Thursday, November 13, 2008

Dear Mom

Hospice of Wake County is really good about following up with family members after a loss. They have an entire bereavement team. The people I most want to talk to are the ones who were here for us during the process. I really grew to love our nurse and our social worker. I spent more time with the two of them than anyone else (not residing in our home). It's very difficult because I don't feel like I lost one person on the day my mother passed, but three. But as much as I long for them to be part of the bereavement team, I know their skills are better served helping the patient and coaching the caregivers through what is going to happen.

As part of mailing four, signifying the fourth month since I lost my mom, Hospice recommends writing a letter to the deceased to help me deal with my loss, specifically talking about certain things. So, here goes...

Dear Mom,

One of the fondest memories I have of you is the day I came in to your work to show you the ultrasound pictures of Isaac. I had them on disk and you had Grace put it in the computer to print out the pictures. I was only 9 weeks pregnant, so he looked like nothing more than a crooked peanut, but those pictures hadn't even finished printing before you were uncontrollably crying tears of pure joy. Don't get me wrong...I was totally embarrassed, mostly for you, but also very proud to have given you something that would make you that happy. What you expressed was the same feeling I had that I didn't think anyone else was capable of feeling at the same time, and I felt closer to you at that moment than I ever had before.

I miss you. I miss being able to call you to talk about what's going on in my life. I miss being able to ask your opinion, even though most of the time I didn't listen to it anyway. I miss hearing your opinion even when I didn't ask for it. Mostly I miss seeing you interact with Isaac. You were a wonderful grandmother. You, like me, marveled in even his smallest accomplishments in a way that only a mother or grandmother can. You were a huge source of support and never skipped a beat when I asked for help - with anything. You were willing to take care of him when he was sick, well, happy or screaming his head off without the slightest complaint because you were just happy to be around him. It made me proud...of him and of you.

I wish I had taken you to the beach, and fishing one last time. Those were the only two things you repeatedly said that you wanted to do. But I just couldn't figure out the logistics and I thought it would be too much hassle. It would have been a lot of hassle, and exhausting for everyone involved, and you probably would have been ready to fall asleep within 20 minutes, but I should have done it anyway. That would have been a memory I have of you instead of a regret. I'm sorry.

The hardest thing I've had to deal with since you've passed has been knowing how I treated you. Yes, I took care of you. I made sure you had all of your medicines, kept you safe, and handled all of your affairs, but I stopped treating you like a person who was scared, sad, and in need of her daughter to reassure her that she was loved and would be missed.

Today marks four months from the day I watched you take your last breaths. Every day at some point, even for just a brief moment, I'm right there in that room with you, holding your hand and Trey's hand, wishing I would say something instead of just watching it happen. I should have told you I loved you one last time.

But I do. I do love you, and always will. I promise that I will never forget all of the wonderful things you did from me, promise to learn from your mistakes, and promise to always always make sure Isaac knows how much his grandma loved him.

See you some day. Miss you until then.

Love Always


1 comment:

Tonya said...

Honey that made me cry. I'm sure your mom knew how much you loved her and cared about her.