I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions, but those of you who know me, know I’m a planner. I like to set goals and map things out especially at the beginning of a new year. Maybe it was those 37 years as an elementary teacher that honed this trait in me, or maybe I was born with this tendency. I like my life in neat little boxes like the ones in the teacher planning notebooks I filled in year after year.
But these past few months have taught me a lesson. Real Life doesn’t live in boxes.
In October, my mother passed away after a long battle with Alzheimer’s. Because it had been a long goodbye as we lost Mom bit by bit, I thought I would be prepared for the end. I was not. In that moment , and in weeks that followed, the universe as I’d known it shifted. In this new reality, I had no plans to follow, no guidelines for what to say or how to feel, no boxes to hide within.
With input from my siblings, I plunged into the process of planning Mom’s memorial service , agonizing over each detail: location, date, speakers, hymns, scriptures, flowers, obituary, photos, family dinner…. I realize now, it was my attempt to barricade myself from the pain, running back into my familiar space as I filled in boxes and checked items off of my list.
Everything was ready, then Real Life happened. The day of the service, a major winter storm hit Southern Indiana. In the hours before we were set to begin, the state highway department issued a travel advisory. The roads were slick and hazardous. Miraculously, my children and their families, and my siblings and their families arrived safely. The service would go on, but many other family members and friends called to say they would not be able to attend. “We’ll have to just go with the flow,” the pastor told me. I didn’t want to go with the flow, I wanted to row the boat.
As the music started, I made my way into the chapel and sat on the front row with my family. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and let the rich sound of familiar hymns wash over me. Beautiful eulogies from my nieces and siblings warmed my heart. When It was my turn , I spoke what was in my heart, my voice cracking when I reached the end:
“There will always be a bit of Mom that lives within me and in each of you, whose lives she has touched. Even now I can hear her saying ‘Go on now, take a chance, go for it, live your life to the fullest, and love with all your heart.’
Life outside the lines. That’s the way Mom lived. And in saying those words out loud, I made a promise to myself.
By evening, the snow had subsided transforming the city into a winter wonderland. Boisterous college students celebrated under the glow of holiday lights strung across the city streets. I took Ed’s arm as we navigated the slippery sidewalk to the restaurant where the family gathered. We celebrated Mom with food and drinks and stories and laughter. Exactly the kind of party she would have loved.
Threads of Thought
It’s not easy for us to talk about death, and grief takes many forms. For me, writing helps. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to share.
For those caring for someone with a terminal illness or grieving a loss, I would recommend the book: Nothing to Fear by Julie McFadden (hospice nurse)
“Moments Bloom Into Words” and I love to write about all of life’s adventures.
To find my books, click here.
