Tag Archives: death

A towering reminder

tree collage

This week marked the fourth anniversary of my mother’s death. I’ve hit that mark where it’s hard for me to believe that it was only four years ago. It seems like a lifetime ago.

But the towering water oak tree in my front yard serves as a sturdy reminder. It has been four years ago since the last time I had it trimmed. The reason why I remember the date of such a mundane task is because it was the day that I realized Mom was dying and that I needed to be with her. I remember the chaos of that day, with Mom getting admitted to the ER again for uncontrollable pain. I was trying to field phone calls with the roaring machinery going full-throttle outside. There was an issue with a car parked on the street and I was being asked to assist. I remember wanting to scream, “I don’t care about the damn car. My mother is dying!”

I recently had the tree pruned again, and the foreman proposed May 21, the day of my mother’s death. Somehow I thought it was appropriate. The tree may very well outlive me. It grows, it sheds its leaves in the fall, occasionally branches drop, and then it is tended to and left naked with knots. It’s akin to how time alters the grief process. One is left raw with some hardened spots, but life continues to grow.

You may never be the same after the death of a parent, but life does go on.

Advertisements

2 Comments

Filed under Memories

A reunion with kindness

kindness-1197351

I had a chance encounter this past week with a woman who was a true angel to my family several years ago. Sandra went out of her way to care for my mother and myself as my father was dying. She even put her life (and car) at risk, driving through a snowstorm.

Sandra played a role in what was one of the worst moments of my life, but also a moment that helped inspire this blog, The Memories Project.

Over the years, I’ve thought about Sandra and her multiple acts of kindness. Such people seem to appear when you need them the most.

And so it happened that our paths crossed again. You can read about the encounter via my post on Medium or via the Twitter thread below. (Click through to read entire thread on Twitter.)

As I’ve said before, I’m a skeptic, but I’m also not a fool. There can only be so many coincidences. I keep my eyes and heart open for these moments, and try to learn from them. I hope you will do the same in your lives, and also remember that small acts of kindness can have a tremendous impact on a person’s life.

Leave a comment

Filed under Memories

Odds and ends on grief — Views and Mews by Coffee Kat

I relate to this post so much. We all have our individual ways of coping with grief, but there are some emotions surrounding grief that many of us feel. I’m sharing this post from a fellow blogger who recently lost her beloved cat. Whether pet or person, losing a loved one is hard. If you are struggling through the grieving process right now, you are not alone. Be kind to yourself.

I forgot how much grief hurts. Sounds stupid but it’s one of those pains I try not to remember. It’s both physically and emotionally exhausting, sucking out joy wherever it goes. It’s not always about death. We grieve many things but the commonality is that it is permanent. We don’t grieve the temporary. There are […]

via Odds and ends on grief — Views and Mews by Coffee Kat

Leave a comment

January 10, 2019 · 1:36 pm

“Into the Night: Portraits of Life and Death” a fascinating documentary

Leave it to me to find the heartbreaking, gut-wrenching yet powerful documentaries. While films about dying are always an emotional experience for me, I also find them thought-provoking, which is why I keep watching them and sharing with others.

The latest film I watched is titled, “Into the Night: Portraits of Life and Death.” It aired on PBS earlier this year, but I caught it on Netflix. What I liked most about the film was the diverse range of subjects who were interviewed about their perspectives on death. From people of faith to scientists to a former member of an Islamic extremist group, those interviewed were candid about their thoughts on the meaning of life, death and the afterlife.

I loved the imagery captured in the film, such as a son finding an acorn in the pants pocket of his recently deceased father, or a favorite family photograph of a parent and child on the shore of the beach. There was also an interesting discussion of near-death experiences.

One of my favorite death positive advocates, Caitlin Doughty, is also interviewed for the film. A traumatic brush with death as a young child greatly influenced her life.

The most moving segments were with those who were actively dying. Anyone who has spent time with a dying person knows they often offer an insightful take on their imminent demise. Some people fight death until the very end, but others make their peace with death in order to better appreciate the time they have left.

The overall message I took away from the film is that each of our lives are unique stories, and all stories must come to an end eventually.

Watching such a film made me reflect upon my own views of death, as well as those of my parents. My father, a staunch Catholic, had an intense fear of death. Did his dementia offset that fear, or intensify it? There is no way for me to know. My mother, on the other hand, had a more positive end of life view. She thought we “go to a good place, and a right place,” based upon whatever our views are of the afterlife.

For me, I’m more afraid of terminal disease and the dying process than death itself. I dread the idea of pain, misery and loss of self-control. I also dread the loss of mental faculties, but know that is a distinct possibility, as Alzheimer’s is all over my family tree. I admire those that make peace with death, as I think it is the best way to go. At some point, the fight to live is over, but I don’t see that as giving up. I see that as focusing remaining energy on the life you have left.

If you’ve seen the documentary, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

2 Comments

Filed under Awareness & Activism

Bittersweet birthday memories

birthday-cake-380178_640

Pixabay

For me, July will forever be associated with birthdays. My mother’s birthday was July 6 and my birthday is July 19.

While birthdays should be filled with happy memories, ever since the death of my parents, I’m left with bittersweet memories. There’s a profound quote in the Netflix documentary, End Game, which is about end-of-life care and hospice, that touches upon what I’m feeling this week.

“Suffering is the wedge, the gap between the world you want and the world you got.”

Even though I didn’t spend my birthday with my parents as an adult, they always sang Happy Birthday to me over the phone. It was a fun tradition, and each year Mom would tell me how they practiced all week to make it special. My parents both had some musical talent, with Dad especially fond of singing in the style of his favorite crooner, Bing Crosby.

The year before my father was placed in the memory care center, my parents performed the best rendition ever of Happy Birthday. My dad was in high spirits that day, and even though he was in the middle stages of Alzheimer’s by then, he hadn’t lost his ability to sing or to ham it up. He continued singing, performing a medley of classic show tunes before Mom was able to get the phone back from him. At the time I thought, “I wish I had recorded this!”

As my birthday approached the next year, I was visiting my parents and Mom and I made the trek to the memory care center to see Dad. He was mobile but heavily medicated. I didn’t expect any birthday singing, but Mom insisted. I was torn about recording it, but I knew in my heart that it would be my last birthday with my father alive. Little did I know then that my mother would be in a care center a year later recovering from cancer surgery.

Even though I knew it would be painful, I decided to record it. I’m glad I did, even though it is heartbreaking to watch. (I rarely share this video, but am making an exception here.)

As to the quote about suffering, what I wanted was the sublime Happy Birthday performance from the year before. What I got was my father, addled with medication and his brain ravaged by Alzheimer’s, trying his best to perform one final time, with my mother trying desperately to be upbeat.

Ultimately, both memories are gifts. They are both filled with love.

 

 

 

 

4 Comments

Filed under Memories

The eyeglass whisperer

One of the toughest moments during the frenetic cleanup of my parents’ condo just after my mother’s death was what to do with her eyeglass collection.

My mother’s many eyeglasses were laid out neatly atop the dresser, where she always kept them. Each pair of glasses had its purpose.

mom eyeglasses

A routine trip to the grocery store required three pairs: sunglasses, a pair for walking and a pair for reading coupons and expiration dates. Whenever I was with her, I was expected to know which pair she needed at any given time. I became her eyeglass whisperer, though to be honest, I never did figure out what all of the pairs were for.

She did try bifocals at one point, but hated them. “I feel like a chicken trying to pick up corn,” Mom complained.

So as I moved around the condo in a whirlwind, using the activity to temporarily blunt the grief, my mom’s eyeglass collection brought me to a halt. She had not worn any of the glasses for weeks, since she had become bedridden. While I was purging the condo of many items, I wasn’t ready to part with her glasses. Instead, I put them each in a case and then into a box, which I mailed back home to Atlanta.

I had some hazy notion of turning them into a sort of tribute piece. The glasses sat in the box in a closet for almost three years, when I finally decided it was time to do something with them. I found an appropriate shadowbox and created a simple display of the glasses my mother used most.

The display is now on my bedroom wall, and I’m pleased with the results.

Have you come up with any unusual memorials for loved ones? I would love to hear about them.

 

5 Comments

Filed under Memories

Respite in the woods

20180302_182904

Sunset in Ellijay, Georgia.

I just returned from a 5-day trip to the north Georgia mountains. It was a nice getaway, with a mix of rainy days to crystal clear nights with the sky full of stars. In the past, I haven’t been able to enjoy these trips as much because I  was worried about my parents as their health declined.

Back then, cell phone service was very iffy in the woods, and being able to reach them required some effort. Calls would drop often and my mother always thought I was hanging up on her, haha. (While there were many times I wanted to, I only hung up on her a couple of times in my life.)

I am always in awe of the majesty of the mountains, from the beauty of the sunsets, to the way the rains strikes the roof of the cabin to the blanket of stars overhead on a clear night. But life cycles are also on display in the mountains. The hawks swooping and soaring effortlessly overhead were seeking their next kill. I took a short hike and came across so many fallen trees. Taken out by severe weather or just old age, they will decay until they return to earth or are removed by developers looking to build a new cabin.

Sometimes it helps to watch nature do its thing, and know that many of the same rules apply to us. I think especially for those grieving the loss of a loved one, there is comfort in observing the cycle of life and how there is always something new to take the place of what is lost. A dogwood tree was just beginning to bloom near the cabin, a sign of the rapidly approaching spring; a tree stump became home to abundant fungi.

20180227_175739

It’s these moments that I get to fully enjoy now that makes me realize how difficult it is for caregivers to truly unplug. Caregivers are always on edge, awaiting the next calamity. Even if you know your loved one is receiving good care while you are away, you never know when a medical crisis might arise. After awhile, it becomes your new normal.

I hope that my fellow caregivers will get a chance to enjoy a real respite soon.

3 Comments

Filed under Memories