ever change. She was my mother. She gave me life. I love her and I always will.