Everyone keeps asking if I'm okay. I don't know why really but my first inclination is to lie through my teeth and say, "I'm doing great!" Instead, I tell the truth. I nod and say, "I'm hanging in there; one day at a time," because it really is day-to-day for me.
When I speak to my Dad, sister, and brother, I know I am not the only one.
There are days I miss Mama so much that it hurts to breathe. My cousin likened losing a parent to losing a tooth; the wound eventually stops bleeding, but the hole remains forever. A friend told me that it never does get better, it just becomes manageable. I'm patiently awaiting the day I can see her picture and smile rather than cry.
Thank you, God, for giving me family and friends who understand that there isn't a time limit on grief. Friends who know exactly how I feel and seem to know just when to call or text. I have some of the best friends on the planet and I'm so very thankful they're mine.
-CC
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July 26, 2014
I cannot guarantee that I won’t cry, but I will do my best not to. I wish we had time today for me to tell you all about just how amazing my Mama was, but if I did, we’d be sitting here all day long.
As I sat writing this in the early hours this morning, I debated what I’d say. I wondered how’d I’d be able to convey to you all just how special Mama was in just a few minutes. As I thought about it, I realized that so many of you already know the kind of person she was.
I cannot tell you just how many calls, texts, emails, messages, and the like that I have received this week of people telling me how sweet and wonderful she was. I heard dozens of stories that began with, “Oh, I remember this one time…” And they all ended with, “Your Mama was so sweet. She will be missed.” And they are so right. Mama will be missed more than I can begin to describe. But I take comfort in the fact that I will see her again one day. Because I know today that my Mama is in heaven. I know that because she knew that was where she was going when she took her last breath.
Last week at the hospital, the doctors had her in an induced coma and on a ventilator because her lungs were failing her. On Thursday, they were able to bring her out of the coma for a little while. I guess she could tell by our faces that we were worried because while she was still on the ventilator and couldn’t speak, she started motioning with her hand like she wanted to write something. So we got her some paper and a pen. Her hands were still shaky from the medicine but she managed to write, “God will save me.”
Even while she was struggling to breathe, she was steadfast and secure in the knowledge that God had her back and she didn’t want us to worry about her.
She even called the chaplain’s office and asked to see a priest that she’d gotten to know and really liked. He came down and talked to her. He also delivered Last Rites to her when the time came. I’m still not sure if he even realized that we’re not Catholic. I guess when you find someone who loves to talk about the Lord as much as you do, it doesn’t much matter which church you attend.
Just a few days later, when the time came to turn off the ventilator for the last time, Mama didn’t struggle nor fight. We were told to expect that she would but Mama simply slipped quietly away. It was the most peaceful thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life. I believe she was seeing her Savior at that moment.
Mama had the faith of Daniel in the lion’s den and she was stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. She used to say, “A woman is like a teabag; you never know how strong she is until you put her in hot water.” It took strength and courage to go through what she did and do it with grace and with dignity.
As you all know, Mama had Pulmonary Fibrosis for which she received a double-lung transplant. I know it seems like it might not be the time nor the place, but I would truly be remiss if I didn’t mention the donor who gave us three and a half more precious years with Mama. For us, that time has been a gift and a blessing.
The day Mama got her new lungs I began praying daily for the donor’s family. Perhaps she was someone’s sister, wife, or mother- we may never know, but God knows.
If I could speak to them today, I’d want them to know that to us, their daughter wasn’t some faceless stranger who happened to be an organ donor. She was a very real part of our lives.
I’d want them to know that their daughter’s lungs went to a woman who was a beloved wife, mother, sister, aunt, and adored grandmother. She was courageous. She was feisty and didn’t back down when she knew she was right. She was loving and kind. She had an inner well of determination the likes of which I’ve never seen in another person. And she loved her family with the ferocity of a mama bear.
Time is a very precious thing; especially when you know you have so little of it.
Two years ago, Mama gave me a Mother’s Day card that I will never forget. It was one she’d made, which made it all the more special, and it said, “You’ve become the wonderful mother I always knew you would be. I am so proud of you.” I cannot describe just how much that meant to me. It made me realize that she is my yardstick. She’s the measure by which I judge motherhood.
But she made me realize that it’s ok to not be a perfect mother.
Except maybe Barney, her little dog. He was a source of pure joy for her.
You know, I believe that in heaven, life goes on; you’re just in a perfect, more peaceful, more beautiful place than you’ve ever been before. You’re happier and healthier. The skies are always the perfect shade of blue; you know the shade I mean- so blue it almost hurts your eyes. There isn’t a schedule to abide and dishes wash themselves.
She’s happy and breathing easy. I think she’d say, “Don’t miss me too much. The view is nice and I’m doing just fine.”
God speed, Mama.
