My mom died a month ago.
I have everything and nothing to share about this. I am not even sure what kind of post I want or need this to be. About her? About me? I am left living with only one of those things, so here we go.
As most of you know, I’ve been living with my folks and have been their primary caregiver since the summer of 2018. The decision was largely made because, though she didn’t have a formal diagnosis at the time, it had been clear for years that my mother was developing some manner of dementia.
There were so many moments in the past 6 years that will live, branded into my heart and mind. Tedious, Sisyphean days and excruciating stretches of time that were heartbreaking and frustrating beyond all measure. And throughout all of this, bright moments of joy, reward, and growth that took my breath away.
And in the end, hospice was the stage when I had the most support but it was also the most labor-intensive and emotionally draining. I worked so hard each and every day to provide the hands-on care that was required and to do right by my mother. I plumbed the depths and scoured the dark corners of my heart and head to find acceptance around our relationship… and the lack of it. I lost my mother in pieces over years and years. Ultimately, I did the best I could with what I was given and the tools I picked up and honed along the way.
I am deeply gratified that I could grant her wish to stay in her home until the end. Glad too that the care she received was offered by her family and a small group of dedicated and loving professionals.
And despite all of this, in the end, she was so profoundly diminished and she was truly suffering. And when it came time for her to pass, she slipped away into death in the same manner she lived her life – gently, cooperatively, and without much of a fuss.
I see how grief will stay with me for as long as it chooses; grief over the trajectory of my mother’s life and her final years, grief over the stress and drain of being a caregiver – especially through the entirety of the pandemic, grief in unexpected colors and flavors. Let it come.
But I also know that I am not mourning my mother’s passing. I am glad for her. She has been released. And this atheist heart knows that this is a gift. Even oblivion is a kindness compared to an agonizing end brought about by dementia. I am relieved for her and for myself.
Let her rest in peace and wholeness.
And may I remember the lessons I learned, the grace I tried to inhabit, and the privilege it was to endure this trial while simultaneously reaping the immeasurable rewards.
