It’s a thing, smelling the clothes of a loved one who has recently died. I’ve found myself smelling my Mother’s clothes more than once. It started just before she passed away. I had just stepped out of the shower, and hanging on the back of the bathroom door was her red flannel nightshirt. I held it close to my heart, smiling at her scent, fresh Dove soap, and Mom. I also started wearing her things, her Yankees baseball hat, and a butterfly ring. I have a fondness for her sweaters. I’ve started sleeping with her scarf. I’ve taken every pair of her socks, a couple hankies, anything that triggers a powerful sensory reaction, anything that would comfort me, that keeps her close, anything that holds her energy, her spirit, anything that keeps her here with me, that keeps her alive for just a little bit longer.
It’s a thing, nourishing love, death, and birth. An astounding amount of love, respect, and a synergy of the give-and-take of nourishment filled me the months before my Mother died. This exchange of nourishment came into my care for Mom as she battled stage 4 cancer. As I cooked for and loved on my Mother the nourishment that I received from her was a thousandfold. In this loving experience, I received the strength that sustains me today. It’s a thing, an intimate and very personal thing when one loses their Mother. The only other powerful, life-changing time in my life was the birth of my children, this too was a magical time of giving and receiving nourishing love. I have wondered since my mother’s death if she has returned to the place where my children and myself once dwelled? It’s a thing, the wonder, the thinking, the processing, the grieving.
It’s a thing, the immediate loneliness that I felt minutes after Mom died. It gripped me for a strong moment as I looked out the family room window onto Cleveland Avenue. Standing at the foot of the hospital bed that Mom spent her last days in, I cried. I am alone. Yes, I have my family and friends that love me dearly, but my Mom is gone. My greatest critic, my number 1 fan, and my most reliable allie. Mom was my best friend, my partner in crime, the biggest pain in my ass, the most honest person in the world, the one who held my feet to the fire and had no problem calling me out on my bullshit, the one who encouraged me to fight for love or to take a stand for myself and my family. She was my comedic sidekick, the one that I could tell all my secrets, and the one that I felt I wasn’t good enough for, the one that I wanted to be a better person for, she was without a doubt the love of my life, my Mom. My universe has a tear in it, a hole, a missing constellation. I’m lonely without this huge star that I have orbited around my entire life. It’s a thing for me, losing my Mother. It hurts, I feel empty and sad.
My father too, talked of the loneliness he was dreading, and my brother too, the long 12-hour drive home alone. It’s a thing, the void that’s left behind, the emptiness and loss. The loneliness. I don’t think we understand, nor value the impact that we have on others, or understand how much we shape the lives of the people we love.
It’s a thing, this Great Grief. The pit in my stomach started out as a pinhole, a dot of a pen, it had grown to the size of a tea saucer in the last few days, an expanding heaviness in my naval and heart. This pit, this pain is remarkable to me as I recall the way that I’ve felt in the last few days after Mom’s death. Hollow, I simply feel hollow. Yes, damn it, It is a thing, this Great Grief, a pain of the soul. this thing that I feel. It seems raw, and somehow more natural to me than anything that I’ve ever experienced next to the Great Love after the birth of my children, yet even this seems more profound in so many ways. This Great Grief, it has a depth that reaches every cell, it’s primal, it’s engrained, written in the depths of my soul by generation upon generation and eons of maternal loss.
It’s a thing, a family that pulls together, that loves, respects, and enjoys the company of their loved ones. It’s real, I have this in my life. My family dynamic is at the top of my list of gratitude. The last few weeks have been an experience for our family. From my perspective, I feel that each and every one of us handle this emotionally charged, intense time of sorrow, loss, and gathering as best as we could and beyond. We were aware and handled everything with kindness, respect, love, and yes, even humor because if you can’t laugh at life and death then what’s the point? It’s a thing, family love. it is a beautiful thing.
It is a gift to walk the dying home, for we must act accordingly. And we did for you, Mom, we did.
Dear Family and Friends,
Our family would like to thank you for your love, prayers, well wishes, and support during this very difficult, yet amazing time. In the pain and difficulty, we were able to find awe-inspiring beauty, strength, and rib-cracking humor. In the sorrow and fear, we were able to find patience, compassion, love, joy, and light in Mom’s care, within ourselves and for each other. Each of these gifts was brought to us on the wings of each and every one of your prayers, whispered wishes, loving messages, and warm thoughts.
~Sincerely with love, thank you. Linda, Jim, Leora, Hawkeye & Larry
Thru soulful eyes 