This year I lost my mom.
They say all the first are hard when you lose someone.
Her first birthday without her was a little overshadowed with my father-in-law’s funeral.
Mother’s Day was different. I had a moment to take a moment. I realise I don’t have the kind of quiet life where I can take a moment to deal with things very often or just about ever.
Maybe that is why I seem to feel Dad’s loss too. He passed away almost 13 years ago now. The year he passed, we were really worried for Mom, I was estate liquidator. We had to sell his house. My husband had a stauts epilepticus that put him in a coma and on a fast track for a number of brain surgeries. I also had a tween and a teen at home and deallt with middleschool kids at work.
Now, there is a serious lull in all emergencies: no more ambulance chases, no more emergency calls for the two who have just passed, no more fighting for care at the residence… I get to stop and think. More importantly, I get to stop and feel.
This weekend, the in-town siblings and I decided to take a few hours to get together to look over a few things concerning Mom’s estate and to visit the cemetery where our folks are now together. You see, Dad wanted his ashes placed in Mom’s coffin, so we buried both of them at the same time.
This weekend happened to be Mother’s Day weekend.
Sometimes you do not realise what you need until you get it. This weekend brought me a few of those gifts.
The first was the ability to take the time to feel. There were no emergency situations. There was no rush to get somewhere. No one’s well-being was held in the balance.
The second was to recognise the difference of what belongs to me and what is out of my sphere of control. This does not mean I am not worried or concerned with people in my circle who are unwell or who have experienced trauma or loss because they remain on my radar. The difference is I recognise what is happening to them belongs to them and it is not my place to take it on so I could let that go.
The third was the biggest surprise. The family had received word the funeral home, La Maison Darche in Longueuil, was going to have a service in the chapel for the mothers lost this year. Though I am not a church goer, I decided to attend. As I walked in alone, I tried to find a spot to sit and found one between 2 women. Next to one of the women was a man who recognised me. It happened to be a man who works in my building. I knew he had lost his mom because I had seen the work e-mail go by. I didn’t know which funeral home they had used though. His sister, who sat beside me, had been their mom’s caregiver. She had given up her life for the last years to care for her mom at home. She was devastated. I handed her tissues. We held hands. We listened as did everyone in the chapel who also lost a mother.
The community gave me the sense I was allowed to feel what I was feeling that day.
I was also grateful for how our family lived Mom’s last years.
I was grateful to realise that my identity was not wrapped up into who I was for someone else, as was the case of the woman beside me.
I was grateful this funeral home does mourning really well. We felt respected during the passing of our dad so many years ago and then our mom. They sent us pamphlets if we need to join a support group or to simply attend one of three themed evenings if it could help.
I was grateful to go up after the service to the reception hall for a snack. I watched strangers share while lined-up for the food. I saw two women connect. They had been through the same exhausting 24 hours a day care for years for their moms. They were able to admit to each other the sense of relief because of exhaustion at the passing of their loved-one but then ready to do it all over again. I saw their demeanor change realising they were not alone. Better still, I saw them talking about something else because their sacrifice and loss had been validated.
Sometimes it is good to take the time to be sad. I did. It lifted me and gave me permission to enjoy what I have and even what I had.