We knew for three years that Mom's illness would take her life, and I thought I had prepared myself for her passing. I wrote her several letters telling her just how much she meant to me. I wrote a poem and dedicated my last book to her. Dad and I stayed busy meeting each stage as it came along, letting the busy-ness of building a ramp or rearranging the furniture to accommodate the wheel chair or hospital bed or a myriad of other projects - make us feel like we had a handle on this monster taking over Momma's body. I thought I had prepared myself well for the inevitable. But I hadn't.
I remember so clearly when Momma walked into the kitchen and told me she'd received a new diagnosis: ALS. We held onto each other and cried. Then the next day she and Dad still volunteered at the food bank. Later I took her to the hair-dresser and after I picked her up, we just drove around town for a while wailing at the top of our lungs. One of the side effects of ALS was losing control of one's emotions, until medication fixed that. I'd never heard Mom cry like that before. I rarely ever saw her cry. But I was wailing just as loud as she was, and I didn't have a disease to blame it on.
After that, I only let myself cry on the way to work or coming home. I tried not to cry around Mom. I didn't want to make her even sadder than she was. She would've felt bad for making us sad-- that's the kind of person she was. But often I'd picture myself climbing into bed with her and hanging on for dear life, and I wanted to do it so badly on so many occasions. But I didn't… until she was in her last hours.
I know it bothered Mom that we had to keep doing more and more for her as the disease gradually paralyzed her, but she was no problem. Taking care of her wasn't the hard part. Living in this house without her was the hard part. Missing her so terribly the months after she passed was the hard part. I tortured myself with the 'wishing I'd just sat and held her hand more' kind of thinking or questioning if she really, really knew how much we loved her and knew how much we were missing her. I began to hope God would let her send a message that she knew, but I wasn't sure if that kind of request would be okay with God.
Several months after Mom passed, Dad told me that he was sitting in the recliner napping, and he felt someone kiss him right on the mouth. Then he said he could smell Mom-- like her lotion or makeup in the air. He said he probably dreamed it, but that it felt so real. I smiled when I heard that, and I told myself whether it was real or not, it was comforting to hear it. Then I found myself thinking like a little girl… "but what about me?" Then I chided myself that it was right for Dad to receive that kiss. He was, after all, her life partner of over 60 years.
After Thanksgiving a few months ago, we took in a sweet little dog to keep Snickers company, and it took no time at all for Rolo to steal our hearts. (We have a candy theme going with our pets' names). Not long after she arrived, I stepped on something squishy on my carpet, and assumed it was 'you know what,' but it was one of Mom's brush rollers Rolo had somehow found and brought to my room. I chunked it since no one uses them in this house anymore.
The next day or so another one showed up on the floor in my room. I chunked this one, too, wondering where Rolo was finding them. I assumed Dad must've left the cabinet door open under his bathroom sink. A third roller showed up not long after that, and then it dawned on me that maybe those rollers were for me. Since then I learned the rollers were closed up in the bottom drawer of the bathroom cabinets, so I'm not sure how Rolo got to them. And she hasn't brought any more to my room since.
I like to think they were messages for me. I have no idea if they actually were, but it makes me smile to think so. I've stopped torturing myself with the 'I wish I'd…' thoughts or the 'Did she know…' questions. God has brought to mind memories and thoughts that told me that she did know how much we loved her. One of the most powerful confirmations is knowing how I feel about my own children. Mom told us on more than one occasion that her family was the best part of her life. She knew.
Knowing we'll see her again because of our faith in Christ is so comforting, but that doesn't take away the ache of missing her on a daily basis. We just learn to live with it, alongside family and joy and friends and peace and mowing lawns and success and housecleaning and mistakes and love and work and relationships and memories and kisses and brush rollers...
