My Mother's Passing

I remember, around when I was ten years old, praying for my parents to live a little longer. Ten years, I asked, or even five; just long enough for me to figure out how to navigate this world without them. It was a selfish prayer, nonetheless God saw fit to grant my request many times over.

My mother passed away early this past Saturday morning, January 11. She had suffered from Alzheimer’s Disease for about ten years, and for the past five had lived in a facility that has provided her with extraordinary care. When the end came, it came fairly quickly. Her nurse practitioner informed my brother, who lives nearby, that Mom’s decision to stop eating again was different than previous times, that this was likely the end. I went to bed Friday night wondering if my brother would call me before morning. Then I woke up around 3 am and could not go back to sleep. It would be artistic license to say I felt as if the axis of the world had somehow shifted, but in fact it was just because a lot of things hurt, which they do most of the time. Nonetheless, I was not surprised when Brian called me a few hours later to tell me 3 am was about the time she had passed.

She had not recognized me for years. That’s on me; I’ve lived hundreds of miles away for three decades. But the result was, in many of the most important ways, that I lost my mom a long time ago. We’ve been busy since Brian called, leaving immediately to drive to Oklahoma, contacting family, meeting with the funeral home. I wonder when and how it’s going to hit me. I had a taste of it this afternoon, picking out a verse for the service program from a book of poems the funeral home uses for these occasions, verses that have been copied for countless funerals, I’m sure, yet one caught me off guard, seeming to sum up my mother so well. I suppose that speaks to how alike most of us are, that we can find our loved ones within a small book of well-worn poems.

My mother has visited me in my dreams two or three times in the past couple of years. In those dreams she can speak just fine. She is the wise, kind woman I knew most of my life. It’s like she’s saying, “I’m still with you.” It leaves me feeling good when I wake up.

I will continue to miss my mother in the waking world, and I look forward to sharing my own memories of my remarkable mother until my own memories are little more than dust in the corners. I can’t help but wonder, though, will she still visit me in my dreams, or does she feel like I’ve finally figured out how to navigate the world on my own?