Grief

If we meet up at some point, and you ask me, "How are you? How are you doing since your mom passed?" Please hand me a tissue or scrap of toliet paper at the same time-. I seem not to be able to answer that yet.

(So it's okay if you don't ask...and most likely, I am not wearing water-proof mascara because it makes my eyelashes fall out, so it could turn out to be a messy cry- and that would make us both uncomfortable. You wouldn't want to tell me I was a mess, and then I could get mad at you because you didn't tell me I had make up tracks down my face...So, really, maybe just don't ask. Or at least wait a while. But I don't know how long yet.)

I guess, just make sure to hand me a tissue...

I thought I had grieved the loss of my mom. I have been grieving a little, bit by bit, for ten years, really.

When my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's ten years ago, I grieved what I would be missing out with my mom. I cried about the potential of her one day not knowing me. Everyone wants their mom to know them, and love them. It was such a slow decline, things were taken away slowly, and grieving the loss of bits of my mom has been a process.

I grieved as she lost the ability to remember short tem memories, then the ability to read, or tell time. I grieved when she started to forget more long term memories, or how to button her clothes, or wear make up or do her hair. I grieved when she stopped bringing my boys jelly beans. I grieved when she could no longer write. And when she couldn't babysit anymore. I grieved as she lost the ability to talk on the phone, and then again as she couldn't figure out how to answer a phone. I grieved as I helped my sister pack up their home of 40 years, and I grieved as we set up a new apartment in a care facility. I grieved when she had trouble walking steady, and seeing clearly, and when she didn't recognize my dad sometimes. I grieved when this past December when she lost the complete ability to walk, and then in January, when she spent the month in the hospital and began to loose the ability to eat. 

I grieved two weeks ago, when I walked out of my classroom at 10:30 on a Tuesday when my sister called and said, "Hospice just said Mom may only be here 24-48 hours."

I went to her, and didn't leave, couldnt leave. I grieved as I (and my sister and brother) took care of her, 24 hours a day, dispensing medication every two hours. I sobbed my goodbyes, and kissed her every time I walked near her as she slept.  I grieved by her side the entire week, holding her hand,

talking to her, doing her laundry (and my own because I was compelled not to leave) or giving her liquids through a straw, or swabbing her mouth. I grieved as I learned to count her breaths per minute. I grieved through the different kinds of breathing I didn't understand over her final days. I grieved until she was gone nearly a week later...

And I thought my grieving would be behind me.

But, it is not. 

My grief has changed shape, however.

My current grief is more of a grateful grief-

I am thankful my precious mom is no longer confused, and fearful.

I am grateful I had 10 years with her to put into practice what she lived out: love as a verb.

I am thankful for the days I had to convince her to take a bubble bath at my house, and grateful for the times I helped her dress, and blow dried her hair. I am thankful for the weekend "sleepovers" to give my dad a break, and thankful for the nights my mom slept with me while my husband slept in the guest room. I grateful for the days when she was anxious and I would put on Christian music and we would sing together.  I am thankful for the years of taking her to get her nails done, and the years of helping her fasten a seatbelt, and put on gloves, and trying her shoes, and buttoning her coat.

I am grateful for the meals she ate at our house, that Tin Man cooked, and she loved.

And I am grateful for the many times I had to cut up her food, and cajole her into eating.

 I am thankful she didn't forget my boys and Tin Man. (Amazingly, she didn't forget them!) I am thankful she didn't forget how to talk-, and I was able to listen to her voice as she rambled through a story that never ended. 

I am beyond grateful that she didn't forget who I was, and I am thankful, even to the end, when I said,  "Mom, I love you." She would always reply, "I love you too, sweetie". I am thankful when I read the Psalms she would say them with me, and it brought her peace. I am grateful I told her a trillion times how much I loved her over the last week, and kissed her, and held her hand for hours.

I am thankful I learned to care for her for her last week. I am thankful I had my brother and sister by my side. (What a week we all had together!)

I am thankful I was able to be with her for her last week, and her last breath. 

I am just so thankful.

Grieving, but still so thankful.

So if you ask me how I am-I am serious: You better give me a tissue at the same time. 

Because all this is running through my head as you ask...

(...who definitely is grieving, but is so grateful...)