WARNING: This post is not for the faint of heart. A poignant photo in the middle of this post might cause some people distress. Please only proceed if you are willing and able to face a dying mother.
A few weeks ago during her brother’s visitation, Kelly – whom I’ve known since childhood – told me that I was just like my mom. I was stunned. I don't recall ever having been told that I am like Mom; Denise was always the one who got called "little Judy," not me. I was so surprised that I don’t remember the exact traits Kelly said I had in common with Mom. I wish I had listened more closely so that I could remember exactly what Kelly said - although I think I do have an understanding of the essence of her words.
Mother Living During My Childhood
Oh how things change!
I have had the experience of Mom’s being three different mothers to me. The first and best experience enveloped all of my childhood and into young adulthood. Mom laughed and smiled. She enjoyed adventures. She cared for me and for others. She wore Chanel No. 5 perfume. She also wore stylish wigs. She was limber enough to walk around her head, and one time, lost one of the aforementioned wigs to the floor as she was doing so in front of a group of Denise and her young friends.
Although I was a difficult child in that I was too scared to share my opinions – oh, how things change! – and Mom would get frustrated with my lack of decision-making, I always felt safe with her. I watched her and learned from her. I learned love, fun, support, caring and independence from her. While I did not necessarily demonstrate these characteristics from her straight away, they were indelibly written in my DNA to spring forth later as I grew.
Mother Living with Osteoporosis
Always in pain
Then, Mom started breaking random bones with little to no force applied to them. Eventually, when she was in her 50s, she was told she had osteoporosis. A combination of a childhood malady and family genetics led to the early onset of this silent disease. Mom then became the always-in-pain mother, the one who took strong medication to alleviate the suffering she was continuously experiencing.
That mom didn’t laugh as often. She was less limber. She became less tolerant of others and more rigid in her way of thinking. My caring, open-hearted mother became more judgmental and close-minded although, in the beginning of this phase, she still volunteered and took care of others. She became non-fun mom. I knew and know that this was the pain taking over – by now, she’d had multiple back fractures and sitting and standing and any position, really, caused her immense pain. She would sometimes involuntarily scream from the agony. Then, she would apologize profusely for doing so. She believed she needed to suffer in silence. She believed her pain was not to be shared. Yet, despite her efforts, we could see what the pain was doing to her. Our adventurous, fun-loving mother had disappeared.
Mom Dying in the Nursing Home
From where I was sitting
Then, that suffering mother disappeared, too, and we came to know the too-many-years-on-pain-medication mother. She told us the same story over and over again although she added some new details based on our responses to her story. She always knew our names, but our now 70-pound mother could not always remember other things. She couldn’t remember whether she had taken her medicine or even where she had put it. She became demanding. She lived in a constant state of worry. She heard people talking outside her front door, and she even saw a man sitting on her front porch. The "deer" camera we left on the front porch after she shared with us what she was experiencing never recorded anyone at her front door but us.
After she suffered a heart attack and a very short stay in a hospital, she moved to a nursing home where 24-hour care was available – something we kids could not provide for her. While she attempted to take care of other residents for the five months she was there, she was often less friendly to her relatives. Still, we had good conversations occasionally. She told me that dying was hard, and from where I was sitting, I have to agree. It looked hard. It looked sad. It looked painful.
Noteworthy and Noble Traits
That is the mom Kelly knew
So, when Kelly said that I was like my mom, I was shocked at first. The mom on my mind was the dying mom. Then, I thought of the pain-filled mom. Neither of these moms were moms I initially wanted to emulate. I finally arrived at the mom I hadn’t known for decades ... the fun and loving and adventurous mom of my childhood. That is the mom that Kelly knew. That is the mom she thought I was like. But now that I have had time to reflect, I see plenty of traits in all of my moms that are noteworthy and noble. Mom was fiercely independent in all her iterations. She loved us with all she had and always wanted the best for us. She was strong. She was courageous. She even held on to her sense of humor throughout it all – it just wasn’t always evident to us (smile).
Earlier this week, Mom would have turned 82. I am grateful that she wasn’t here for this week’s birthday, though, because she had suffered enough. I am also grateful that she shared so much of herself with me.
Thank you, Kelly, for shining a light on the essences of all my mothers!
Sending you a light to shine on the essences of your family,
Angela Jane
Disclaimer: I am just a regular human being, not an expert of any kind. The thoughts I share here are not intended to be used as professional advice. Please seek professional assistance from an appropriate healthcare provider if you are experiencing any mental or physical health issues.