The following is a compilation of correspondence since my mom's passing.


1/17/10

Annie:

Sorry I got all teary. Perhaps that's why I haven't told anyone. (this salutation will be explained later)

It was a very hard month trying to second guess mom's needs as her good health slipped away. It was also the holiday season and I didn't want to bother anyone. David arrived the day after her death and we relished the time for just the two of us with our tender remembrances and scant regrets. We were happier with Pizza Hut and Shan & Shower instead of a parade of casseroles received with blurry-eyed gratitude.

Shortly after mom arrived I knew she was in peril, but she adamantly refused medical help. The Sunday after Christmas was a horrible time to call friends for an assist, so I called Dr. Martin who made an unexpected house call with his stethoscope. I was frantic. One day mother was a pet parakeet all happy and singing, the next day she was a house cat. I didn't have catnip or kitty litter or the special foods cats require. I was alone trying to juggle and make decisions and trying to keep her comfortable. Dr. Martin was an angel of mercy, though my mother was FURIOUS with me. lol. The next week she kept her appointment with him to establish herself on the mountain. The next week she was dead. Dorothea Jeanne Lewisy died Wednesday, January 13th at 6:45 pm in the ICU in Winchester. She requested no funeral, no drama. She bowed out with dignity and serenity. My children and I will scatter her ashes at a later date. If some of you wondered why I'd become invisible it's because I canceled all activities etc. in my life to be with my mother.

In many ways it seemed fast, but when I linger on the day-to-day journey of her failing health, I don't know how I did it - taking care of her with my own failing body as I also frantically tried to piece together a full-time caregiver as well as hospital equipment to ease her days. It's not like one can wave a wand and have things magically appear. Her hospital bed was to arrive the day she died.

The first people to know about her death other than my children and father were the people I grew up with. We recently all connected on Facebook. For the past month or so it's been a blast from the past. Soooooo many people commented on how magical my mother was. (They clearly didn't realize she was a wingnut. lol.) So, not knowing she was pretty much a lunatic, they interpreted her ways as magical. Isn't that lovely - I mean it, isn't that truly wonderful. The remarks regarding my mother have been so satisfying and infused my memories with kindness regarding the insane daze of my childhood. As many of you already know, for many years I've credited my mother with my gift of creativity and unbridled imagination.

I will miss her so very very very much. There's a hole in my heart - a vacancy sign that can't be filled. We had such grand plans for traveling and lunching and going to concerts and movies and lectures and plays. We were going to cruise to the Canary Islands! Sadly, none of our plans reached fruition, but I choose to focus on all the fun and laughter and anticipation we had for our life together - so what if it didn't happen - we traveled for months through our fantastical planning.

So. Please no casseroles! But this lonely woman might be ready for lunch or breakfast or tea in the future. Right now, I'm still in my beautiful bunker adjusting to these unexpected changes in my life. I remember when David left for college I wailed with a waving fist my resentment for being forced into retirement - I'd been a mother for 32 years. Now I resent my retirement of no longer being my mother's daughter. But that's not all true either. I'm glad she's no longer suffering. I'm glad I had so many years with her. I'm glad for a lot.

I write this addressed to my friend Anne because I called her a little while ago and as soon as I heard Bill's voice I burst into tears and unintelligible babble. Rather than inflict the rest of you with my deep sense of loss and sadness and tearful babble, I thought this the best way to let you know I need your prayers.

I'll close with a little vignette. The second week mom was here, one evening I found her in shadowy light in my living room. She was sitting on the couch, perfectly still. I touched her shoulder and asked if everything was all right. She cheerfully, yet gently told me that she talked at great length every night with God. Every single night she spent a good space of time talking to God. Amen.


One of my favorite photos. Mom with Hansel.

1/20/10
As many of you already know, writing is my panacea...

Yesterday was my first day solo. I'm glad I'm home to continue tying up the loose ends of death. I'd forgotten I was named the Executrix. All kinds of calls have been required including one to my insurance agent to get mom's addition insured. That's how fast everything happened.

I neglected to mention that once mom was transferred to Winchester she died within a couple of hours. She was at peace with no pain. She never regained consciousness, yet I talked to her at length. Like most mothers, she never missed much and I'm sure this was true as she started to relocate to the great beyond... I like to think she heard every loving word. I took special notice of her hands. In life people hug a lot, but rarely inspect the details. I was surprised to notice her hands were rough and chubby and somewhat calloused - not the petite smooth hands I very clearly remember from my youth. In death one notices the oddest details.

Two nights before she died, mother cooked me a gourmet meal from one of Paul Newman's cookbooks. I spotted her leaning hard on her walker, surely leaving red ridges on her arms, as she sauteed chicken and other ingredients. It was truly a labor of love. When we ate her meal that evening she said she'd wanted to surprise me. It was that night when she started to fall. I knew something was very wrong. I suppose that was the first remembrance to break my heart and flood my face with tears.

It wasn't until after her death that I noticed the decorator accoutrements in her apartment were gifts I'd given her through the years - some dating back to college. That, too, brought on a wave of tears.

I'll stop there with the endless list of remembrances. I've been lucky. She's the first significant loss in my 62 years. I know I'll be fine someday. I was good to her and treated her with the utmost dignity. I often giggled behind her back, but that's all right. How many mothers write endless letters to the FBI, CIA and numerous politicos regarding conspiracy theories? lol. She was my beloved wingnut.

Well, I'd better muscle up to man the phones here. It's all too fitting that someone with a mortgage website has posted my telephone number as the contact number and the phone has been ringing like crazy. Mother would have loved it. She'd have been certain of conspiracy implications as she pulled out pen and paper to write some poor unsuspecting representative.

Thanks you all a zillion times over for your love and support. xoxo Reenie




2/12/10
Dear June:
For most my life my mom was my Special Needs Mommy. It's not that I parented her, but I was always certain she felt her life and feelings were of value. I always treated her with kindness even when she made it difficult for me. A psychiatrist friend of mine observed that I'm a rare person - that children of Schizophrenics are rarely patient and carry huge resentments. I always joked that Mom was a lunatic, but that she was my lunatic and I loved her. :) I also knew that other people might have treated her more kindly if she had suffered from cancer instead of mental illness. I knew she hadn't chosen to be born with her disability. *sigh* I treated her the way all people should treat each other... with kindness and dignity.



Dear Friends & Family:

A wonderful friend (just as wonderful as you all are) in my neighborhood, mailed me a hardcopy clipping from The New Yorker's February 1st issue. I've been deeply mourning the loss of my mother - totally blindsided by the impact. So much so, that I had some utilities shut off last week for non-payment. I've never bounced a check nor missed paying a statement. The oversight clearly illustrates how paralyzing grief can be. Below is the link to the article Anne sent to me. I encourage all of you to read it. It's lengthy but worthy of your time. I send much gratitude to all of you who have helped me through this passage.

http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2010/02/01/100201crat_atlarge_orourke

There are so many passages I would like to quote here, but the one that resonated most with me is the following:

Freud suggested that mourners had to reclaim energy that they had invested in the deceased loved one. Relationships take up energy; letting go of them, psychiatrists theorize, entails mental work. When you lose someone you were close to, you have to reassess your picture of the world and your place in it. The more your identity was wrapped up with the deceased, the more difficult the loss.

xoxo Reenie




2/13/10
Anne:
I mass emailed the link to the article you mailed me - ah, but you already know that. What you don't know is the amazing response I've received as a result. Suddenly we've become a grieving generation - there are so many of us who are losing parents at this juncture. I believe our generation depended on our parents more than those before us. We were the generation whose parents wanted *better* for us. Hindsight, I think they gave too much. I don't think our generation has the mettle of our parents' generation and those before them. We were a bit pampered. So, now we're becoming the orphaned generation. We can stand on our own, but we're a bit wobbly. We depended on them for so much on so many levels. Daily, I receive emails from people who are deeply mourning the loss of a parent(s) - even after many years. I feel like I should become a Paul Revere of sorts and shout out the warning that our time with our parents is drawing nigh. Prepare, prepare, prepare! Batten down the hatches on your hearts! But in reality, there's nothing one can do to prepare another for such enormous loss - this painfully raw void in life. We each suffer uniquely in battling our demons of regrets... and praising with gratitude all that our parents meant to us, brought to us. I'm lucky because my regrets are scant, my gratitude abundant. I believe you and I share this blessing. In that respect we're the lucky ones - yet, the pain of loss is often unbearable. I want it to stop! But I also realize my suffering is the ultimate tribute to my beloved lunatic mother whom I can hardly bear to be without.




I love my father's red socks!