Happy Mother's Day

My mom holding Mallary

“If I were to die today, what would my children remember about me?” A bit morbid, I know, but I often consider this thought. It is scary to think of how your children will be raised if you were to die. I know mine are still young, but would they remember anything about me? Would Trevan remember I taught him how to use good manners? Is Mallary just going to remember what my back looks like when I’m working on the computer? Will she remember me rocking her and singing to her? Will the sound of a sewing machine remind them of their mother? Will the TJ Maxx or Marshalls logo make Trevan think of me? Will they remember how often I threw up my hands in frustration while sighing my famous sigh at having to clean up another mess? I’m hoping that they would at least remember my laughter or their silly mommy dancing in the kitchen or in the car. I really do worry what would happen to my children if I were to die. What kind of influence can I have on their lives if I am not around? What stories will they hear about me? Will they know how much I loved them? What my dreams were? What kind of people I hoped they would become?

The possibility of dying and not being able to teach my children the things I want them to know scares me. Am I the only one? What am I leaving them to remember? What lessons will they have learned from me? Do I have the things I want them to know written down somewhere?

After losing my mother last year, I thought about these things even more. I mentioned before how much I treasure my mothers letters to me, and being able to have her journal to read anytime I would like to. Well, last year on mother’s day I started a new tradition of writing a letter to each of my children on Mother’s Day. I will compile them someday and give them to them. So, if I were to leave earlier than I’d hoped, they would know at least a little bit about me, the things I love and believe, and how much I loved them and felt so very fortunate to be their mother. Having had just lost my mother, in each letter I included a little something about Grandma and something that she taught me. That will also be part of the tradition to help them learn a little bit about her and how much she loved them.

One year ago, the first weekend of April, I had my last real conversation with my mother. We were up visiting for conference weekend. We watched conference in the living room as my tiny mother slept stretched out in her make shift bed on the love seat, listening to her snoring come and go. She rested a lot that weekend. I wished I had kept a journal then and written all of this fresh when it happened. I remember her waking up to greet us and exchanging kisses, her playing in the floor with Trevan for a little while, and her wanting to see the scar on my back from my most recent mole removal surgery.

When you know your mother is dying, you find yourself a bit desensitized from the constant resting and discomfort while at the same time wanting to curl up next to her and sob. You try to focus on everything else going on around you to distract you from the sadness (desensitizing myself as a way of coping). I tried to focus on conference that day, because the moment I let my mind drift back to my mother asleep across the room, the tears would start to come.

Later that afternoon Mom had been resting on her bed, and I went up and sat on Dad’s side assuming the normal position, one foot tucked under me, the other one resting on the bed rail.

I am sure I asked how she was feeling, and I am sure she asked what was going on downstairs. That weekend mom wasn’t really carrying on long conversations, and the conversations were kind of random.

“Mom, can I look at your buttons some time to use for some of my crafts?” I asked. That wasn’t the real reason I was there, but I had been thinking about it.

Silence for a little while. Intermittent, random conversation.

I couldn’t hold it back any longer, and I started to cry, “Mom, I’m just so sad.” “Aren’t you just so sad, and frustrated that you have to deal with this?” “Doesn’t it just make you mad?” I can’t remember all the other things I said, but I just let it go. “You deserve to enjoy growing old with dad, and doing all those things you wanted to do.”

My mom was quiet for a few seconds then started, “Your father and I have shared so much. We have had so many special moments through this that I wouldn’t trade for anything. There have been so many miracles.” Then she got emotional, “I just feel so sorry that he has had to deal with all of this.” She got a little more emotional, “Holly, soon I get to see a lot of my family that I haven’t seen in a long time, and look forward to meeting some I have never met before. I will miss my grandchildren, and it makes me sad I won’t get to see Trevan and Mallary grow up. I love my grandchildren so much. I know I’m a child of God. I know that He loves me.”

There was more conversation like this, but I can’t remember any of it. There was silence for a while, and then my mom said, “Make sure to stay on top of your weight. I know it’s hard when you’re nursing.” (I think she remembered we had just had a conversation on the phone about me trying to lose weight) “Ummm, mom, I’m not really worried about it, it will be easier when I stop nursing.”

More silence, and then mom breaks it by saying, “Let’s go look at the buttons.”

I really wasn’t ready for our conversation to end.

“Mom, we don’t have to do that right now.”

She was already out of the bed and walking out of the room. Wiping my eyes I followed her down the hall and down the stairs. “Mom, we don’t have to do this right now.”

She got in the floor and started rummaging through the white cabinets. “Mom, I can do that.”

“Why is your mother in the floor?” (I knew my Dad was going to say that as soon as he walked into the room.) “What is she doing in the floor?” “Mary, get out of the floor.” (yes, out of the floor, not off)

“Dad, I asked her about buttons… I didn’t mean right now… already tried…”

That evening, saying good-bye to my mom was so hard. I think I put it off as long as I could. I hugged her and just held on knowing it would probably be one of the last times. I cried as John backed the car out of the driveway, and I cried off and on the whole trip home.

Mom was put in the hospital soon after that, and passed away about two weeks after that weekend.

You’ve seen those deathbed scenes in movies and on TV, the person dying seems to always have some message for the people they are leaving behind. Last words of wisdom, making people make promises, etc. I expected it to be like that. Mom didn’t say a lot in the hospital, she was kept pretty sedated because of her pain. During that last week while sitting by her bedside, part of me expected her to all of sudden wake up and have some last words of wisdom for us. She didn’t do that, and honestly, I was a little disappointed. Didn’t my mother have any last words of wisdom to leave me? Didn’t she want me to promise to do something?

How silly of me.

Seriously, just within the past few months I realized that my mother didn’t need to leave me with any last words, or advice. She left me with her life full of examples of how I should be living. She didn’t need to make me promise anything; she’s taught me my whole life. I know what she would expect of me, and what she would hope I would be doing. I don’t know why I thought she would feel the need to add anything more.

The only thing she really said while in the hospital was, “I love you.” I think that was the only thing important enough to her for her to muster up the energy to say. Though, I really didn’t need her to tell me that, I knew she loved me - she spent my whole life showing me and telling me that she did.

Hopefully, my children will be able to say the same of me.