When my son died my mother felt like she was losing
her only daughter in addition to her youngest grandchild. She was desperate to make me “better.” Whenever I would call her she would ask me
how I was feeling and that would lead me to tell her the truth, I was feeling
rotten. She couldn’t accept this and
would tell me that I needed to get through this because she needed me. It became more difficult for me to talk to
her because of these exchanges and I began to call her less often and distanced
myself from her as I suffered from the severe grief of losing my only child.
My mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer at the
beginning of 2007, just months after my son’s death. I felt like I had not been doing my job of
taking care of her like I always had---taking her to the doctor and making sure
she had the things she needed. I had
given over these duties to my brother and his wife because I was just too exhausted
from my grief and didn’t feel like I could handle any additional stress. When I found out that my mom was terminal I
took over and made sure that she was comfortable at the hospital and then
eventually in hospice.
I stayed with her most of the time and we talked,
laughed, and cried. I would take in
photo albums; we would look at the pictures and tell stories of our family and
of course memories of my son. At one
point I was sitting in my mom’s bed with her and she told me this was just what
she had wanted—for us to be together and talking like old times. I was so happy that I was able to be there
for her and for me.
Her death taught me what a “good” death was
like. She had lived a long life and she
was ready to transition to the next phase.
She was able to have a gentle death and we were then able to give her a
well-planned and loving memorial service.
Although I miss her in my life, I am so grateful to
have had the honor to be there to help her when she was facing death. It showed me that death can be a welcomed
event for the dying and that it is a privilege to be able to assist someone in his
or her journey.
I love you Mom.
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