It happened suddenly at the end of this February past. We had had a great week with our daily phone conversations. That week she had been to the GP and her usual health problems were considered under control. We had just finished discussing a book we read together the week before. I was spending the weekend in the company of a friend who was visiting from Germany for a music performance. I last spoke to my Mum on the way to the performance, and the last thing I told her was "we'll speak tomorrow evening and I'll tell you everything about the show".
(sorry this is so long; I'm a verbose person and I just had to put it all out. A virtual drink of your choice to anyone who makes it through!)
Turns out what killed her was another ailment altogether, one we - or at least I - did not expect. The creepy thing is my Grandmother (her Mum) died of the same thing - not something considered inherited. Whether she had an inkling or not (she had cared for her Mum) I don't know. My Mum was a very blunt person but she could also keep a secret if she wanted to. And considering what a dotting Mother she had always been, there is no doubt in my mind that she would have wanted to spare me of anything painful if she could.
We had a very complex relationship, both of us being independent and opinionated, though I am the tactful one. Although we clashed over time, and quite bitterly during a certain period (I chose not to speak to her for a period of time), we had mended our relationship in the past decade to the point where I decided she was the most important person in my life, the one who had unwaveringly cared even when we disagreed and the one who supported me through every decision, even when I left our small town - twice - for life in foreign countries, far from her. She had long decided I was the same in hers, as Mums often do.
So although she had never quite accepted old age (she was 71 at the time of her death and kept telling me how annoying she found the physical slowness, shortness of breath and frailty that had started) and I was not oblivious to the signs of her life taking a turn for the worse, I couldn't quite "see" how close the end was.
Our routine was that she would come stay with me in London over Winter and into Spring, then I would visit her in the Summer and for the Winter holidays and our birthdays. I returned to London at the beginning of January quite conflicted. She normally would come with me but this year it was obvious she was weaker than before, so we decided I would come back for Easter. All of a sudden everything ended in late February. At the time, I thought I was being realistic hoping for 5 to 10 years more together (my Grandma died at 80).
I did not grow up religious, neither was my Mum. I did not understand her later in life turn to being "understanding" towards prayer and spirituality until now. I can now see that religions had seen to it that people have emotional support at times like this. Mum had her own version of what she called spiritual and did not follow any dogma but had read the main texts of all the religions she knew about. I am not exaggerating, Mum's chief hobby in life had been reading. She had amassed an impressive library (books everywhere) and she had actually read them all - quite a few more than once. She read about everything, fiction, nonfiction, science, religion, history, psychology, nature - you name it. I'm very scientifically bent myself in what I think about reality and life so it came as a painful shock to me to realise I wanted answers NOW.
After dealing with all the stuff one has to surrounding the death of someone you're next of kin to (I'm an only child and my parents are divorced; my Father and I met and spoke for the first time in 12 years with this sad occasion), I rushed into reading all I could find about "what happens after death". I had already read quite a bit on the subject but what struck me was how superficially I had taken it all in. It was all "this information is really interesting for an evening of intellectual interaction" but all of a sudden all these questions became painful. I am naturally a very jokey person so being thrown at the deep end of grief is... honestly, it's hard to discribe how it feels. Alien is the best I can come up. This gush of emotion is overwhelming.
For the first few weeks I was obsessed with finding THE answer (I had this irrational need to find it before 6 weeks was up, having heard the first 6 weeks after are important both in Christian and Hindu religions - even though, again, I am not religious; but what I was and still am, I see, is quite overwhelmed). One day I listened to this psychology podcast on the subject of consciouness in which the scientist interviewed simply said not only that science does not have an answer but that we, as humans, may not even be equiped to understand it as such. Thanks, science. I could not accept that it's either Jesus and the angels in heaven of nothing whatsoever. How could Mum just be nothing? or wear a white gown and hang out on a cloud for eternity. Neither answer worked.
Then it struck me that everything was made up, anyway (I plowed on with the psychology and learned the theory that the self does not exist as such so "reality" may be different to what we actually experience through the senses), so I could just make up my own version of what happens after death beacause what I needed was emotional support rather than a rigorously "truthful" answer. The closest thing to making me feel better for now is some form of reincarnation (trying to come up with your own teology in under 6 weeks is a rather tall order even in 2019, let me tell you). I find it unbearable to think I will never speak to or hold my Mum's hand again.
The biggest practical problem I am encountering is I am not sure how serious this emotional turmoil is. At first I was very busy with what had to be done, had to deal with the inheritance business and my small but demanding family behaving in disappointing ways (people who had not been there for Mum for years expecting handouts). When all was done (thanks to very supporting neighbours who actually liked my Mum, unlike her own relatives), I returned to London and tried to get on with life and work. Let me tell you it isn't easy because I don't quite know what the next day will bring. Some days everything is going well within the grieving context, I am getting used to talking to Mum in my mind only and writing letters to her (she always enjoyed this form of correspondence and there is quite a lot between us from the past 20 years).
I also brought with me my favourite pictures of her and us together and have fresh flowers around the house. I found great comfort in taking walks by the local canals and have been ridiculously lucky with the great weather we've been having - even though it's probably bad for the environment...). Sometime around the new year she'd asked me to tidy up a pantry a bit. My eyes fell on this yarn she had in there and all of a sudden I decided I wanted to learn to knit, so I could make use of that yarn in the future. That turned out to be the last thing she taught me. I've since been at it like a fiend, having found I am a natural (it surprised her greatly how quickly I progressed). All this is the good.
Other days I end up bursting into tears in the middle of any random activity, like it happened the other day at work. At the weekend I was supposed to fly out to see another musical performance (my main hobby) with another friend and at the literal last minute I had to cancel the trip, which has never happened before (we've been all over Europe and had enjoyed ourselves immensely in the past 7 years). I was just so overwhelmed with emotion and anxiety that I could not trust myself to navigate two different countries. I had been weary about returning to work as I work in mental health and you can imagine you really need to be emotionally stable to cope with your daily work routine.
On the other hand, I felt I needed to test if I was ready because I have never had to deal with this intensity of emotion and just couldn't tell what I could and could not tackle. I am now quite unsure if it was the right decision. Aside from these bursts of crying I don't act like someone particularly distraught. During the first few weeks I would talk to anybody who was willing to listen about what I was feeling (luckily there were a lot of people who did listen).
But at this point I feel like I am starting to repeat myself and even occasionally bore myself. What else is there to say? My Mum died and I feel alone. I know from all angles "she's in a better place" - either she's not being plagued by world worries or she's privy to all the answears to the great questions about life and reality. What's not to like?! Some days I envy her. I have also discovered two things: I am not afraid of death, whatever that may be and I like life quite a bit (so I'm not ready to join her just now, no stress there).
What I am still afraid of is pain in this life. And also not having her around. I feel small and relatively unprepared, although upon learning of her passing one of my first thoughts was "does it mean I am ready to continue on my own?" My Mum was the type of larger than life personality (reason for much admiration from some, me among them, and also countless bitter clashes with others, family among among them). She was courage personified and tackled most everything head on, with unwavering conviction (she did change her mind, but that was always quietly).
I, on the other hand, doubt a lot, ask a lot of questions before making my mind up, tend to make light of things that are probably more serious than I give them credit for and have been known to procrastinate. Am I ready? Looks like possibly not... I think I told off a caring friend a bit too strongly and also may have to take off from work longer than I anticipated. That and I don't really trust the intentions of my Father and the rest of the family (the demanding lot), though we are on speaking terms now (awkward phase, of course). There really is a lot to tackle.
Like I said, if you made it this far, you have my respect and a cup of whatever you'd like (a real one of we ever end up meeting in real life, you never know).
