After Mom Died

"After mom died.." That's where I am now. It's also a phrase that's hard to get used to. Or when telling a story, and having to say "before mom died.." It just doesn't seem real. I imagine that feeling will fade somewhat, but I can't imagine it not stinging as the words come out. It almost feels like some sort of religious event in history... Before Mom/After Mom. My world was totally different then and now. That traumatic event will probably shape me for the rest of my life, so in a way, it's fitting.

I've also come to realize that just being with mom was home. It didn't matter where we were - I felt like I belonged when I was with her. From Wrightsville Beach, to Carolina Beach, to Disney World, to Atlanta, to Vegas, to New Orleans, to NYC, to Canada, to UNC Hospital. And like a mom, she always had what I forgot at home, stashed away in those huge pocketbooks she carried around. So now when I try to do all of the things that I did before when I was with her... I feel a bit like a fish out of water. Even just being with family... I find myself looking around for mom. That's something that resonates from infancy, doesn't it? I was always a mama's baby. She would tell me she used to sleep in a recliner with me on a pillow on her stomach when I was a baby. And then as I got older, I was always still right underneath her, constantly looking for her if I wasn't next to her. As I continued to get older, naturally I became more independent, but no matter what, I usually always ended up being right next to mom before too much time passed.

Even through college, I would call her and tell her about funny things that happened, or have more serious talks... like when I had to call and break the news to her when I failed a class my senior year. I think, in a way, she was just thankful I wasn't crying because I was pregnant or something. I feel like pregnancy before settling down is one of the top 5 biggest fears for a mom. Not because it never works out, but just because it's really hard and changes your life forever. So when I told her the circumstances of me failing a class, she was concerned but we laughed about it before we hung up. We could always find the absurdity of our circumstances humorous - after I had kids, this seemed to amplify. We always felt that staying upset about something wasn't very productive. Don't get me wrong - she would stew about things, but she could always laugh about it too.

I feel like that's the biggest part that's missing. Me being able to talk about everyday things and laugh hysterically about them, despite the hardships. I keep waiting for the conversation to happen, that shifts this profound sadness to laughing. Obviously, that will never come when she facilitates that conversation, but it tends to keep me in a sad place that usually could be smoothed over by our talks.

As we reached the end of mom's journey, I found myself reflecting on the months leading up to it. Nothing was sudden. She just slowly deteriorated in front of me, and it made me realize that I couldn't remember her "last times." 

Like - when was the last belly laugh we shared? When was the last time I saw her walk unassisted? When was the last time we shared a cup of coffee together, had a REAL conversation that made sense, and watched the Today show like we always did when I was with her in the mornings? When was the last time I called her, just to say hi as I was riding in the car, or had a moment in the mornings to call her when the kids were distracted? When was the last time she truly enjoyed a meal, and didn't force down food just to please us? When was the last time she went to one of her favorite places - the beach - and got to see the ocean? Chemo kept her away for the most part, but she would occasionally go rock on the porch at my Aunt Claudia's beach house while visiting. And when did I officially go from one of her favorite people to be around, to "Nurse Ratchet" as she liked to lovingly refer to me, as I became primarily a caregiver, and a daughter and friend second. When was the last book she read to my kids? When was the last time she cooked a meal by herself, when I was able to sit and watch her buzz around the kitchen, without fear of her hurting herself or needing assistance? When was the last time I saw her name pop up on my phone to alert me of a text message from "Mama?" When was the last time I got a facebook notification, telling me she tagged me in another recipe that we would never try, or a funny meme that only we thought was funny? When was the last time I saw her rocking in her recliner and while casually skimming through her ipad?

That's the problem with being the caregiver. You see it all. You're there everyday and you don't notice when things will never be the same. It just gradually happens and then you realize after it's too late. It seems like just a bad day at first, then you realize it was actually the end of a chapter instead of just a plot twist. 

Aside from missing her more than I can say, those are the things that I regret not noticing. I was so consumed with taking care of her and making sure nothing was overlooked, and taking care of my kids in between those times, that I missed a lot. But I'm happy to report that I had help. My husband has been my hero during all of this. He picked up the slack when I forgot school things, when I didn't have the energy to cook, when I needed a break. He did it all too, while also working his normal job during a pandemic, grieving for the mother-in-law that he loved, and watched her slowly slip away from us during the chaos. He didn't question me when he would offer a suggestion of me taking a break, and I was firm in my response, "I'm not leaving." He would just nod and he helped however else he could. It was awful and uncomfortable for him, as he's also never lost someone close to him. But he didn't have a lot of time to register what was happening, while he was taking care of me, while I was taking care of her. I witnessed the shock on his face at the dinner table one night, as the cancer slowly took over her brain and she couldn't even feed herself anymore. It was more obvious to him in that moment because he wasn't quite as involved in her care, as he was of mine and our children's care.

We also had family and friends that stepped in and helped in so many ways, as best as they could during the COVID pandemic. From taking the kids for the day, to providing meals and gift cards, to lining up cleaning services so that was one less thing that I had to do around their house, to sending boxes of food and goodies to snack on throughout our time there, to just being at the house, helping me make sure mom was safe as we tried to move her, and distracting the kids from time to time so that I had time to just sit with mom on occasion. I found it hard to tear myself away from her, but it wasn't physically possible to be in there for every breath, no matter how much I insisted I wasn't going to miss one.

The nights began to feel like I was taking care of a newborn. You'd tuck her in for the night, not knowing if you'd be awoken in the middle of the night to tend to her. Was it going to be a smooth night or a rough night with a lot of broken sleep? It got to the point where we discovered someone needed to sleep in the room with her to try to prevent her from hurting herself, in case she insisted on getting up. Her cousin, Debbie, and I started rotating nights, sleeping in the recliner beside her bed for the last 2 weeks or so. 

She stopped talking, or noticing if the TV was on, or if there was a light on in her room, since she was always scared of the dark and had some sort of light on at night, always. I guess I should say that I'm not sure if she noticed towards the end, but we continued to keep the TV on, and the lights on, because we knew it's what she wanted regardless. We continued to dress her in her favorite shirts that were always in her comfy clothes rotation.

She always wore shirts that were entirely too big, because that was what was most comfortable to her. I always giggled when she'd ask people if certain clothes came in a size "chubby." She never hit that goal weight (who knows what that actually was, but she always negatively commented on pictures of herself), and she always insisted that she needed bigger sizes as she called herself "fluffy." I wish she would have agreed with us when we would insist that we loved her just the way she was. When the kids reflect on her now and in the future, I guarantee they'll never comment on her stomach or bottom like she always would, but instead, they'll reflect on the way she would hug and kiss all over them when they'd run to embrace her, or crawl in her lap. Or the way they'd read through books and laugh as they found new ways to read them, or pronounce words. Her laugh was the best, and the kids eventually fell in sync with her, when after a big, belly laugh... they would all sigh in unison. And then start laughing all over again because they all sighed at the same time. She'd always watch Millie, playing and she'd say "She's so smart!" Or she'd rock with Chase in her recliner and say "Are you my baybay?" And he'd always say "yes." And then when I would get back to my house, I'd rock with Chase and say "Are you my baybay?" And he'd say "Yeah, but I'm Anna's baybay too." For the record, he still says it.

I just miss her. No I don't cry all the time anymore, but I do still cry in certain moments. I'm sure that'll always be the case, but I truly don't think there will ever be a time that I don't simply miss her. I dread the holidays. I dread the birthdays. I'll try my best to make her famous cream cheese poundcake, but I'm sure it won't taste the same. That's another awful thing that comes with the territory - dreading the things I used to look forward to because mom always had a way of making special days feel warm and cozy. I know the kids will still provide holiday magic, but I remember glancing at mom last year as the kids were opening her Christmas presents and the tears in her eyes were welling up. I think maybe she sensed this might be the last time. I'm sure that was always in the back of her mind anyway. Craig recorded a video of me catching her getting teary. It's such a sad, but special moment to be able to watch now. Of course, hindsight is 20/20. Especially in the year 2020 - the worst year ever.