One Day at a Time

In February, I began a blog post calling it “One Day at a Time” and, while the subject matter of this post has shifted somewhat, I’m in awe at the correlation and how life brings us full circle.

At the point when I began the post, my blogging habits had curtailed.  While I enjoyed my monthly blogging last year, when I ended my series on lessons I learned during the pandemic, I found myself a bit lost.  (No goal, no progress?) My thinking was to just sit at my computer and try to write so I can become lost in the flow of the moment.  Inspiration has to find you being busy so that your mind is open and flexible for new ideas, right? Well, I tried, wrote down a few lines – two paragraphs actually – and then just felt overwhelmed by the rush of emotion.  I had to walk away for the good health of my own Mentagility.

You see, over the holidays and New Year celebrations, I found myself becoming sadder and sadder.  Always an empathic person, I am used to the roller coast of other’s emotions.  In this situation, however, I did not understand why these feelings just overcame me, like a mental drowning in an emotional pool of love, regret, and family – almost as if some external pressure was applied around my heart, squeezing it ever so tightly.

I also felt the presence of my father around me, whispering in my ear words of comfort.  My father passed away decades ago and I feel him around me time to time and, especially, at meaningful times in my life.  I felt him telling me to be prepared and that I was going to experience two significant losses in my life in 2022, one of them being my mother who, at the time, was in pretty good health.  (The other will remain close to my heart as I double-down on my prayers.) My preparation took on a mental and emotional focus on how I would accept these events and still be able to cope.  My focus was on prayer, developing resilience, and how I could prevent these events.

The pandemic and quarantine had already had a profound impact on me.  Accordingly, I took a little break from my thinking and worrying and just tried to exist with the support of my dad.  You see, it was around Christmas time, I began to call my mother every day to keep her company over the phone.  (My father put the idea into my head of a daily ‘check in.’)  This was so important to me that I told my boss that I was unavailable for at least one hour a day so that I could take my lunch break and speak to my mother.  (He was very understanding and gave me that space.  Thank you, J.)

Each day, I blocked off calendar time so my mom could rely on a phone call or a lifeline during the long and lonely days at home.  I remember telling my husband on a particularly busy day where I could only scrape by 15 minutes for lunch that I was calling my mom.  I told him I could eat my lunch while working but I was going to call my mom.  He kindly made me lunch on those days so I could talk to my mom.  (Thank you, M.) On a gut level, I knew my mom needed me more than I needed to eat lunch at that particular time.

I cherished these calls, knowing I’d never regret them once she was gone.  During these calls, we’d chat about normal things: what she was doing, what she had for breakfast, how she was feeling.  I also began to notice that my mother was mentally failing but not all the time.  It was a strange type of situation and I wouldn’t know just what personality would greet me on the phone.  My mother was sleeping about 16 hours a day at this point, exhausted both mentally and physically.  My sister and I thought it was depression or dementia.  (I plan to write more about her illness in a future blog post once I feel comfortable sharing those details.  It has given me life lessons that I feel compelled to share with you.)

My mother passed away in April and I’m beyond heartbroken.  I’m broken as a woman and wife.  I really don’t know how I can continue without her as each day seems duller or less bright.  I see her beautiful face in my mind and collapse with overwhelming grief.  I so miss her so much; I miss those talks as lunch now seems less pleasurable.  I’m so thankful to have spent time with her in person during her last weeks even in her diminished capacity.  I still see her lovely face and kind eyes that shined with love every time she looked at me, even as a young child or adult when I made a poor decision or did something disappointing. I always felt the love she shared so freely even though she grew up without it.  Still today, I am in such wonder and awe at how she learned such selflessness when she grew up in a surrounded by such hate and bigotry in Nazi Germany and within her own family.  She continues to have a profound impact on how I will exist in the future.  Through her death, she continues to teach me and I am at awe with her power from beyond the pale.  I’m so proud to have enjoyed her as my mother.  I love her and will love her until my own death, and, then, after that, too.

I learned that one always must lean into their gut feelings because life is not meant to be lived with regrets but with joy – even through such a profound loss.  Making that call or doing that favor when asked or compelled is our cue to be in a certain place or time.  My only regret was that I was unable to spend more time with Mom. I took a selfie photo of my sister, my mom, and I when she was first entered into hospice as we had such high hopes that she could/would pull out of her state.  One might say that this was an odd thing to do.  Frankly, I don’t give a damn because this photo is one of my most treasured possessions: the last photo of me, my mom, and my sister, together.  We were all so excited to show her the large and airy hospice room, and explain to her that she would be coming home soon so she could be in her own bedroom.  We had such hopes, still, that she would be okay.  These days now remain with me as bittersweet memories of what we prayed and dreamed might happen, and the actual reality of living the life.

We brought Mom home and were her nurses 24/7.  There was no question that my mother would spend her last days – if that were to be – in her own bedroom, surrounded by her beloved daughters and photos of a life well-live.

Caring for her was the honor of my life.  This was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.  I was able to care for her as she did for me as a baby.  I learned that this doesn’t always happen for many parents, and I was so happy to be my mother’s daughter – her oldest baby – the one who made all of the mistakes and was such a trial to my parents.

God, how I so miss them both.  How does one get over the loss of a parent, much less their dear mother; the one who gave me life, caring, and comfort during my most weakest years of my life? I don’t know and I’m not worried about it as I’m taking a day at a time.

I must end this here as this post is over-whelming for me and I must step back a bit to continue my healing.  (This is progress for me, thanks to my Mom.) And, in case you were wondering, here is that blog post from February.  It is those ‘gut’ feelings that are our true inspirations and our relationship with others helps us become who we were destined to be.

I love you, Mom.  Always your daughter.

From February: I find that I try to live my life in large chunks, always looking at what is going to happen in the next few days.  The unknown creates an anxiety in my ‘today’ and keeps my focus not on what is currently in front of me but what I going to happen…maybe.  This is a really exhausting place – mentally – to reside.  In essence, I worry about a lot of things that may never happen, and do this on the regular without realizing.  I used to think that this was just normal and I now realize that this isn’t normal but is from a place of not wanting to be where I am today – or not trusting that I will be able to handle what is coming up for me.

 I realized that a lot of my own anxiety is my lack of understanding of the situation and my inability to control my environment.  This used to make me angry or frustrated WITH MYSELF.  I finally figured out that I was getting angry about something that wasn’t even a thing! When I finally recognized the source of my discomfort was in my own mind and an excuse to beat myself up, I felt sort of foolish at getting upset at fake stuff.  How many of us do this today without even realizing what is happening?

Wishing you much love and peace.  Hug your parents for me if you still can.