I miss writing, Mom

It felt so good to write, to release my thoughts and emotions. To put it on a screen and in a sense release it. Writing brought all the jumbled up conversations I had with myself out and organized. There was a freedom then that I don’t feel anymore now. These past few years have been stifling and oppressive, filled with worry and a feeling of not knowing how to navigate through my life. Work is a great distraction for me, I can focus on whatever my role of the day is and not have a thought about where I am in my life.

I wanted to write about my mother who passed away two weeks ago. She died a very slow, painful and agonizing death at the age of 90. The past year especially was unkind and I really had to pull every bit of strength I could to make each visit special. She loved being outside and during the summer I’d get her in a wheelchair and walk her around the little park like areas of the nursing home. She had gone blind about three years ago so as I walked her around I’d describe what I saw and heard. Mom loved the feeling of sun on her face and the smell of fresh air. Once I picked a flower and handed it to her to hold. We put it in a little cup next to her bed so she could smell it. Those tiny moments were special to her.

She agonized terribly over the fact that she had two out of five daughters that refused to visit her. They have been holding anger against her for decades and try as she might to apologize for whatever they felt her wrongs were, they wouldn’t budge. One sister in particular only went once and she wouldn’t go alone, she had to have the other sister with her. That was months before mom died. In the two weeks or so before mom passed it was clear that she was progressively getting closer to her journey on earth ending, regular emails were sent updating everyone. Nothing from the one sister. Mom waited, and waited and waited for her, she never came.

It was excruciating to watch mom suffer both physically and especially mentally. She wanted forgiveness, she wanted the daughters she loved so much to be there, to say goodbye, to say how deeply sorry she was and how deeply she loved them. Two days before her death I had gone up to see mom and as always I bent down and kissed her cheek and said “hi mom, it’s Jacquie. I love you.” Mom spoke her last words to me then, “I love you”. On her last day my one sister and I were there for a few hours, she was unable to speak and slept so we decided to return the next day. Two hours later we got the call that mom had passed, holding the hand of her favorite nurse, Jessie. I was overwhelmed with the thoughts of “I should have stayed”, two hours that’s all it would’ve taken me to be there for her when she left this world. Maybe that’s what she wanted, to go alone, I’ll never know.

What I do know is that in the last few years of her life I did everything I could possibly do for her. I gave her the respect and dignity she deserved and I told her I loved her every time I saw her. There are no regrets for me. Not a single one.

I want to write about how much I miss her, how sad I am that she didn’t get what she so desperately wanted from my two sisters but even getting this much out has been a struggle.

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