If you follow my Facebook page, you already know. And if you don’t, here it is: my mother has died. I know lots of people say “passed” but that to me is a soft word, and my mother’s death is the harshest, ugliest, meanest thing that has happened to my life thus far. So I say it like I feel. She died. She’s dead. It was sudden and painful and left her with little dignity. My brain cannot yet process it so for now, I’ve stopped trying.
That’s going to be harder this week as I am in CT for my mother’s funeral, which I planned with help from my younger sisters (I am the eldest child). Harder still because my 8-year-old is starting to miss her, and my 2-year-old is starting to ask questions.
“Mommy did Gramma wake up?”
“Where she is?”
“Is Gramma still be sick?”
Yes, Logan. No. I don’t know. I can’t figure out what to say. Because it’s my mother, and because it’s her grandmother. It hurts me so much and I’m an adult, I can imagine how they must feel. Helpless. And confused. The fact that Logan doesn’t fully “get it” is both a blessing and a curse. I don’t need for her to know that my mom is dead, but I would like to be able to give her a concrete answer as to where she is. She’s asleep. For a long time. When our last plane landed today I told Logan we were in Connecticut and asked if she knew who lives here. Yes, she said.
“Yo mom!” As in, I GET IT, THIS IS WHERE GRAMMA WENT, AND NOW WE ARE GOING TO SEE HER AGAIN.
I smiled. “No, Baby.” I was whispering so the passenger next to us wouldn’t hear the disgusting news about my mother. “Gramma doesn’t live here anymore. Gramma is asleep, remember?”
“Ooooh, yeah.” Logan looked at me and laughed.
“Aunty Tiffanie and Uncle Sean live here!” I made my voice sound excited even though I was hurting at the thought of my mother.
“Yay!” Logan said. “And…yo Mom lives here.” She turned around to wait her turn to exit our row, and I stared out the window, thinking how beautiful everything is from whatever altitude we’d just been at. And that my mother won’t ever see those things again, at least not for a very long time. I have a hope. But I miss my mother.
Sending you hugs, love and warmth. To you and those beautiful kiddos.
Thank you, Muddy.
Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m a newish reader here and I don’t think I’ve said hi yet. But I had to send you my condolences. I’m facing the impending death of my own mother, who has cancer, and the thought of it is unbearable to me. My thoughts are with you, and my hopes that your children will light your days in a way that eases the pain a bit.
I hope you find healing soon. I still am devastated by the loss of my mother’s mother. My son is extremel attached to my mother and the day she is no longer here, I don’t think I can function.
Sending you lots of love and keeping your family in my constant thoughts.
A mother the most amazing person,
The one who touches so many lives and has enriched your lives….
A mothers love can not be replaced but holding onto those fond memories keeps you going,
Allow yourself to cry as you come into terms with the death of your mum for every tear is a note of love rising to heaven .
Please remember that your sorrow should be the bridge and not a barrier to those who adore you.
I sympathize with you now and always and I hope you find healing in your heart.
I lost my mother too and I know how you feel!
Loads of love ,hugs and prayers your way.
I have to say again that I am so sorry for your loss. As we get older, its something that crosses our minds as “young” parents but we dismiss the idea of it because of how painful it is to think about. One of the most beautiful things about becoming a parent is watching your parent become a grandparent. Im sorry that their time with her has been cut short, and I can understand how it must b so find th words to know what to say. Here you are realizing the greatest pain of your life and still giving. Giving hope, smiles, and stability to your babies; Support and leadership to your siblings; thoughtful, creative, and heart-warming blog posts for your readers – and most of all bringing HONOR to your beautiful mother by doing all that you do with such passion and care that its certainly clear that you were taught well by a very special person. You are in my prayers, Dear.
I am a new reader, too. I’m sorry to hear about the death of your Mother. My Daddy died when my firstborn was 3 months old. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to deal with. I still miss him so much, and it’s been almost 24 1/2 years. Having a hope does help, but it is still hard. Love to you. <3
I’m so sorry for your loss. Sending hugs to you and your family.
I’ve been blessed to still have both of my parents with me still. I can only guess at what pain you must be in. Sorry for your loss.
Oh my gosh! This happened while I was on a sort of WordPress break. I’m so so so sorry. I can hardly imagine this pain, and I prefer to pretend it will never happen to me. I hope you’re holding up okay, and if you’re not, well, of COURSE not. I’m just sorry and wishing you and your girls and your family the best.
Thank you Steph. We are all taking it day by day.