Final Day

 7.27.25 

This morning, I woke abruptly to a phone call at 3am from Gilchrist. It was Olivia, Mom peacefully passed away at 2:45am. 

After visiting last night, I had a feeling we were in the final hours. Her breathing sounded painful but the nurse reassured me she's not in pain. They gave her a bath in case "she leaves us tonight." Fiona and I stayed up late watching "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close." An incredible story of a boy who loses his father (physically) in 9/11 but gains an adventure that would have made him proud and learning that everyone carries so much weight. It's lighter when we realize that and embrace one another.

I called Dad as I left the house to head to Gilchrist. I texted Cathy, also. 

Walking into Mom's Room No. 7, the air felt different, calm, sterile, lifeless. Her spirit had moved on. The physical being in front of me was not the wholeness of her, of Momma. Her eyes were slightly open, her lips turning pale, and her chest ... eerily calm. I had been staring at that chest for what feels like months but probably the last 7-10 days. To see her so still, was what broke me open.

Cathy showed up and provided a lot of comfort. We called the crematory and packed her things. Then we talked. Cathy shared so much with me over the past few months. A lot I didn't know, other stories I thought I knew (second hand). She has been my rock and while I may not be willing to adapt to her religion (or any one religion for that matter), I respect it and her.

Watching Momma's lifeless body be wrapped, tagged, and carried out was painful. Again, this just her physical body. Her spiritual body is all around me and never "leaves." I need to believe what I told Fiona, and I do, but I need to remind myself.

Dan Rather's email today highlighted the no. 1 song from 2000, "I Hope You Dance" by Leann Womack. The same song that made me cry when Mom and I listened to it on Thursday, and when she mouthed "I love you" for the last time. 

Signs of you everywhere, Momma. I'll stay open to receive them, always.


My Facebook post:

Oh, Momma. I don’t even know where to begin. I guess I’ll start with our first photo together and our last. So much to say but could never be able to adequately describe how much I already miss you, how I missed you as you slowly began to leave me the last 3 months. I’ll hold onto every moment we shared together, even the ones that challenged the way we communicated in your final days. You’re the strongest and most courageous person I know. I’ll feel you during every thunderstorm, sunrise, sunset, birdsong, and crashing wave. Until we meet again, “I love you, hon.” 

<3
RIP, Momma

7.18.52 - 7.27.25

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Her, Mom, & Me

She was a Her before me. She was Mom before I was born. I am nothing without both. Forty-two years ago, I was due. I envision my mom pacing the floor, anxious, nervous, but mostly excited. I was stubborn and kept her on her toes.  She became a mom the day she found out she was pregnant. I wish I knew exactly when that was. Maybe it was immediately after conception. Maybe it was months. Was she happy? Did she cry?  I know I couldn't possibly know every detail of her life, but I wish I did. I want to fill my memory, my brain with her story, her stories. How did she become who she ... was? How did she become so courageous, tough, and able to endure such pain - physical, mental, emotional? She shared some of her stories that rose enough to the top of her mind, for better or worse. I don't know if I want to know her legacy, her to be remembered by some of her most traumatic experiences. I know several of those. Was her diagnosis a manifestation of one of them? Depression passed dow...
Read more

I Hope You Dance

 7.24.25 It feels like a full day already and it's only noon. I didn't run this morning. Instead, I visited Mom early at 6:15 am. She was alert, eyes open, making noise, and moving her hands. I talked to her gently. Rachel reminded me to say what I need to every time I see her. She could be waiting or spiritually know I haven't said my peace. I'm so grateful for these amazing people. I told mom I love her and that she will always be with me. I also very explicitly said, "You will not be forgotten." One of her fears she shared with me early on in this journey. I told her she was beautiful and it reminded me of Joe Cocker's "You Are So Beautiful" and so I sang it. She winced a little in the face when I began to croon. And I said, "you did not pass down your singing voice." We laughed together. it was short, but it was most definitely a "you got that right" kind of laugh. Then I put on "Always On My Mind" by Willie Nels...
Read more

Mother's Day

The last 2 weeks have been rough. My mom went from living independently to severe headaches to a stage IV cancer diagnosis in 11 days. She is living with us and will begin aggressive treatment on Tuesday. If there’s anything to be learned, it’s to enjoy every moment of joy. We have watched funny movies from our childhood, enjoyed ice cream, identified birds with the Merlin app, binged Four Seasons, eaten every meal together, taken scenic drives, visited Valley View Farms and the Dutch Market for flowers & pie, shared stories and photos, and have tough conversations about death. All this amidst doctors appointments, scans, lung biopsy, a trip to the ER, a scary fall and finalizing details of her will.  Mothers make the world go round. They give birth to us, raise us, and then they need us to be strong. I am so grateful for my mom for all she’s done for me, A LOT. She always put me first. She taught me to be kind and smile at everyone you meet because you never know what they’re ...
Read more