My mother died yesterday and I'm not sure how I should feel. I know how I feel, it's the should part that's causing difficulties. My husband thinks I might be in shock and is prepared for some kind of breakdown. He invited me to come with him on his regular Sunday outing as a Special Olympics coach (I think so he could keep an eye on me), bless his heart. I declined, reassuring him I wanted to actually do the hike I had planned on doing. He took me out to lunch yesterday and bought me two chocolate desserts even after I told him, laughing, "I'm fine! Really".
The truth is, I am fine. Really. My mother was 84, sufferred from COPD, heart disease, depression, anxiety, and dementia. She could no longer care for herself and had been moved to a long-term care facility two weeks previous. Hospice had been ordered the day before when she was diagnosed with pulmonary edema. Her quality of life was very poor and she was ready to go, so when I got the call from my son I wasn't surprised. I got a little choked up and cried a little, recalling the last conversation we'd had and the nice visit we both enjoyed the month before. And that was pretty much the extent of my grief.
The truth is, my mother was a train wreck. Beautiful, mentally ill, intelligent, alcohol/pill dependent (depending on availability), the life of the party, undependable and frequently negligent. She left my sisters and I in the care of the uncle who had sexually molested her and yes, he did the same to us. She may have, as well; I don't have solid proof, only a few suspicious things she's said and my feelings. She could be unbelievably crude (normalization - a way of dealing with childhood molestation) so introducing friends to her was always dicey. I waited a year to introduce her to my live-in boyfriend, afraid he would run for the hills after listening to her for a few minutes. She delivered, he smiled and said nothing. We've been married now for almost 20 years and I really need to give him credit where credit is due. Thank you.
The truth is, I had a big, ugly bag stuffed full of negative emotions regarding my mother and I carried it with me wherever I went. My sisters felt the same and we fed off each other's emotional turmoil for many years. It colored our relationships with each other and with everyone around us. But, throughout all that, we continued to maintain our relationship with our mother, each in her own way, none of them healthy.
The truth is, things probably would have continued that way indefinitely had I not had a serious auto accident when I was 29 years old. In the aftermath of the accident I became depressed and was introduced to the world of counseling <insert birdsong, shining sun, blue sky, scent of roses, and that music you imagine when a solution has been found for a difficult problem, here> It took years to trade in that big, ugly bag for a lovely little model with easily accessible emotional tools (I'm still adding them as I go along) but I eventually arrived at a place where I could honestly forgive my mother, feel neutral in our relationship and be accepting of that. I was able to visit her a month ago (we live in different states), take her out to lunch and to get her hair done. We had several nice phone conversations afterwards, and in our very last one she ended the call by saying, "I love you. Kiss, kiss".
The truth is, things ended on a much higher note than I could have hoped for and for that, I am truly grateful. I didn't love my mother, I didn't like her, but I was able to show her empathy and compassion at the end of her life. I won't grieve for a relationship that's over; I did that a long time ago. I'm fine. Really.
