Photo by Sandy Millar on Unsplash
Either way, I have felt better than this.
And there is no real difference these days. At first, I thought that my mother passing (which is the chicken way to say she died) would affect me like my father’s death 30 years earlier. When Dad died, I was all business. Stopping to get in touch with my feelings was not a thing I considered. There was so much to do. And doing it gave me a valid reason to stay away from my emotions.
So, I was all business after my father’s death.
I’m pretty certain that I still have not mourned his passing in a significant way. I think about him from time to time, but not in a sad, crying way. Dad was a NASA engineer. He was particularly interested in man’s ability to fly like a bird. His adventures could fill volumes. I remember going with my dad and my brother to Wallops Island on the Eastern Shore of Virginia.
From the blockhouse, we got to watch a Scout 3 stage rocket liftoff.
This experience left a mark. Sady, I didn’t have as many experiences with my dad as I did with my mother. I did make better use of our time together, particularly in her last years. Recently, she brought up the furnace issue in the rental home when we were in Mobile Alabama for a year. It was getting cold and that night my dad turned on the furnace for the first time. In the middle of the night, I felt sick, so I went into my parents’ room and woke them up.
While my mother was tending to me, dad figured out that the furnace wasn’t venting, and we were dying from carbon monoxide poisoning.
Off went the furnace, all the windows were opened, and we all went outside in our PJs. It was Mom who remembered, about a year ago, that she and my father were so grateful to be alive we all played hooky. Dad stayed home from work and us kids missed school. We went for a drive in the mountains and had a picnic to celebrate.
There are things I never thought to ask my mother.
And now that she is dead, I cannot get her honest answers. She also began to exhibit the stages of Alzheimer’s. Some days she was Mom, and other days she was a much younger version of herself.
One visit, she and I had a wonderful conversation, but her conversation and mine were completely different.
That was ok because she enjoyed the visit. She was living whatever she was talking about, and it made her happy. A few years ago, I stopped trying to correct Mom when she would get her facts jumbled up. And I stopped reminding her that she had already told me (now for the 11th time) that same story or concern.
Even at 96, she still wanted to make sure each of her children were OK.
Often her fixation for the visit centered around one of her children. She’d say, “It’s an awful long drive to come see me.” To which I would respond, “It’s not a bad drive.” 5 minutes later, “It’s an awful long drive for you to come see me.” And I would answer, “it’s not a bad drive.” Switching to a new line of conversation, we would spend the next 5 minutes talking about something different. And then her concern about the length of my drive would surface again.
I learned how to be patient and to acknowledge her concerns, without correcting her.
Until today, it never really dawned on me that I could feel sad about losing my mother. And this sadness feels like the onset of my bouts of depression. I am sad that I do not feel better, and sad that I don’t feel worse. At best, I am OK right now. OK is just OK. I am getting through the days, but I am not focused on it much. I make decisions, but I feel like I am doing it from habit.
When I am on my game, my decisions are from the heart and my brain.
Often, I know what the answer is before the question is fully asked. Being on my game, I can see the answer and understand how best to share it. I am seldom wrong, and nearly always spot on. Yet right now, I am not feeling it. I am not feeling that sense of timing. Burying Mom in two days will, I hope, clear the cobwebs from my brain.
I suspect that some self-care would help right now.
It makes sense that I am just OK. I think I am grieving the loss of my mother. And this time, I am at a place in my life where I can focus more on how I feel about her passing. And even though I am the executor of her estate, and am still working 45 hours a week, and commuting 10 hours a week, I feel there is more time for me to feel.
But I am still not ready to answer, “how does that make you feel?”
In the end, depression is not the underlying concern I have. Getting Mom buried next to my father is what Mom wanted. And it is what’s going to happen on Saturday. I will leave my depression at home and see that mom’s wishes are carried out. It seems that all of the details are in place, and the only thing left is for it to happen.
