Today Mom would have been 88 years old. My mother and I shared a birthday month which always made July special to me. Now it’s a little bittersweet, but I still carry the memories of how my mother tried to make my birthday special each year and how I did the same by making her handmade cards and crafts. What my gifts lacked in artistic talent they made up for in love.
Even though my mother and I were born in the same month and the same astrological sign, we were opposites in personality. I write about those challenges in The Reluctant Caregiver. But one thing we shared was a love of creativity and the arts. Over her lifetime my mother learned how to play the guitar and took dance lessons. She made fabric art wall hangings. I’m grateful to have inherited a love of creativity as well, as it can make the world a better place during challenging times.
It’s hard to believe that today marks 10 years since my mother’s death. The moment my mother took her last breath is still crystal clear in my mind, even though I can recognize the considerable amount of time that has passed. Considering the turmoil that has engulfed the world over the last decade, I have to say Mom had impeccable timing when she exited this world.
As I was writing this blog post, Maria Shriver’s Sunday Paper hit my inbox. In it was an article, Want to Have No Regrets When You Die?, which was written by Diane Button, a death doula. She shared an encounter she had with one of her dying clients, who told her, “I am not yet ready to die. I’ve spent my whole life caring for others, and honestly, I don’t even know who I am.”
This really resonated with me as it’s one of the cornerstones of my caregiver advocacy, to support the needs of family caregivers and making sure they don’t lose their own voice. Writing is one effective way of maintaining your identity, and can help process the complex emotions that caregiving triggers. One of my goals with publishing The Reluctant Caregiver was to encourage other caregivers to release the guilt and shame they felt during their caregiving experience.
Button shared a simple yet powerful, “I am …” writing prompt that anyone can use to connect with themselves. The prompt could also be used in an audio format if that’s one’s preference. Button suggested that it’s an exercise that one can revisit, then review prior answers to see how your sense of self has transformed over time.
Here’s what I came up with to mark this somber anniversary:
I am resilient. I am learning. I am determined. I am evolving.
Feel free to share your “I am” creations in the comments section. I’m working on a project that includes writing prompts for caregivers. More to come soon.
Mom would have been 87 today. While Mom and I were opposites in many ways, I did gain an appreciation of music from her. She loved her Martin guitar and it survived several moves with her. She taught me to play a bit when I was a kid; it kept me occupied over those long, hot summers in California. After she died, the guitar was one of the mementos that I cherished the most, so it’s now in my home. I’ve attempted to play it again sporadically, and hope one day I can dedicate enough time to be able to play casually again.
I also inherited an appreciation of a wide range of music from my mother. She loved listening to everything from Mozart and Beethoven to Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. She even tried to appreciate the music I loved growing up, and the music video craze of the 1980s. I think Cyndi Lauper was probably her favorite, because she was so fun and colorful.
Mom would be proud knowing I was still sharing our family caregiving story with others. You can listen to my appearance on the Caregiver SOS podcast on Spotify or your preferred podcast hosting service. I’ll write more about the appearance in my next post.
A reminder: I’m participating in the Smashwords Summer/Winter sale. Get the e-book version of my award-wining collection of personal essays, The Reluctant Caregiver, for half-off (just 99 cents!) during the entire month of July. Enter the code SSW50 at checkout.
Check out my summer book recommendations for caregivers for even more books to help you on your caregiving journey.
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I recently had a poem about my mother’s infamous shopping lists published. You can read “Her Lists” at The Prose Poem.
My mother’s lists were like a look inside her busy bee brain. It may have seemed like an oxymoron, but my mother’s chaotic organization style worked for her. That was fine until I became her caregiver and then I was the one responsible for interpreting her wacky roadmap.
I wrote “Her Lists” during a poetry workshop a few years ago. I tinkered with it just a bit since then, but it mostly came out as is on first draft. If you’ve had challenging caregiving moments that you are trying to work through, engaging with them in a creative process may be helpful. Taking a look at such moments with a different lens may be healing and provide some sense of closure.
It has been 7 years since my mother died. The pandemic has made time’s passing more difficult for me to track. Seven years feels both not long ago and yet another lifetime ago. I think my mother would be very upset about the state of the world right now, as she always looked for common ground and the good in people. Those things seem to be in short supply these days.
I did have a moment of synchronicity today. I was listening to Glenn Campbell’s late masterpiece albums, Ghost on the Canvas. It was recorded after Campbell’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis and was one of my mother’s favorite albums. It’s one of my favorites too, and I’ve listened to it dozens of times. Today I played it on the YouTube app on my TV and when I looked up during one of the instrumental interludes, I realized the song was titled, May 21, 1969.
I had never noticed this before! According to information I found online, May 21, 1969 was the date the date Campbell’s network variety show debuted on network TV. It would become a hit and known as “The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour.”
What are the chances that May 21, the day my mother died, would also be in a song title of one of our favorite albums? The moment felt like Mom’s spirit connecting with me through the wonders of the universe.
Five years ago today my mother died. It’s hard to believe that much time has passed. Following on the heels of saying goodbye to my dear cat last week, it’s a double dose of grief.
When I think about my mother, the visceral pain has dampened with the passage of time, but such a profound loss changes the landscape of one’s heart forever. As those who have followed this blog or have read The Reluctant Caregiver know, my mother and I had our relationship challenges, because we were opposites personality-wise. But a mother is an irreplaceable figure in one’s life.
There are so many people experiencing loss right now. Having experienced a variety of losses over the last decade, I can say that grief does transform over time. Grief is an individual process, and while the established stages of grief may offer some insight, be prepared to slide in and out of stages over time. One thing I have found helpful is to give meaning to the loss, to honor the significance that person or animal had in your life. This could mean designing an urn, writing a poem, planting a tree, etc. One meaningful way I’ve honored both of my parents is to engage in caregiver advocacy work, to support those who cared for my parents during their times of need.
For those who are grieving right now, I hope you are able to find a path that will lead you to some form of inner peace.
Sometimes I still can’t believe that my father outlived my mother. He was 79 when he died.
It’s also hard to believe sometimes that just two years ago, I was celebrating her last birthday alive with her. I’m glad I made the trip, it’s not something I always did, but at least I did it when it counted the most.
After I passed the year mark of my mom’s death, it felt like a veil lifted. I’m more at peace now and less bombarded by flashbacks of her death and final months.
Today I will try to remember the good things: my mother’s corny but infectious sense of humor, that southern accent she never lost, her generous and kind spirit.
How do you mark the birthdays of those who are gone?
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The Memories Project 