Losing My Mother at 101

We are both at peace

My mother at her 90th birthday celebration - at a casino, of course!

Well, this has certainly been a month. January started with a beautiful memorial service for my friend’s husband and will end with a flight to Arizona to scatter my mother’s ashes. The former was a celebration of a life well lived. The latter will be something entirely different.

Over the past five years or so, I have watched at a distance as my mother lost the ability to walk, feed herself, talk, and often to even open her eyes. Photos and videos from her care home broke my heart. Her face looked frozen with her mouth fixed in an upside-down U. There was no spark of life, and yet she lived on.

A Tale of Sadness

My mother’s life was not easy. Her mother died after giving birth to my favorite aunt. Mom was eight years old and was sent to live with her aunt (a kind and wonderful woman) and uncle (a man who treated her terribly). Her father died a few years later. She carried the misery of her childhood throughout her life.

And then there was her marriage, which ended with my father’s death soon after their 60^th wedding anniversary. I have memories of my parents laughing together and appearing happy, but they are few compared with those of fights, rage, tears. They often threatened each other with divorce, but neither took the first step toward that.

After my father died, it seemed as though she might finally be happy – but no. She went from being the long-suffering wife, to being the suffering widow. Suffering was something she simply could not let go of.

Wallowing in the misery of missing her beloved husband, I reminded her that she was not happy in her marriage. She responded, “I choose to remember the good times.” And when I asked what those times might be, she simply repeated her choice to remember the good times.

A Tale of Joy

There were points in my mother’s life in which she became an entirely different person. One was at work. She worked in grocery stores until she retired in her 60s. She seemed to feel at home there. She would walk through the store as if she owned the place – very sure of herself, taking pride in a job well done.

Then she would come home and be verbally and emotionally beaten down by my father.

This transformation was also present when she gambled. My parents had poker nights with their friends back when I was very young. Mom was always a very good player – and when casinos started popping up in Arizona, she was also lucky with slot machines. She was self-assured there, exactly as she was at work.

Ten years or so after my father died, after a great deal of initial resistance, my mother moved into an assisted living apartment. She absolutely loved it! For the first time, she was part of a community and friendships grew. Whether it was movie night or poker night or something else, she thrived there. I only wish she had been able to stay longer but dementia ended her stay after just a few years.

Nurturing and Love

The care home my mother lived in for the rest of her days was a house, not a large facility. It accommodated up to five people at a time, each with their own private bedroom. The gentle, caring woman who owned and managed it, showered all who lived there with love.

This home was the first and only place Mom was able to experience being nurtured. Her mother would not have had time to nurture her children. There would have been too many to clean and feed each day.

Not having been nurtured, my mother never learned how to nurture others. She only knew how to suffer. That suffering brought a toxicity that was difficult to be around.

A Reflection

I cannot feel sad that my mother has passed. Sadness was what I felt knowing that she had lost all autonomy. Sadness is what I felt when I saw her eyes closed ever so tightly, ensuring that all was blocked from her sight. Sadness is what I felt knowing she had zero quality of life.

Her passing was gentle and peaceful. It was as if she decided it was time and headed to the exit. We should all be so lucky. Now her spirit is free. I cannot feel sad.

I envisioned her mother and “baby sister” waiting for her, helping her to step into the other side. I saw them shower her with a healing balm of love. After so much sadness, she could now bask in joy. That is my wish for her.