Reflection: One Year Later

And I do remember her each and every day of my life because, well, she’s in there. Not only did she make me, but she made me who I am in so many ways. From the parts of her I proudly inherited and carry on to the parts of her I possess yet rebel against still, there is no denying I am a product of her influence. And yet, “remembering” seems the wrong word to use. Remembering somehow implies a separation from, in time or distance. I not so much “remember” Mom as I live her. That’s something I couldn’t have known until I knew it - the actual experience of continuing along on life’s journey once someone who I not only love but who so profoundly influences me - no longer walks the Earth with me. The experience for me transcends remembering - it’s more like experiencing the satisfaction of continuously finding puzzle pieces that fit, completing the full picture of my own life.

So it’s difficult to say that I “miss” her. Because it’s all here in my heart and mind. I certainly don’t miss what she became in her later years - old and pained and unable to do the many things that defined her to herself. Old age took from her those things which brought her joy - her hobbies, cooking, traveling and giving of herself. In the end, I don’t believe Mom was herself - even to herself. But for those who lose an elderly loved one, age is a mercy, slowly escorting us from who we knew to someone foreign to us, so the person we lose is no longer the person we knew.

The fact remains, however, that I do remember the events of one year ago today. I remember a long and numb drive to Colorado. I remember the first email I received on my new Blackberry was the email from my sister with a link to Mom’s obituary. I remember the surreal experience of reading Mom’s obituary somewhere in the middle of Nebraska. Mom’s obituary. Still sounds weird to say.

As surreal as the journey to Colorado was, once we got to my brother’s house where the family had gathered, everything felt clear, real and even “right.” We stepped out of the car into a world of reminiscence - where we shared memories, stories, photographs...and we smiled and laughed more than we cried. There we were, sisters and brother all dealing with the loss of our mother, individually, together. Our time spent together doing what needed doing in those days after her death turned into a celebration of the individuals she raised more than a sad farewell. If I miss anything today, it’s that sense of family connectedness I felt a year ago.

I have always been of the opinion that, not only didn’t Mom want us to be sad at her passing, but that there truly was nothing about which to be sad. She lived well for over 90 years and I am fully convinced that she was “done” - she knew it, accepted it, even willed her death. Yes, she was done.

She is not gone. I will always have Mom with me.