Monday, August 3, 2015

MY MOTHER DIED (1920-2015)

I said final goodbyes to my mother after each of the about ten times I visited her during the last eight years. She lived in a home in the quaint little village of Vammen, somewhat smack in the middle of Denmark. Leaving her this last May was especially heartbreaking, as she had lost the life in her eyes and just wanted to stay in bed, just wanted to pass on. Though she still listened to my stories and chatting, she did not respond as she did just a year ago. After just a few moments, she wanted to sleep again. Then I would hold her hand for a while, leave and return a few hours later, and wed do it over again several times every day I was there; a few months later, she finally died.

The following is far from a glorification of my mother it is simply about the person she was her whole life, solid as a rock as a mother and especially as a dear friend to a lucky few I was fortunate to be one of those lucky ones.

 
My brother, mother and me (a few years ago)

Im not going to write a book about what I recall from my life with my mother in it; only about a few things that stands out in my heart. Writing about some of my life with her, is also a way for me to deal with her death.

I do not recall much from the earlier years, but I do remember that as I was getting older, my mother would often be waiting for me with tea and my favorite pastries as I came home from school. We would sit and chat for a while, and then the day would continue so very cozy. Soon my friends wanted to come along, and that was fine with my mother; they thought it was cool too.
She divorced my father in the early 1960s and married a very nice man that she was utterly happy with, a happiness that had escaped her in her first marriage. Many things changed and one was that we got a color TV with stereo; rather advanced at the time. There was one speaker on each side of the unit, and for the full stereo effect, you had to sit in front and in the middle.

The turntable was plugged into the TV so we could listen to our records (that would be vinyls for some of you younger kids). One day my mother wanted to enjoy some full stereo music with me, so she placed two pillows on the floor so we could lie down smack in the middle in front of the TV. We decided on Finlandia by Sibelius, a heavy piece of classical music that meant a lot to both of us; and then we turned it up full volume I was about 14 at the time and into classical stuff. It doesnt seem much of a thing, but I remember it fondly as such a parent-child bonding, a loving mother-son camaraderie, that we enjoyed a lot of during our lives together.

As a boy, we would so often walk a few hours around a nearby lake. I cannot remember that I ever fought against it, but I do remember our endless conversations about everything; we liked spending time together. My mother was not a person who judged others or was rarely one to tell me what to do and when, or whatever. I never heard my mother swear because she never did. I do not think that my mother ever told a lie.

I only saw my mother cry once, and I never saw (or remember) her angry at anything or anybody. When her second husband died and she told me over the phone, I was the one crying my eyes out, while she was the one comforting me that was how stoic she was. He died at the age of 64 and they had far from lived a full life together; it was neither fair to him nor to her. But I know that my mother also died a little that day it was very clear for all to see. But she never complained about it or complained about anything else, for that matter; she kept it all inside and that was the way she handled things - sorting it out instead of spitting it out.

When I left home for a summer-college stint and from there off to a four year apprenticeship and business school, I was barely 17. My mother and her husband drove me to the big boat that was going to sail me into my future though I did not feel ready yet, as far as I remember. But I do remember standing on the boat as it left the harbor, and my mother getting smaller and smaller, waving goodbye like crazy; and then I was gone.

Many years later she told me that was one of the saddest days in her life and I know it was one of the more confusing days for me at that age. But all went well after that it really did.

Not having my mother around on a daily basis involved weird feelings of loneliness, of course. I lost the daily face-to-face contact with a dear friend (and mother), but I soon started writing letters to her (back in the days, that was all that you could do, as phone-calls were complicated and expensive) and that helped. I do not recall how often I wrote, but I do know that the moment after I read letters from my mother, I would answer them right away. Then she couldnt write anymore, but I kept writing her once a week.

As I advanced in my career, I began to call (as well as write) her and often. Then I immigrated to the USA, which surprisingly was not a decision that was hindered with my mother in mind. She was so happy in her marriage and I only saw a future for them getting really old together, of course; she was in good hands, so off I went.

My mother loved my wife from the first get together. My mother loved her two overseas grandchildren, something she mentioned so often though not using love verbally she was Danish, you know. Luckily the boys got to visit their grandmother often in spite of the distance, and I can see my mothers happy face with teary eyes as she looked at the boys, no matter how silly they could be at times - often.

The letter-writing continued, of course and then the phone-calls. Through my 40+ years here, I called my mother 3-4 times weekly. We had lively conversations telling each other about (nearly) everything and anything, keeping up on each others lives on a very daily basis. And then, some eight years ago, she was diagnosed with dementia and that sucked

My dear brother had our mother moved to an apartment near where he lived, so he could keep an eye on her. A lovely volunteer, looking after the interest of the elder people in the community, found our mother just sitting in the apartment doing nothing. After tests and doctor visits, she was diagnosed with dementia as well as depression. She was then placed in a home a good home, at that.

When I was informed about this, as I had not felt anything out of whack with my mother, we talked about it and I kept it on a lighter side, which my mother was okay with, of course. Her short memory was declining, but her longer memory held up a lot better, but was of course also disappearing. As she said many times: there is a lot I dont want to remember as it is, so Ill be fine and she was.

Of course the fear, when a loved one hits dementia, the dread of the possibility that they could get to a point where they cannot remember who the heck you are, is lingering big and nasty. I kept up the 3-4 weekly phone-calls (as well as the weekly letters) and I never introduced myself when I called my mother, just to make sure she still remembered me. It never failed and it was always hi Peter…” and then she would ask about the rest of the family over here and how we were doing remembering names and a lot of other stuff I had told her about many times before. Repetition did help some memory for her.

Over the next eight years or so, I went to Denmark and visited my mother about ten times. We would chat away like crazies, having a good time, loving every minute of it. I finally told my mother how much I loved her and always had; not something Danes tell each other but doesnt mean we dont love each other. My mother smiled sheepishly and told me that she also loved me; always had. After that we were okay with telling each other again and again, but I never think she got totally comfortable with it its that Danish thing, no doubt

But then the deteriorating began ever so slowly. My mother started to talk about dying, how it would bring her peace, a peace she was starting to look forward to. Im an old broad, Peter…” she would say (in Danish, of course).

Her life at the home was simple, too simple for me to understand. She couldnt read because one paragraph later, she couldnt remember what she had just read. She couldnt watch movies, because the story-line was gone after a few moments so where was the fun in that? My mother had always liked watching the Tour de France bicycle races. Not because of the race itself or the riders, but because of the utterly beautiful scenery of the French countryside, or whatever country they were riding through.

Many times when the tour was on, Id make sure to call her and ask: what are you doing? I knew precisely what she was doing. Im in France at the moment and its so beautiful here…” and then she would giggle, while telling me what she saw and she sounded so happy, she really did so I couldnt be happier.

My mother did not have a sharp sense of humor, but she did know when something was funny. I admit that I took advantage of one area of her short-term memory loss. When I told her something she found funny, she was more so giggling, never really laughed out loud at anything and I would repeat the funny thing again and again, and as she obviously couldnt remember it from a minute ago, she would giggle again and again. Now I miss my mothers happy giggling happy in that very specific moment, was all we could do and we did; and as quickly, it was all forgotten and erased from her memory but I could still hear her giggles Still can.

Since my mother started to talk about wanting to die some years back, I asked her with that in mind, that if she woke up in the morning and was dead, she would be okay In spite of her dementia, that was a line she remembered and repeated to me through the years again and again it was our little joke or something

Then she got much older and fast, but according to my mother, not fast enough. In the beginning of all that, I was not understanding of where she was life wise; how anybody and especially my mother who was supposed to live forever, could wish for death, was hard for me to grasp. But after a few years of that, I came to the realization that yes we can actually live to the point where death might come in handy a long life lived, enough is enough. As I am so far from passing on, so happy with living, of course it was hard for me to fathom my mothers thinking in that department. But of course I caught on and then I understood

My mother had just turned 95 when I visited her last May. She had aged tremendously in the 10 months since I saw her last. It was hard for her to stay awake; she ate little, but kept the soda-pop factories busy as ever.

 Are you tired, mom? and she could barely nod a yes. I would smile, give her a kiss and she would be off wheezing, coughing and finally snoring. I would stay next to her bed, reading or writing, while gently hold and caress her fragile old hands. She would give me a weak, but comforting squeeze at times and we reconnected for a split second.

When I found that she was going to sleep longer, Id kiss her forehead and quietly whisper: I love you, mom. A few times she barely opened her eyes, but I could see a tiny spark for a second, that stayed with me for hours. I would go for a walk or take a short nap in my mothers room. When I heard her waking up, I would ask her what I could do. For the most part it would be more sodas and then I would sit down next to her bed, holding one to those dear old hands of hers and then telling stories till she fell asleep again. And we would go through that several times every day.

Friday May 29th, 2015
The saddest moment arrived; it was time to say those goodbyes, those, no doubt (again) for the last time farewells. But (again) this time I really, really hoped it would be the last time, for my dear mothers sake. It was a hope filled with lots of love, respect and compassion.

I had a very hard time letting go of her hands, as I explained that I was heading back to California, that I had visited her many times daily during these last four days. I told her that we had so many fun moments and that I had made her laugh (which was always a favorite of mine). But now I had to go. I did see sadness in her eyes, as I had to dry mine again and again.

I told her that I wished she would find the peace she had been seeking for so long and find it soon, very soon. The hardest thing I ever wished for my mother. I bent over the bed and kissed her while mumbling those I love you and goodbyes yet again.

As I am by the open door on the way out she smiles a little and quietly asks: When are you coming back? But I can only force a smile through tears and tell her yet again how much Ive always loved her and as the door close, my heart breaks.

Monday August 3rd, 2015

Yesterday afternoon, approximately 2:30 am (Danish time) my brother called and told me that our mother had finally found the peace she had been longing for. She died quietly with my brother holding her hand. During the last moments of her life, he told her how we all loved her and will continue to do and how wonderful and what a privilege it had been to have known her, both as our mother and especially as our good and caring friend.

Fortunately I said all I wanted to say to my mother before she died. I said all those things several times, but I did acknowledge that last May would be my very last chance. Even though my mother must have known the end was near, she still asked me when I would come visit again and I will, mom, and well chat, giggle and laugh, at the cemetery; I can promise you that.

I was barely 17 when I waved goodbye to my mother from that big ship as she saw me disappear into the fog, getting smaller and smaller, making her sad. At 69, its my turn to wave goodbye to my mother and my most wonderful friend, as I will never see her again, never be able to caress those old and fragile hands.

But what a life it has been with her. Nothing extreme either way, but only a solid rock of a person somebody I could trust 100%. She was never critical of me and never questioned my decisions in life. She was more so supportive of me till the very end.

I wish and hope that you are not negating the wonderful relations you have or could have with your parents, with your family and friends; dont take any of it for granted. My sadness is eased by the people around me who I love beyond anything: my wonderful wife and our two great kids (adults, actually). And remember that death is (still) the ultimate reminder of how precious life is; please, live accordingly.


She will rest in peace no doubts about that

Mother & son / two good friends (2013)

1 comment:

  1. a moving, wonderful tribute. Thank you, Peter! and thank you, Mom!

    ReplyDelete