My Mom died in October of last year. I don’t think about the actual dying part of it too much. That’s the truth. I don’t cry and I haven’t cried. It’s not that I didn’t like her. Quite the opposite, in fact. I just don’t like thinking about her being gone. So, I don’t.
I sometimes wish I was more like the old black-veiled Italian or Arab women keening during their moments of loss. But that is not something I can force. If it comes? It will come.
In the meantime, I will write about it and share my experiences. Maybe it will help someone.
The past two years have been me in “business mode.” Overseeing healthcare (that is an education in itself), financial wrangling and clearing out a house that contained fifty plus years of love and living.
What did I learn?
That I was blessed in so many ways.
My mother was alive (and clear-headed) when I started dismantling my childhood home. This process had to be started. Not because we thought my Mom would die. But because we thought she would live. The cost of private pay, at nearly 500.00 USD per day, in the nursing facility was quickly draining my parents’ life savings. The house had to go.
The place where I grew up and the place where, as an older adult, I spent months with my own children. 😦
So, I did it in my usual way. Determined. Slow. Methodical in a crazy sort of way. Sometimes steered by mood or weather. Maybe one day I focused on her bedroom. Another day the back shed. The bathroom. Filing cabinet. Christmas decorations under the cellar stairs. Luggage area. Dad’s workbench. Some days a little of all of it. Like a bird, in Spring, gathering twigs from every area for their nest.
My mother had no secrets from me. That I know. When I was gathering documentation for genealogy years ago I was prying (let’s say inquisitive) into everything. She said, “I have no secrets from you. Look at the files, paper, etc. Whatever you want. You are welcome to it.” So there weren’t many surprises. I knew my family history. I knew who bought her this jewelry box. Where this painting was purchased. That this was my grandfather’s desk. That these two trunks arrived from Ireland with my immigrant grandparents. My grandmother’s costume jewelry.
But if I didn’t know what something was I would just bring it to the nursing home and ask her. This was a blessing.
One day, I brought a yellowing, off-white piece of flat, oddly shaped cloth. I had NO idea what it was. She took one look and said, “That is my nursing cap.”
Ahhh, I had to imagine it folded together (like origami) and freshly starched. As they did back in the day.
We had some laughs. One day I had a go at her bureau. Found panty hose, slips (a piece of lingerie women used under their dresses and skirts for a smooth look and obscuring of sorts) and pink, plastic hair curlers. So, I would visit her and ask, “Mom, when was the last time you actually wore a slip?” And we laughed.
Or “When did you last put your hair in curlers with some Dippity-Do gel and pink hair tape?” And we laughed.
I gave away all the things she didn’t use and would never use again. After we talked and laughed.
One day I found something in her top drawer and was a bit startled. It was a small plastic baggie. No, not a secret stash of pot! It looked like a row of teeth! Or more like a row of fillings! My mom, the axe murderer, with her kill trophies. Sigh. I knew she was too good to be true.
What is it? Who saves something like this?
So, I immediately asked her about it. “Mom, found something weird today. Not sure what to make of it.” She looked puzzled for a minute or so and then she remembered.
It was removed during some of her dental work. The dentist told her it had gold in it and she should save it.
So, that’s my inheritance. Possible traces of a precious metal in bridge work.
And we laughed.
Cleaning out the house on my own was a long and arduous process. I could have done it sooner and sold the house quicker but for my own sense of well-being and fear of burnout I plodded along slowly.
This provided me with many moments of levity and not just “run of the mill” conversations with my mother. It was a thoughtful dissolving of home and hearth. Not a metal dumpster in her driveway where her belongings would be trashed forty-eight hours after she was gone.
What usually happens when a person dies, if they are in their own home, is that the loved ones/relatives take time from work or their lives for the associated funeral activities. They do the right thing. They show up, take care of immediate arrangements and support each other.
But the looming house filled with a lifetime of accumulation? No one has time for this. They can’t afford the time away from their workplace or their families. Hence the dumpsters/trash receptacles in the yard.
And the baby will get thrown out with the bathwater.
If you are currently in this position or see yourself in this situation sometime in the future. What can you do now? It can seem so overwhelming.
Hopefully, this reminder will help. A phrase said to have been coined by Desmond Tutu.
How do you eat an elephant?
One bite at a time.
Maybe when you are visiting an aging parent sit down with photo albums and ask, “Who is this person?” Write down the information on the back.
Maybe help the parent clear out old clothes or belongings. Or go through papers/documents together and understand the filing system. Folks of a certain generation tend to hold on to a lot of paper. Assure them they will not be audited thirty years later. LOL. Maybe look in the back shed to see what is no longer needed or being utilized. Like a lawn mower, hedge clippers and snow blower? Check the seasonal decorations. Are they being used? If not could someone else actually need them?
These things can all be done little by little. Break it down into small chunks to avoid being overloaded.
I never thought I would be blessed during a process that would ultimately end with the loss of my mother.
But I was.
Looking back, I was so fortunate. I touched everything that she touched. I touched everything. We talked and laughed.
I saw my mother every day. Now I am no longer able to talk and laugh with her. I miss her. Every single day.
Every moment with my Mom was a true blessing.
Just Being Mary 