A Month of Sundays

    Two Sunday's ago, July 4th, I had the last really coherant conversation I would have with my mom before she died.  She had been crying for hours and my dad called and asked if I could come over and talk to her.  When I got to her apartment, she was on the couch sobbing.  "I just want to go home" she said.  I inquired as to what she meant by home, although I knew exactly what she meant.  She wanted to die and be with her mom, brother, and the daughter she lost 42 years ago.  She told me she didn't want to live "like this anymore."  By that, I knew that she no longer wanted to be stuck in a body that didn't do what her brain told it to.  But she was conflicted.  "I just don't know what to do, I don't want to leave you kids."  The sadness she was feeling was palpable and overwhelming.  She was clearly tormented between staying in a body that was failing her so that she could still be with her kids or giving up and deciding to go home.  I told her that she didn't need to make a decision right then and that she could take her time.  I was hoping that with a good nights sleep her thoughts would be clearer in the morning.  I let her know that we were honored to care for her and that she wasn't a burden to any of us.  "But what am I supposed to do since I can no longer take care of myself?"  "Well Mom, just live the best life you can with the abilities you have" was my reply.  I climbed in bed with her, wrapped my arms around her and told her we were having a slumber party, and eventually she fell asleep.  I will treasure that conversation for the rest of my life.  In the few days that followed, it became clear that she had made up her mind and had made the choice to go home.
The following Sunday we held her viewing.  For a fiercely independent woman who raised 8 children, alone many times as my dad was staioned over seas in the military, depending on others for all her daily needs wasn't an option.  I wish she were sitting on my couch again and I could sit next to her and feed her breakfast.  What a joy and a pleasure it was to help care for her in her final weeks.

Yesterday (Sunday again), me and all my siblings went through mom's belongings.  Dad is moving next door to a smaller apartment and wanted us to come and get whatever we wanted.  After sifting through boxes and boxes of craft supplies, yarn, crochet hooks, knitting needles and a few drawers and a closet of clothing, I came away with things that are priceless.  A garnet ring that Dad gave Mom when I was just a small child (I share the same birthstone), the light blue sweatsuit that she wore to the quad's birthday party the Saturday before she died (it hasn't been washed and it still smells like her), her tattered shoes with holes in the soles that I bought her for her 72nd birthday, her winter jacket that she never took off because she was always cold, and the photo album she had kept of me from childhood until now.

Next Sunday, we will finish moving Dad from the apartment he shared with Mom to the one next door.  This has been so difficult for ALL of us.  I'm praying for strength, understanding, and the ability to listen more than I talk. 
I miss her.  Dad misses her.  All my siblings miss her.  I guess we have some adjusting to do in order to find our new normal.  We need time.  Time doesn't heal, it's what you do with that time that heals.  We will get there...slowly but surely, we will get there.