Trigger warning: death and grief ahead
It breaks my heart to write this, and yet the catharsis of putting the words into the universe is too much to resist. Holding them in will do nothing to prevent them from becoming real. It will only continue to eat at me, draining whatever reserves I have left.
We’re losing my mom.
Mom … the heart of our family. The person I would call every day, if for no other reason than to hear her voice. The one who’s always in my corner, my voice of reason when life feels like too much to take. These days, it often feels like too much to take.
There’s no alternative, and there’s not much time. None of us can say this is a surprise, having watched this disease slowly stealing her away. Still, we can all say that it’s coming far too soon. She’s only 54 … far too young for this to be real.
How can this be real?
How does the world keep going without her?
How do I?
The doctor is kind, compassionate and very clear. The words float around, whirling through my mind. “Comfort measures … pain management … DNR”.
I’m filled with questions, as my anxious tendencies take over. The tears are silent by this point. I’m resigned to their flowing freely, because grief has a way of showing up whenever it feels like it.
How do I explain this to my kids? How do I make sure they remember her and the love she has for them, when they’re losing her at such a young age?
How do I help them to grieve, when I’m so lost in my own heartbreak?
There are blessings that come with this kind of death. We can talk about it, and ask what mom wants after she’s gone.
“Just throw me a party” she says.
She doesn’t want any receiving lines, no funeral services … just good food, happy memories and lots and lots of love.
A party it is. Anything for you, mom.