This is our patio at the moment. It's so jungly out there it can barely be called a patio. Part of the problem is I haven't weeded it in a while, so stuff is growing in the cracks of the concrete. But hey, I like it, and soon enough autumn will be here and all that will be dying back for another year.
I'm particularly glad to see the Chinese banana tree looking so robust. It really got blasted by last December's freezes. Remember how it had a terrible case of red spider mites last summer? I haven't seen them at all this year. I think the rain and cooler weather has kept them away.
Speaking of autumn, today is my first day back at work. Dave is also coming back today from Indiana, where he's been attending Drum Corps finals -- though he doesn't go back to work until Thursday. He's in the air right now, probably over Ireland or thereabouts. In any case, the summer, for us, is pretty much officially finished.
I took Olga to the cemetery yesterday, where she rolled around and made a spectacle of herself. I think she's getting a little bit deaf. Sometimes I say her name and she doesn't appear to hear me. She still totters after her ball, though, and glares at squirrels. Old dogs!
We found this grave decorated with stuffed animals, and I was amused that someone took the time to make them little rain hats out of a plastic bag.
I haven't written much about my own experience with bereavement this summer, the death of my mom. To be honest -- and to my surprise -- it's been less emotionally devastating than I expected. I think this is partly because she really left us years ago, when her mind began to deteriorate. Mom's departure was slow and gradual, and for the past year or two (really, since the height of the pandemic) she has seemed so unlike her healthier self that she was almost different person. (At least, to me, in the brief periods I was able to visit her. My brother, who saw her more from day to day, might feel differently.)
There were moments when I'd see the "old Mom" peek through, like when I wheeled her around in her wheelchair during my visit in February and we watched ducks on the pond and sat by the river. That was stuff she always liked to do, even when healthy. But she had receded from us so much by then.
So yes, of course, I miss Mom all the time. I think about her often and it always hits me with a little jolt that she's no longer here -- that I will never see her again, never hear her voice. But I was missing her even before she physically died. I've had a lot of time to process this departure.
30 comments:
Thank you for your words expressing your grief. It mirrors mine. When a long life ends in such a slow but predictable way, without agony or pain, what more can we ask for.
Hope the school year starts with ease for you both.
It's sad that Olga is losing some hearing, but it's good to see her still enjoying outings. The graveside bears are cute with their little rain hats.
It's a long slow loss that's now final. May the good memories take over.
I lost my mum 10 years ago and I still think "I must tell mum ...."
We lost Himself's mum twice, like yours. Once to dementia and then the blessed release of death.
Time never heals but it does diminish the pain.
And I do love your patio.
I respect your current reflections upon your mother's passing. You have got the rest of your life to mull over those thoughts.
While my mother's death was quite different, I expect I will have similar thoughts and memories at random times in the future.
I completely understand as I felt the same thing about my mom's death. I knew it was coming for nearly three years before it arrived. The one difference is that she was still there and fighting for additional time. But as with your mom, I had a chance to grieve in smaller doses over those three years so when she did pass, there wasn't much left in me to be emotional about.
Five years later, I still feel the hole in my heart left by her death though the edges are getting smoother with time. I know now that grief is probably always present for our loved ones.
It sounds like as you say, she left gradually, like my mother-in-law. My own parents both died with minds intact, and it was much harder to bear.
I've been wondering how you were doing with your loss, since you hadn't mentioned it recently. It takes a long time.
Grief is different for all of us. And we handle it in our own way.
Dementia is cruel, in that we lose someone twice. Sending hugs.
My mother didn't have dementia, she had Parkinson's Disease for at least 20 years before she died. When she passed, it was time. I'm sure she was relieved, too. There are worse things than dying.
I felt the same way about my mom - she'd had cancer for "only" a year, but we were braced for her death. My over arching feeling at the time was fury because earlier intervention might have saved her (or just prolonged the inevitable).
We found out recently that my infant great-nephew (who has Down Syndrome) actually CAN hear, he just doesn't really listen (apparently just like his father, my nephew). We're relieved since he'll have so many other challenges. I know that Olga is in her dotage, but maybe she also is just tired of listening :)
Best wishes for a pleasant school year, Steve!
I remember discussing my relationship with my mother years before she died with a friend who was a social worker. "Work these things out now, Mary," she said. "It won't get easier after she dies."
Uh....
I was quite happy to realize after my mother did die that this was not necessarily true.
But that is not your experience at all- you and your mother had a good and sweet relationship for the most part and like you say- you had lots of time to process and grieve before her actual passing.
I think what I'm saying is- we all do this differently.
I think of my parents quite often, especially when I'm doing stuff that they taught me to do... like vacuuming and cleaning the kitchen. I do a shout out to them. I think they laugh every time they hear me.
I forgot to write how lovely your overgrown garden is. Yes, autumn is on its way and will take care of the weedy stuff.
I hope Dave's journey home was good and easy. I'm surprised that summer vacation is over so soon and it's already back-to-work day. Hope all goes well.
It’s been 15 years and I still long to hear her voice or feel her finger caress my check the way she did.
And the I remember that so many people have such complicated relationships or memories of their mothers that they don’t experience this beautiful ache. I am grateful for the ache and the longing. It tells me who we were to each other.
The patio looks lovely.
Your feelings about your mom sound very normal to me. If you are like me, you will have moments when you wish you could tell her something or show her something new. Those moments aren't really painful, but like you said they are just little jolts.
you've been grieving for years so no surprise that it didn't hit you hard.
I love the way you patio looks. especially with the volunteers growing out of the cracks. the indomitable spirit of nature.
Good luck on a new school year. My former colleagues went back this morning. And I (nutty me) just applied to be a substitute teacher. When you write about your mother and her passing, I think of my own mother at 88, almost 89, and she's still doing well. My dad died very young of a heart attack. It was very unexpected. I don't know which is worse, a sudden death, or one like you experienced with your mother. Take care.
Something about those bears with the "rain caps" reminds me of Paddington Bear. I've never really understood leaving things like that at graves or memorials, but to each their own (just like the grieving process!!).
Mom had a brain tumor, which took two years to kill her. Much of that time was spent with her being non-responsive. So, when she did die, it wasn't much different than the previous months. That was in 1992, so all of the rough edges have been worn off. I'm glad you're not devastated by this.
Already back to school? Yikes! Being retired, August is now a much more relaxing month. I agree that the transition from either severe dementia or severe physical decline to death isn't as heartbreaking as other losses. We don't want them to go on as they are.
Dementia may be harder for caregivers to handle than actual death. Still, condolences.
Grief isn't linear -- it's a circular process and the circle gets wider and more away from the center of it all in time. While there may always be a certain sadness, loss -- all those things -- I strongly believe it helps to have had the time to ease into it, as you did. It doesn't make it less real, just more gentle and easier to accept as real -- for it has been "real" in its way for a long while. You may still get grief bursts but I am grateful you also seem to have a good deal of peace with it all -- that is a gift.
Being an orphan is a major adjustment, comes in waves- pick up the phone to call Mom and then realize all over again...I think it is a forever thing.
Your garden looks like it is out of a magazine- "How to garden the Right
Way"- really very pretty, you are so good with plants! congratulations Mr. Greenjeans!
Pleased to see the stuffies are cared for. Living in a cemetery can not be that much fun- rain on top of that- miserable, Hats are good.
Your feelings are understandable. You will sort it all out in time, just as you will sort out that tangle of plants.
Back at work already? I still have another 3 weeks. I think you get out earlier than we do though. The last day for us was June 28 and we go back the day after Labor Day.
Sabine: I think the fact that both your father and my mother lived about as long as a human being can be expected to live definitely eases the grief.
River: Olga still loves getting out and about, it's true!
Mitchell: Amen to that.
Caro: Yeah, it is a bit like losing a person twice, though I really feel like it's a single loss that takes a long time.
YP: I'm not sure I'll mull them much, to be honest. As I told a friend recently, "It is what it is."
Andrew: I'm sure it's harder when your mom is still mentally fit.
Ed: The loss will always be there, I'm sure, but as you said it will come to feel more familiar with time.
Tasker: Yeah, as I told Andrew above, I can see how that would be much harder.
Boud: Yeah, I didn't want to give the impression that I'd just breezed past it. This is a process!
Bob: Yes, indeed. Welcome back!
Pixie: As I told Caro above, it feels more like a single loss that took a long, long time.
Colette: Yeah, I felt the same about my mom. The death was really a release.
Bug: It's got to be difficult knowing that medicine could perhaps have helped, but of course you never know. Especially with something as unpredictable as cancer.
Ellen D: Thanks, Ellen! I know I failed to respond to yesterday's comment but I hope you're feeling better and I'm glad you're back in blogland!
Ms Moon: Yeah, sometimes death actually solves a lot! I guess your friend meant to say what needed to be said, if you felt there were things that needed to be said -- which isn't always the case.
Robin: The summer seemed to go so fast! I also think of my mom at funny, routine moments when something I do reminds me of her.
Linda: Absolutely -- the ache is a reflection of your relationship, which is a beautiful thing!
Sharon: Yeah, exactly. They just hit me out of the blue. It IS a jolt.
Ellen: I like it too! We are not super-neat, super-fussy gardeners. I do try to keep it a bit under control, though. :)
Michael: You're substituting?! That sounds even harder than teaching! You're a glutton for punishment! :)
Kelly: They DO look a bit like Paddington, whose hat (I suppose) was probably meant to be a British rain hat!
Allison: So your situation is a bit like mine even though the circumstances are different. The real death seemed to occur over a long period of time. The final breaths were just the body departing.
Margaret: Exactly. To continue in that condition was not sustainable.
Catalyst: And thank goodness she had professional caregivers, so we didn't need to do the difficult, hands-on physical work.
Jeanie: That's an interesting idea, the circular pattern of grief. I hadn't really thought about it that way.
Linda Sue: The physical distance for the last ten years has helped me adjust, too. If I lived near her and saw her more often I'm sure I would feel it more.
Debby: Or nature will sort out both problems in the long run!
Gary: Yeah, our last day was June 16, so we're a bit ahead of you!
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