One Year Gone

Posted on by

He only half dies who leaves an image of himself in his children. ~ Carlo Goldoni, Italian playwright and librettist

Dear Mom,

It’s been a year now since you left this world and entered the next, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss you.

Oddly, I never expected to hurt this much … or this long. Being your caregiver weighed on me physically, mentally, and emotionally. I just knew I “wasn’t doing it right,” despite your reassurances that I was exactly what you needed.

Nor did I appreciate how hard it was to continue doing the things I wanted to do (running a business and playing in band) while doing the things I had to do (clean house, buy groceries, cook, handle finances).

The thing I’m sorriest over, though, was placing you in a nursing facility. You didn’t want to leave your home. I didn’t want you to go, but you had issues that would’ve overwhelmed an army of caregivers, and I had to think of what was best for you.

Forgive me for not coming to see you more often, and for not staying as long as you wanted me to. Those winter months were horrid, and everywhere we turned, another “old” person was taking sick and dying from the likes of flu, pneumonia, and COVID.

I couldn’t afford to get sick or infect you with anything contagious.

Then, too, you had so much trouble hearing me, and your hearing aids were practically worthless. If I raised my voice so you could hear, the staff flew into your room, assuming we were arguing. Remember how we solved that? I’d call you on your cell phone — right there in your room — and we could share a normal conversation. Inconvenient, I know, but whatever worked, right?

I know you missed going to Mass, but I’m glad I was able to bring you Communion and our priest to pray with and for you. I know you missed going to the store, checking for bargains, and preparing your own food. I’m glad I was able to bring you things I’d bought or cooked, as well as library books and magazines to read. I’m glad I did what I could to make your room more homey.

I know you missed seeing the Monk, but I’m glad I was able to bring him in to see you — and wasn’t it a wonder he behaved and seemed to know you were in a more fragile state than when you’d left?

And I know especially you missed the Domer, so I’m glad he continued calling you every week and came with me to see you whenever he was home. If it’s true that it takes a village to raise a child, then you can rest assured you had a hand in how well he turned out.

So, Mom, thank you for everything. For your understanding, your sacrifices, your guidance. For your time, your laughter, your love. I consider myself bountifully blessed to have had you as my mom!

Love,

Debbie

 

35 thoughts on “One Year Gone”

  2. What a touching letter, filled with memories. I’m past the time when I think of my own mother every day — it’s been well more than a decade since her death — but every now and then something brings her to mind, like seeing something she liked in a store and thinking, “I ought to get that for Mom!” Of course, I still think of my dad on occasion as well, and he’s been gone for thirty-five years. We never forget them.

    • Thanks, Linda. I’m glad we have such good memories to wrap ourselves in! We both were blessed with wonderful parents. I know that, as time goes by, the sorrow and regrets will lessen, and the good times deepen. I guess that’s a good thing. After all, death is a part of life and, while we never get “comfortable” with it, at least we can learn to accept it — and I for one am glad to believe I’ll see them again.

  3. Yes, a beautiful letter. Brought tears to my eyes. How we miss loved ones who have passed. The end of life is often difficult, and a pandemic certainly complicates everything. Loved reading how sweet Monkey reacted to your mother.

    • Well, Laurie, he at least didn’t pee on the floor, ha! However, I must confess he “chased” one poor old lady down the hall in her wheelchair — fortunately, she never knew it! I, however, was mortified!

  4. Debbie, this letter to your Mom is so touching. I love your honesty.

    When someone close to us passes, especially our parents, it’s as if we rewind a movie that we closely observe; recalling all the poignant moments.

    And above it all, it’s the LOVE that we remember the most. Which is the thing that lives on within us, and them.

    “For your time, your laughter, your love. I consider myself bountifully blessed to have had you as my mom!”

    Thank you for sharing, my friend! x

    • Thank you, Ron, for reading and being such a dear friend. I know you, too, understand the depth of emotion surrounding a mom’s death, having experienced that for yourself. No, we never forget. We hear their voices in our memories, and we feel their arms hugging us. We learn so much about life from both our parents. I like how you’ve likened it to a movie that we rewind — yes, it’s very much like that!

      Hope you have a wonderful week. We’re expecting more frigid weather — too cold to walk the Monk. We had a dusting of snow, too, and that looks like it will stick around for a while. XX

    • What you said is really great and so true!!!

      “When someone close to us passes, especially our parents, it’s as if we rewind a movie that we closely observe; recalling all the poignant moments.”

      I tried to say that but the way you worded it…..

  5. This is lovely, Debbie. I hope it was cathartic for you. Remember, there is no timeframe and there are no rules when it comes to grieving.

    • Thank you for the reminder, Kelly. It’s funny, you know. The grieving kind of seems to take two steps forward and four back. At least I’m not crying all day, every day, the way I did when Dallas passed (but then, I guess it’s different with a dog when you’re the one who chooses euthanasia).

  6. Heartfelt tribute, Debbie. I think it sounds like you did every thing within your means to assure her best care. The missing goes on forever, I think. While it fades a bit, it never goes completely away. My mother died in 1977, and I still think of her often. 💕

    • Thanks so much, Eliza. I suppose you always second-guesses yourself, wondering if you couldn’t/shouldn’t have done more. That’s probably fruitless, though, because Mom clearly didn’t expect more than I could give. I agree the missing goes on forever. Gosh, you’ve been without your mom for a lifetime — I’m so very sorry. I know she’d have been proud of you!

  8. A lovely, heartfelt letter, Debbie. It’s true that time heals but it never fully makes the sorrow go away. I’m glad you’re remembering the good things – I’m sure that’s what you mom would have wanted. None of us ever feel we have done everything we could, but we do our best and those we care for know that.

    • Thank you for your reassurance, FF. I need to hear that now and then. I know I tried — and boy, was it ever hard for such a long time! — but when it’s all said and done, you never feel like you did enough. So many things I wish we’d discussed, but she didn’t want to (thinking, I suppose, that she had all the time in the world, when none of us does). Remembering the good things keeps my spirits from sagging!

  9. Writing to and about your mom helps even while it hurts. I know you miss her, yet you’re happy she’s no longer in pain…but still…we always long for the good days again. Thanks for sharing her with us a little bit.

    • Thank you for telling me, Dawn. I know you understand. And it’s not like one of us just moved away. It’s an emptiness. The knowledge that I no longer can share things with her, or ask her questions I need the answers to. I think that’s where faith comes in.

  11. Deb….I’m sending you a great big hug! Your mom sounds like my kind of mom. A woman of faith and a sh bargain shopper!!! I’ve notice that the memories of good times grow as time goes by. We NEVER stop missing them though. I pray the comforter blesses you with His supernatural consolation. We never stop missing them. God bless you, Deb!

    • Thanks, Tanya. I’d be lost without my faith and the conviction that I’ll see both my parents again. Grieving isn’t easy, nor is it pretty, but it’s a necessary part of life here. I believe that working through grief helps us to comfort others down the road when they’re hit with it. Missing them both is a given, as you well know from personal experience.

  12. I hope writing this beautiful post helped to ease your grief just a little. It’s always good to express our emotions, I think. And losing a beloved mother is just so very hard!

    • Thanks, Ann. I’ve long been a fan of letter-writing. The ones I’ve written in anger and frustration, however, typically get torn up and trashed. The ones written in love say things that I find easier to put down in writing (though I suspect the recipient doesn’t care, as long as the feelings are expressed!)

  13. So beautifully written, Debbie. You have captured so many of the feelings most of us experience while trying our best to care for our parents. You have some sweet memories, too — how you found a solution to the problem of hearing each other by talking on your cell phones right inside the nursing facility. So clever! My mother died 33 years ago and I still miss her. I have found it comforting, though, that over the years, more and more of the pleasant memories do come to mind. ♡

    • Thanks for assuring me of that, Barbara! I’ve been told that, over time, the good memories linger while the failures recede, and I’m pretty sure that’s what we all hope for. You’ve been without your mom for such a long time — I’m sorry for your loss. So many things we don’t fully appreciate until our moms are gone!

  14. I know your mom hears you. I KNOW she does. And she’s totally compassionate and understanding and loving you so much. And that you can keep on talking to her day by day. Just because a physical relationship ends, a new spiritual one can be forged day by day.

    • I believe that, too, Kathy, but I thank you for your empathy and support. While I miss her physical presence, I feel very close to her spiritual presence. Talking to her (and my dad) doesn’t feel crazy to me — it just heightens the bond we shared.

Comments are closed.