This Year August Seems Like Getting Used to My Mother’s Death

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the things we’ve fretted over for years were no longer important — spending down her assets so Medicaid would pay for long-term care. Getting full-time help in the home for her. Visiting her in a nursing home where, after three trips, she decided she never wanted to return. How could we take her there? What would we do, lie to her about where we are taking her, then leave her? I couldn’t picture doing it? To my mother? Never.</p><p id="ff49">I spent months alternately in denial, and fretting: what shall we do? What should I do? Is there any reasonable, acceptable solution? I want to be with her. I don’t want to be with her. I want to take care of her. Yet, I could barely stand to do it for six hours. If I had sat with her maybe I could have helped her pass on. Or not. Maybe my nightmares of her suffering would be even worse than they are now. And I only watched with her for about six hours, then went to bed, hoped (pretended?) she was going to sleep.</p><p id="2d05">Yet, in her sleep, sometime in the time that I “allotted” for her to sleep, she tricked me, pulled the plug on herself. I can’t believe she did it, yet it would be just like her. <i>I’ve had enough of this, I’m outta here. And I’m not going to some nursing home, either.</i></p><p id="abca">It has been almost three weeks now, and the denial is going away. Though I have made a few calls to her home number, left messages on her voice mail, just because … My sister in New Jersey listens to them as she checks the house and probably feels sad, too. I learned years ago while grieving an earlier loss, it is best to go along without whatever weird impulse comes to mind, as long as it seems safe. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks you should do or how you should do it. Just let your instincts guide you. Your inner self is working things through and there’s no point making rules about how to do it. Your grief is unique, it’s happening to you.</p><p id="7724">I’m getting out of the way and letting it happen. Just me, getting used to the dying that is already done for my mother. Just letting her go.</p><figure id="7443"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*2OASozkBuPb3liqN_R2a_w.png"><figcaption>Photo

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credit: picture provided by the author: Mildred and Jean Anne</figcaption></figure><p id="96ec">You may also like these stories:</p><div id="cae9" class="link-block"> <a href="https://link.medium.com/x42VQPZJBib"> <div> <div> <h2>Today Was Milly's 95th Birthday but She Missed the Party.</h2> <div><h3>Today, July 27, 2021, would have been my mother's ninety-fifth birthday. Last week I drove to New Jersey with presents…</h3></div> <div><p>link.medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*nIKApvOvEDAy_IfO.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="579b" class="link-block"> <a href="https://link.medium.com/nR7c2V6JBib"> <div> <div> <h2>A Seventyish Woman on Driving Home from New Jersey to Maine: Scared to Death</h2> <div><h3>Have you ever decided to do something that you are really afraid to do but need or want to do anyway? I spent my…</h3></div> <div><p>link.medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*wJCXmWpJ7H2bxxi2.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="e7c2"><b>Follow me at jeanfeldeisen.com</b></p><p id="ac5a"><b>Join the fun. To get A Seventyish Woman’s <i>Recipe of the Week a</i>nd my weekly updates about cooking, writing, and other adventures, sign up below.</b></p><div id="4d57" class="link-block"> <a href="https://lp.constantcontactpages.com/su/BXZnupW"> <div> <div> <h2>Sign Up</h2> <div><h3>Sign Up Here!</h3></div> <div><p>lp.constantcontactpages.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*XAo_jEDMoy_cI0wO)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Don’t let anyone tell you how to do your grieving, either.

Photo credits: picture of her mother taken by the author

Mildred E. Felsberg, my mother, died on July 23. I know I need to keep writing, and I keep wanting to write about my mother. I know this isn’t the only thing happening in the world. But sometimes it seems like it. What else is there to say right now that makes any sense? I miss her, I wish she would come back. Are You Still Dead, Mom?

The morning of her death, as I went through the process of getting medical assurance that she was deceased and as the authorities questioned me enough to decide that she had died of “natural causes,” I kept walking into her room and out again. Looking for her there. Her quickly changing body was lying on her hospital bed, her left arm thrust straight up over her head. Her face looked calm and at peace, as if she were sleeping. But she had quickly grown cold and firm and very unlike my mother. So, I would go out into the living room full of large policemen –no, she’s not out here, and back to her bedside again.

Are You Still Dead, Mom? A small part of me wondered, was she playing with me, all this time? I’d never known her to be dead and this was a bad joke. Why did she keep lying there like that? Then there was a part of me going “Praise the Lord, she is not still living.” She doesn’t have to suffer like she was yesterday. I don’t have to endure watching her. I don’t have to try to lift her or make her comfortable. I don’t have to worry about my sister trying to take care of her for an ever-increasing portion of her life. Newly retired last year, my sister’s free time increased just as mom had become steadily more dependent on her. Gail was getting worn down, “hanging by a thread,” she told me last week.

And here our mother was, still dead. This answer to prayer, which was not really a conscious prayer at all, just occurred. All the things we’ve fretted over for years were no longer important — spending down her assets so Medicaid would pay for long-term care. Getting full-time help in the home for her. Visiting her in a nursing home where, after three trips, she decided she never wanted to return. How could we take her there? What would we do, lie to her about where we are taking her, then leave her? I couldn’t picture doing it? To my mother? Never.

I spent months alternately in denial, and fretting: what shall we do? What should I do? Is there any reasonable, acceptable solution? I want to be with her. I don’t want to be with her. I want to take care of her. Yet, I could barely stand to do it for six hours. If I had sat with her maybe I could have helped her pass on. Or not. Maybe my nightmares of her suffering would be even worse than they are now. And I only watched with her for about six hours, then went to bed, hoped (pretended?) she was going to sleep.

Yet, in her sleep, sometime in the time that I “allotted” for her to sleep, she tricked me, pulled the plug on herself. I can’t believe she did it, yet it would be just like her. I’ve had enough of this, I’m outta here. And I’m not going to some nursing home, either.

It has been almost three weeks now, and the denial is going away. Though I have made a few calls to her home number, left messages on her voice mail, just because … My sister in New Jersey listens to them as she checks the house and probably feels sad, too. I learned years ago while grieving an earlier loss, it is best to go along without whatever weird impulse comes to mind, as long as it seems safe. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks you should do or how you should do it. Just let your instincts guide you. Your inner self is working things through and there’s no point making rules about how to do it. Your grief is unique, it’s happening to you.

I’m getting out of the way and letting it happen. Just me, getting used to the dying that is already done for my mother. Just letting her go.

Photo credit: picture provided by the author: Mildred and Jean Anne