The interesting thing for me about my mother’s death five years ago today, from a strictly sociological standpoint, was the fact that it, in some fashion, took place in this blog.
I had written a post on Sunday, January 30 about my mother’s stroke two days earlier, and my need to trek down to Charlotte, NC. But I didn’t actually post it until Wednesday, February 2, the day she died. I was there when it happened.
When I finally got back to what had been my mother’s house and was/is my sister’s house, that afternoon, I eventually checked my email. There were several comments on the blog hoping for my mother’s recovery.
Then Denise Nesbitt, the doyenne of ABC Wednesday, emailed me and asked how I was. I told her that my mother had died. SHE must have contacted several others because I then got a wave of condolences from people, most of whom I knew but had never met.
If I ever find the need to cry, reading the comments to that post, quite possibly the greatest number of responses I’ve ever gotten on this blog, will turn on the sobbing.
The next day, I posted about her death, then the actual trip to Charlotte (written just before her death), then, after a Super Bowl post I’d written much earlier, mom’s obituary.
Three days later – thank goodness I write ahead – Mom’s funeral program. A week later, Random Post-Funeral Thoughts. Finally, the first part of my monthly rambling contained more musings.
What was useful in the process was the fact that my niece Alex, Marcia’s daughter, did a ton of photo scanning, some for the funeral, which I used in the posts. MANY of these pictures I had never seen, and others, not for years.
All of this was very therapeutic for me. Someone wrote, early on, that I seemed “detached.” It’s more that I felt that was operating on two levels simultaneously, one as the person grieving, and one as the journalist, for want of a better term, observing the process.
Speaking of therapeutic, a couple of months later, I recommended the book The Orphaned Adult.
When we got back to Albany, we received flowers from the aforementioned Mrs. Nesbitt, which was incredibly sweet. I went to church that last Sunday of the month when we sang Lift Every Voice and Sing, which I’ve sung for years. But I can barely get through it anymore without crying, and it started that day when I knew, profoundly, that my mom, and my last living ancestor, was gone.
I still miss my grandma almost every day. Hugs to you.
I emapathised with your description of operating on two levels simultaneously. It is hard to share emotionally in a post (or is that just a man thing?), but the reporting of events can be very therapeutic.
And you have reminded me that I have a stack of old photos, most taken by my late mum, that I need to sort out and scan, a process that that will bring both happy and sad memories.
I think there must be something about organizing your thoughts for the blog that helps order them and process an event like that. I felt that way when I talked about my mother-in-law and my pet dying in the last two months. Doesn’t mean I don’t still have my moments of grief and tears, but writing about it–and then re-reading what I’ve said–helps me to cope.
I value your posts about these things.
Beautiful post, beautifully written about our beautiful mother.
Thank you for sharing.
Love,
Leslie
My Mom died twenty years ago this May 11th, which was Mother’s Day in 1996. I was the one elected to give her eulogy, so I had to stay clear-eyed. I also received one last communication from Her, I will explain.
The Thursday before she died, the hospice nurse told me she was going down, I had taken a leave of absence from my job to watch my mother while my step-father went to work, I would be there from 6:30 A.M. to around 6:00 P.M.. That Thursday I called my Step-Father and told him to come home. That Friday I had a doctor’s appointment that I could not cancel. When I left, My Mother got worried, demanded the phone, and called my apartment, telling my answering machine, “Come home Tom, Come home.” I went back to my Mother’s house, and stayed there until after she died. I didn’t return to my home until after the Funeral, Where my Mother’s last words were waiting om my machine.
You have my empathy; I’ve moved in with my mother who is doing a slow-but- accelerating fade and I really don’t expect that she’ll be around within the next two years. It’s sad, it’s stressful, but none of us get out alive, do we?
This is a great memory of your mother and beautifully written. I can understand that you become emotional when you sing or hear her favourite song
being sung. Dying is such a horrible thing.It has been constantly in my mind
lately.
Thank you for sharing your emotions.
Wil, ABCW Team
I really enjoyed reading this posting and it is written so well. I like how you combined the life of a blogger with the actual life that we all are going through, with loss and also with the help of the other bloggers. I really liked the whole article, it is worthy of a second read and would love to see it in a magazine. cheers.
We never really get used to being adult orphans, do we? Thanks for this.