Have you ever suffered the loss of someone close to you? On Mother’s Day 2011, my own mother passed away at the much too young age of 63, another victim of cancer. Overnight, I aged 20 years. I’ve felt sick ever since, almost like a mild but constant hangover. I’ve had my sessions of self-pity, guilt, anger and all the other emotions stirred up by this blow to the very foundation of my being. But I have also found inspiration and motivation in unexpected ways.
My mother’s passing gave me a sense of urgency I didn’t have before. It’s a harsh reminder that time is short, and we all better make the most of it while we can. She did, in her own way. She had a small store where she sold odd things from old handbags and vintage toys to Buddha statues. She traveled a lot and loved culture, spirituality and people. She had four children and a good life. Her death made me look at my own life, not just the individual accomplishments and failures, but the bigger picture.
I’ve seen it before in others who have lost and in the end grown from the experience. Maybe it’s part of the process, like the change in priorities that happen when parents have their first child. I felt motivated to dive into textbooks, to learn and grow and do things I had always wanted to do but were afraid to. Like make movies. Not just as an escape from the grief, though I’m sure that plays in too, but also to honor my mother. After all, she brought me into this world and the least I can do is not waste that gift.
I am a firm believer in looking for the good in every experience, and if possible taking that thing to heart and letting it inspire you. It’s not an easy process. I’m still partially in shock, finding it hard to focus for longer periods of time, needing to shut off completely – a lot – and just be. Several times a day, I drift off into a mental no man’s land. But when present and thinking clearly, I spend most of my time studying. The grieving process is not over, but ever so slowly life goes on.
About the photo: I had no picture of my mother appropriate for these words, so I chose a snapshot of the train station in Denmark I would get off at, whenever I went to visit her. It’s a suburb to Copenhagen called Friheden which translates into “The Freedom”. I shot this on my last trip to see her.
Greg says:
I am sorry to read of your loss. My mother died 4 months after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer two weeks after my dad dropped dead of a heart attack at work.
I am 6 ft. tall. My mother was five-feet-nuthin’.
When it came to the time as her only care-giver in home hospice long before people were doing that, I had to attend to very personal care by cleaning her “down there.”
We both wept. My mom asked me, “Honey, why are you crying?” I told her I was so embarrassed for her. I asked why she cried and she said, “I’m so sorry and embarrassed for you; a son should not have to do these things for his mother.” We both laughed, and I held my 70 pound little mama on my lap, finished cleaning her up, put on fresh jammies, and held her on my lap for about fifteen minutes. Her head rested against my chest and we remained in a silence that healed all wounds, known and unknown between us. I have no lingering resentments for my mother. That time was so rich, so painful, and so profound, I would never give it back. It is in the nature of these things that they should not be changed anyway.
It was one of the greatest gifts of my life, and made the lingering grief, which never goes away, become something I carry on my back, rather than in my arms, freeing them up to do other things.
Posted on June 25th, 2011 at 5:03 am