The worst day of my life happened one year ago today. Worse than the deaths of beloved grandparents and aunts, worse than a near miscarriage after 11 years of infertility, worse than being told that my little baby had cancer, worse than telling my husband that I didn't want to be married to him any more, worse than the end of any love affair. One year ago today, I was sucker punched. Twice.
One year ago today, I was deeply depressed and conflicted about putting my father in a nursing home. One year ago today as I was leaving work to check him out of the hospital and into the nursing home, I received a call from Dr. Karen Hanna, my mother's cardiologist, who told me that my mother's kidney's were working at 30% and her heart at about 20%, and that there was nothing more she could do for her, and it was time to refer her to hospice. One year ago today, after taking my father to the nursing home, I left him there, not understanding what was happening and thinking that my mother didn't love him any more, and went home to my mother, and together we told my daughter that Mom had two weeks to two months to live. One year ago today, my mother began to die.
In that year, I have adapted and so has Elisabeth. We are scarred but not utterly broken. But the grief of losing both of them at the same time is still overwhelming at times.
A long time ago, a friend asked me why I keep photos of Elisabeth when she was going through chemotherapy and looked so awful with her scars and tubes. I said that I never wanted to forget that time, I wanted to see it fresh from time to time to remind me so that I'd never forget. Ethel thinks that I'm morbid, but I think Roseanne understands. Its not that I want to break open wounds that have healed, though it does still move me to tears, its that I need to stay grounded. When I am an old lady, I want to remember everything, the good AND the bad, the joy and the tragedy, and then I will know that I have truly lived.
So, one year ago today, I remember being utterly grief stricken and shocked into horrified numbness. But, I'm not any more. I've been to the depths and I have survived with my heart still willing to spend itself, knowing that at the end of every love, there is the agony of separation from the beloved. Except for God. Except for God.
Mama, I miss you so terribly, every day. You and I were so close, like one person, and I feel like one of my arms was ripped off. I'm still your little girl and I need your loving embrace. But one year ago today, we were still together, we still could hold each other. I remember what your aged bony shoulders felt like, your scent, your voice. Je me reappellerai vous. I will remember you, Mama.
When I think of my own death, I am so very horrified that my death will cause my most beloved daughter to go through exactly what I am going through. I wouldn't cause her that kind of pain for anything, but I know I must, for we all die. When we talk of death, we talk of Christ's triump over death, the sting of death that is vanquished. But the sting is still there, and the separation between loved ones is agony right until the last day. When we talk about the world being broken and sin entering it, now I understand.
My mother died just after midnight on February 11, 2005. I can't believe its been that long.
My father went into the hospital on January 3, 2005, and into the nursing home one year ago today. I can't believe that its been that long.
My grandmother died on June 20, 1970, nearly 36 years ago, and I can't believe its been that long.
My Auntie Anna died on March 11, 1992, nearly 14 years ago. I can't believe its been that long.
Love lasts through time and space and even death. It hurts me that Elisabeth has learned this already.
I will remember.
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