The last two years were filled with hope and then despair and then hope again. I call what I experienced anticipatory grieving, but tried to be hopeful and believe in miracles throughout. Sometimes I miserably failed, and it was hard to be optimistic like Mom was.
I talked with her the Saturday before she died. It was the last time she was coherent. She said she was just so tired, and ready to go. She didn't want any more pain and any more waiting. She was ready. She'd said her goodbyes and didn't want to keep saying them.
The next day she stopped talking, and Brett and Dad moved her to the hospital bed they'd set up in the office, by the window so that she could look out over the filberts. Brett said that they could tell she didn't want to be there, but they insisted it was time.
The kids and I skyped with her a couple of times on Monday; Trevor was there with her and joking around. Sometimes she would squeeze his hand and he'd tell us she liked what we were doing. She'd fall asleep while we were singing or talking, so Trev would call us back when she woke up. I called again on Tuesday, but by that point she was completely out of it.
She died about 2 a.m. Wednesday morning. Ruth was born at 12:47 a.m. two weeks later, another Wednesday. I think Mom was there with me the last little while, when I was pretty sure I couldn't have that baby.
I talked with Aunt Lisa (Mom's sister) in July, and learned some details I hadn't known before. Aunt Lisa had planned to come visit the weekend following Mom's passing, but moved up the date when Aunt Lori (another sister) told her it was probably now or never. Aunt Lisa said that was one of the best decisions she's ever made. She and Lori took turns sitting with Mom when Dad was resting, and they were both with her when she passed.
Aunt Lisa said it was so peaceful and reverent. One second she was there, the next she was gone. She just quietly slipped away.
I like to think that there were hundreds or maybe thousands of people waiting to greet her--from her mom, my beloved grandma, to her grandparents and great-grandparents to the myriads of people she discovered through family history and temple work. She served so many! I'll bet they were so happy and excited to meet her--I know she was excited to meet them!
I mourn for me. I mourn for my kids, who will never know their Grammy like I knew my grandma. I mourn the times we would have spent together, the babies I never got to see her meet. I mourn the time I thought we would have. I mourn no more phone calls and encouraging words. I mourn her laughing at my stories and getting me to see the humor in the situations. I mourn no more emails or visits. No more baby quilts or garage sale-ing. No more walks and talks. No more bouncing ideas off of her...
Dad gave me her scriptures and journals. I tried to open the journals a month or so ago, but just couldn't do it. I've managed to use her scriptures a few times--I hear her voice when I read her notes in the margins, and know she would be so excited for my calling of Gospel Doctrine teacher.
All the family was together at Thanksgiving, where Mom gave us each a copy of some things she'd put together--her testimony, things she wanted us to know and stories from her journals. I tried to read them then, honestly I did, but I wasn't able to until months after her passing.
After she passed I had an overwhelming show of love extended to me. Mom's friends and Stephen's family sent me cards and flowers. My pseudo-sister Mel drew a beautiful picture of Mom holding Ruth. I still haven't read the cards, and even though Elise put the picture on our mantel, I still can't look at it.
Last Wednesday I had scary thoughts like I just wanted to be with Mom and not be here anymore. My practical side knew that was wrong--too many people need me here--but my soul was ripping apart with pain and sadness.
Susan, the grief counselor, told me that hard days are normal, but the goal is that they decrease in intensity and frequency. That has been happening, so that's good. Baby steps forward, a few back, but overall the goal is forward motion.
For me that means re-establishing connections that I have let slide. With my Dad, with my brothers, with my aunts. I'd like to start talking with them again, but am apprehensive about how to start up again. Susan said to give myself time, and have a Plan B in case I can't handle something once we start talking. That not being able to handle things is okay, but not to let myself get stuck there. Days where I feel like doing nothing are okay, but they should be decreasing in frequency.
I need to let myself run the gamut of my emotions, and be honest with myself and those around me. I think I'm actually pretty good about that in my immediate family, and there are some close friends with whom I can also be perfectly honest.
In fact, last week, on my hard day, I texted Sandy (who lost a baby about 10 years ago). I asked her if she ever just wanted to join Aryn and not be here any more. She said yes. I felt so much better knowing I'm not alone in my feelings. Though that is kind of selfish, because it means someone else feels terrible, and I really don't want that.
Writing all of this was part of what I decided to do to help me--one of the thoughts I had while talking with Susan. I think Mom would approve.
