It was the sort of awakening that occurs when a phone’s ring interrupts a deep sleep–the kind that if needed, propels one into motion, only there was no phone ringing, I simply felt called.
Less than 20 minutes later I was checking in with the night security guard at the hospital, as he handed me a visitor’s adhesive badge the expression in his eyes unveiled the reality I was headed toward, my mother was dying. “Be well.” He said as I placed the sticker above my heart, “Thank you, you too.” Seasoned in his job he knew better than to wish me a good day.
I found her peaceful, sleeping in a way that belied the truth of the pain she had suffered earlier. And for what felt like the first time since I had disembarked the airplane days before, I sat with her in the stillness, her hand in mine, cradled in the comfort of an understanding forged between us years before–there was nothing left but our unspoken love to share.
A little while later the nurses came to reposition her.
“Her hand is swelling…would you like me to slip her bracelet off?…”
Her signature bracelet.
With tears carving their way down my cheeks, I nodded yes, then watched as the hand cream released the gold band from my mother’s hand, and with it, the light jingling that for as long as I could remember, had given her whereabouts away.
As the bracelet passed over my own hand and joined the silver one given to me by my sister, I was struck by the first wave of grief, washing over me was the tide of emotion left over from previous loss and rising up with it was what now lay in front of me…a future that no longer included being someones child.
I cried as one does when you can’t risk being overheard.
Again I took her hand only this time I sang to her, songs she herself had taught me a lifetime ago. Songs that were the auditory landscape of my childhood; one rich with family love.
My relationship with my mother did not resemble those imbued with a sugary Hallmark sentiment, true to her World War II era she held each of us close with an open hand, which for me at times felt distant if not remote. Yet in the stillness of the morning, as the sky outside stretched the light of dawn across the dark of night, I felt a shift in my capacity to both see her and love her as she was–a woman–one who made her way in the world with courage, strength and resilience.
There we were each pregnant with permission to let the other go–one shepherding dying, the other living.
Just after 7:00AM my mother left her body behind, but I felt her, her spirit lingered as my heart opened up to the realization that what we shared would live on.
My mother knew love and gave love, hers was a life well lived, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
In memory of, Elinor Fairchild Stebbins, December 14, 1924-May 15, 2013
Elin, this is lovely. I am so sorry for your loss, and so glad you were able to be there with her.
Thank you Stephanie, I am glad too…
This is heartachingly beautiful. Such mindfulness during one of the most intense experiences a person — let alone a daughter — can witness.
Thank you for this glimpse into a very loving and precious moment. Peace to you both.
Thank you Lori, your words mean a great deal to me.
Elin, you have described those last moments so beautifully. It is a blessing that you were there to be with your mother. My deepest sympathies to you on your loss
Thank you Helene.
Beautifully written, Elin. You have my deepest sympathies.
Thank you Ginger.
I’m so sorry for your loss Elin, but so glad you were able to be there with your Mom. I hope that time together brings you comfort.
Thank you Janet, I know you are no stranger to loss either, and yes, I am glad I was able to be there too.
In sharing so beautifully from your heart you are bringing us deeper into your experience, which invites us to go deeper into ourselves. Thank you Elin.
Thank you Kim…xo
Elin, I’m so sorry for your loss. I still wish I had been at my father’s side when he died 5 1/2 years ago – as painful as it was, I’m glad you were able to be there with her.
Thank you Sharon, it is painful yet needless to say I feel fortunate to have had both of my parents as long as I did. I’m sorry you weren’t able to be with your dad, I have several people in my life who have expressed that either not being there, or not having seen their loved one after, remains one of the harder aspects of their grief. I wish we did a better job culturally sharing our experiences, mourning is such an important aspect of living.
Elin,
You have such a gift of words–a true blessing. I find myself in the same “club” as you….loosing a parent this year. Thank you for sharing those last moments. February 2nd I lost my Godmother, the next evening, February 3rd, my father. Your words will brought me tears and they brought me joy as I learn to deal with my grief. You are in my thoughts and prayers.
Michele, first I am sorry to hear about both of your losses, and on the heels of one another, so hard. Thank you for your thoughtful words about my post and also for sharing your feelings, so appreciated. Sending you love and light as you continue your journey too.
Elin… What a moving tribute to your mom’s life in this world and to her transition into the next. Beautiful. Poignant. Thoughtful. I’m so deeply sorry for your loss, but I know she will live on through your words.
xoxo
Thank you Edee for the creation of BTBYB and providing a space to share my musings. Appreciate your comment a lot. xo
Too moving. I really can’t commnet. You touched me.
I appreciate your being here and your sharing.
Dearest Elin,
Sending you light, sending you love, and sending you thanks for being wonderful you who shares yourself with us! My heart aches for your loss.
Lovingly, Laura
Thank you Laura…love to you back.
Very beautiful, Elin. I’m in the Writing Alliance, as well. It seems we’re on a similar path. I, too, celebrated my 50th birthday this year and also lost my mom last year. I’m in the final stage of writing a book about my mom’s final days titled, 14 DAYS – A MEMOIR. Your experience was much like mine. Beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. My experience is chronicled in an excerpt from my book below:
https://14daysamemoir.wordpress.com/2013/04/14/breathless/
I’m very sorry for your loss.
Lisa
Hi Lisa, thank you for sharing your work here, it has been my observation that there is a great deal to learn when we experience loss…it is my hope that as a culture we will shift and start looking at the beauty that exists. I am working on my second book right now, this time a novel, that deals directly with a number of things, death among them. I’d love to remain in touch. Thanks again for being here.
Thank you, Elin. It is beautiful and sad and deep and mindblowing, all at the same time. I’ve had so many friends and family members pass in the past five years. It’s all a part of growing up, I guess. I certainly look at death a lot differently now than I did 10 years ago. And my mom’s death really changed a lot in my head and heart about the process.
I just realized that our moms were almost the same age, as well. We really are on a similar path.
On another note, I love your website. The design, the fonts – it’s really beautiful. I look forward to reading more about your book as it unfolds. Keep posting on the Writing Alliance page, too! Really nice to “meet” you.
All the best,
Lisa
Elin: Your words go right to the soul – what a lovely tribute to your mother. I am sure wherever she is, she is loudly proclaiming that you will ALWAYS be her child. xx
Thanks for this Dianna. xo
This is so beautiful. A friend sent me this post b/c I am approaching this moment with my dad:
https://www.thewriterrevived.com/2013/09/the-long-goodbye.html
I hope when his moment comes it is as peaceful. And I hope your heart is healing and you still feel her spirit with you.
Hi Elizabeth, thank you so much for reading my post and also for sharing yours. The range of emotion is so varied (as you said…the roller coaster you long to get off…). I totally get what you mean when you say it is difficult to write about too. Wishing you great strength as you continue your journey with your dad.
I am so sorry for the loss of your mother. Thank you for sharing your words with us. I lost my mother just over two years ago, & I have buried the pain of losing her, as being a male I felt I should not allow myself to grieve. I miss Mom so much & was emotionally very close to her. I feel that the grief has gotten stronger with time, & that is why tonight I went searching online for answers on how to allow myself to grieve. Your story really helped me. Thank you again for sharing.
Larry thank you for your condolences and for your heartfelt note. I too am sorry for your loss. It has been my experience that men often have a more difficult time expressing their grief because they are socialized to believe that they somehow need to “be tough” which translates to not showing their emotions. Grief however doesn’t work like that, it does not discriminate and cares not what our gender is, it is our human connection to others that makes the loss visceral, not our gender. I am so glad to learn that my post was helpful to you. I am reminded that there is no time table on our feelings of loss, the more we are able to grant ourselves, and each other, the freedom to express our loss the better. I wish you only the best as you navigate these uncharted waters of emotion. Last I’d like to recommend Dr. Ken Druck’s website, he has done amazing work around grief, it is my hope that it may be helpful to you: https://www.kendruck.com/
Thank you so much for being here and for using your voice to express how you feel.