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I Never Cried For My Mother

Jul 29, 2020
by Caroline Miller
" death, eulogy for a parent, pain of loss, what death teaches
20 Comments

Courtesy of: https://www.darlenekaplan.com/shop/

I never cried for my mother when she died, nor am I inclined to do so now, three months later.  At first, I thought my behavior peculiar.  A counselor assured me it wasn’t. “Some people need to hold on to their grief.  You’ll cry when you’re ready.”

As the weeks pass,  I grow more certain he is wrong. I shall never cry for my mother because her passing taught me to be at peace with the end of life.

I have written of my previous fears about losing my mother–how a phone call at odd hours could leave me breathless, or an email from her doctor. If I am honest, I spoiled my time with her by living in the twilight of dread.  “Please don’t die…not now.” Such was my mantra each time I entered her room. 

In her final days, when she was unable to speak, when her labored breathing was the only sign of life, I held her hand to keep the connection between us. If she had the strength, she’d squeeze my fingers. How skeletal that hand was, peeking above the blanket, the bones sheathed in skin that was dry and paper-thin–too frail, it would seem, to contain the veins pressing hard against it. Yet her touch was warm, the last vestige of dying light. 

Even so, knowing the moments of her existence could be counted by a child, my thought-mantra persisted and grew more intense.  “Please don’t die, moma.  Please don’t die.” A foolish wish is the last resort of the desperate.

On the afternoon of her passing, unaware that our time together was to be measured in hours, I sat beside her bed, stroking her hand as before, the mantra clanging inside me, without purpose, like an alarm bell in a ghost town. No one could hear my quiet moan and yet it was real, a pain deeper than I had ever experienced. Where is the blood, I wondered?  There should be blood.

As if she could read my thoughts, my mother squeezed my fingers. It would be for the last time, though I was yet to know it.  Shaken by its intensity, I wondered with death so near how she could manage this almost spectral communication.

Call me mad, but that touch did have mystical power. When I felt it, something shifted inside me–as if a warehouse worker had removed a box to clear a path between her and me.   My shoulders slumped without willing them to do so. Then, uttering a sigh, I closed my eyes.  In the darkness, I saw Death’s presence, not as the terrifying figure I had imagined, but as an attendant whose purpose was to ease pain.   My mother’s touch conveyed that this was true. The time had come to set aside my foolish mantra and let go.    

Several weeks have passed since her life cycle ended. Yet, at any hour of the day, I can be jolted by guilt, imagining I’ve forgotten to call or pay her a visit.  Then, just a swiftly, I remember these tasks are no longer necessary or possible. The awakening is always unsettling, leaving me to feel like a wayfarer marooned upon a beach and staring out to sea.  At such moments, waves of longing crash over me to threaten my balance. Then seconds later, those waves retreat but with a force that pulls me toward the far horizon.     

In time, these sensations will lose their authority, I am certain.  My mother would wish it. She wanted me to accept her death and at that same moment, she introduced me to mine… somewhere in the future. I wonder how we humans would treat one another if we could sense death as a permanent presence? If we could carry that awareness inside us like the audible ticking of a heartbeat, would we– knowing both kings and paupers travel the same road–choose to be anything but kind to one another?  I thank my mother for introducing me to this constant companion, an awareness meant to give life urgency and make it richer. To despoil her gift with tears would dishonor her last maternal effort to push me toward life.

 

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20 Comments
  1. Jane Mantiri July 29, 2020 at 7:31 am Reply
    I cried reading this. What a powerful story of love and life at the pinnacle of awareness...death. I will reread this many more times while I am still on this earth. You are a sage guide, mentored by the best. Your mother left an extraordinary legacy in you. Terima kasih
    • Caroline Miller July 29, 2020 at 9:15 am Reply
      Thank you, Jane. I am lucky to have people like you to read my (our) story.
  2. Erin Donley July 29, 2020 at 7:41 am Reply
    So beautiful, Caroline. Thank you for writing this and sharing it with us. Your words, once again, are exquisite and deeply touching.
    • Caroline Miller July 29, 2020 at 9:13 am Reply
      Thank you for commenting, Erin.
  3. Nancy Rollins Gantz July 29, 2020 at 9:43 am Reply
    Absolutely beautiful, Carolyn, as it brought back memories from a year ago with my mother. Nancy
    • Caroline Miller July 29, 2020 at 10:53 am Reply
      I'm sorry for your loss which I suspect is still fresh. The sad fact of life is that we only get one mother. In this world, we need more.
  4. Fellene Gaylord July 29, 2020 at 9:53 am Reply
    When my mother died 4 years ago after 10 years on the Alzheimer's ward I felt relieved for her. She'd had no quality of life, hadn't spoken in years. Death was a liberator. I did cry, but also felt she'd left me years before her body did. Thank you for sharing your experience. We all lose our Mothers. Sometimes it is the right time.
    • Caroline Miller July 29, 2020 at 10:51 am Reply
      True. All true. And yet so hard to say goodbye. Thank you for your comment.It helps me process and perhaps others, too.
  5. Jann Reardon July 29, 2020 at 10:33 am Reply
    So incredibly beautiful. I will keep this to read again.
    • Caroline Miller July 29, 2020 at 10:49 am Reply
      Thank you for your response. I'm glad to hear from you.
  6. Brad Mersereau July 29, 2020 at 5:53 pm Reply
    Beautifully written ... grateful to be in your classroom long ago.
    • Caroline Miller July 30, 2020 at 7:57 am Reply
      Thank you, Brad.
    • Caroline Miller July 30, 2020 at 8:00 am Reply
      I appreciate your comment, Brad.
  7. Sara Larson July 29, 2020 at 9:41 pm Reply
    So honest. I want to savor your thoughts and let them sink in. Thank you for letting us in on your deeply personal processing. Your gift of words seem to have unhooked many of my own binding thoughts of passing this life. I hope you find continual comfort in reflections about your mom.
    • Caroline Miller July 30, 2020 at 7:58 am Reply
      Thank you, Sara. I appreciate your response.
    • Caroline Miller July 30, 2020 at 7:59 am Reply
      Thank you, Sara, for your response.
  8. Kathy Anderson July 30, 2020 at 1:17 pm Reply
    Caroline, my parents were living with me when my mom died suddenly at the age of 85 if a brain aneurysm. Like you, I was privileged to be holding her hand as she passed, but she hadn’t been responsive for many hours, and I had to let her go. It’s been 15 years and I still miss her and think of her every day. Like me, you are able to articulate your thoughts and feelings, which I hope you will find comforting. I am in the process of putting together a little book about Grandma Lyn for the grandkids and great-grands, focusing one the things that she loved (children, music, entertaining, travel, for example), in the hope that i can keep her memory alive.
    • Caroline Miller July 30, 2020 at 3:43 pm Reply
      Thank you for your comment. I can think of no greater gift to a family than to record memories in a memoir. Good luck with it. And you might care to let us all know when you finish.
  9. Pamela C Langley September 10, 2021 at 3:51 pm Reply
    Caroline, I will always remember the utterly transcendent relationship you shared with your mother. I apologize for commenting more than a year later on this post, but it moved me incredibly when I read it, and also drove me to tears not so much for the loss or sadness, but for the depth of your emotion and expression. You were so lucky to share such a deep and simpatico relationship--and I am so very sorry about the passing of your mother.
    • Caroline Miller September 12, 2021 at 12:46 pm Reply
      Thank you Pamela. I know you work as a writer so I treasure your comment.

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Contact Caroline at

carolinemiller11@yahoo.com

Portland, Oregon author Caroline Miller had distinguished careers as an educator, union president, elected official and artist/advocate.

Her play, Woman on the Scarlet Beast, was performed at the Post5 Theatre, Portland, OR, January/February 2015

Caroline published a serialized novelette, Marie Eau-Claire, on the website, The Colored Lens.  She also published the story Gustav Pavel,  a parable about ordinary lives, choice and alternate potential, on the website Fixional.co.

Caroline has published four novels

  • Ballet Noir
  • Trompe l’Oeil
  • Gothic Spring
  • Heart Land

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