Accepting the Death of my Mother

For years my friends and patients have told me how surprisingly shocking the death of an elderly parent can be. We know it's inevitable, yet the finality is jarring. But knowing and knowing are two different things. So her son the doctor reacted just like so many others when my mother died unexpectedly last March at 86 after falling and striking her head. I found it hard to get my arms around the idea that my mother was no longer alive.

I received an outpouring of beautiful condolence letters and contributions but have only written a handful of thank you notes. My undoubtedly overly simplistic armchair psychiatrist explanation is that if I don't write the notes then maybe she didn't die. And I'm not alone in my behavior. My 90-year-old father, married to my mother for over 66 years, asked me a few months after her death if it was okay that he was pretending she was still alive. "Absolutely," I replied. "That's why God invented denial."

My mother lived totally in the moment. She'd start to peel an orange and would say "at this moment this orange hasn't seen the light of day." Every morning she would look out the window at our breakfast table and say, "Good morning, dogwood tree." More often than not, whatever she was experiencing was "the best ever." The best ever sunset was the one she was watching. The best ever salad was the one she ordered at our last lunch alone together a few weeks before she died. Her best ever meal was the one she had just finished. She did not want to waste a single second, as was reflected in a hilarious essay she submitted to the New York Times upon turning 75. It was rejected, so here is the world premiere (see below).

My wife had the idea to plant a dogwood tree at the top of the beautiful Vermont hill where we had sprinkled my mother's ashes. Yesterday my family gathered under cloudy skies for the ceremony. One of my two sons sang a beautiful song he had composed using the lyrics of a poem called "Growing" that my mom had written when my three sisters and I were little.

Growing

Goodnight sweet baby and goodbye
I'll see you as you are no more.
For dusk has settled in the sky
And you have wondrous dreams in store.
As you sleep, a magic hand will touch you
And you'll grow more wise.
Tomorrow morning you'll awaken
New and different in my eyes.

This morning my father admitted that he still finds it hard to accept she's gone and sometimes imagines that "she's just out shopping." But we're both starting to accept that we'll see her as she was no more. This afternoon I'm going to start writing thank you notes in earnest. Well, maybe tomorrow.

*************************************************************

Dear Editor:

I just celebrated my 75th birthday, and do you know what? I'm better than ever! Well, I guess you could say I'm stronger than ever. No, not in my muscles, which can be developed and maintained during regular workouts in the gym, but in my mind, which gets a daily ongoing on site workout. I now have the strength of my convictions, something I never had when I was young because in those days I always aimed to please, so that everyone would like me. I have now become much more assertive, more determined, more stubborn, and more aware of the passage of time, and as I calculate how much of it I have left, I have made a firm decision not to waste one moment of it.

With that thought in mind, here are some resolutions I've made to myself for the New Year:

1. I will not open unsolicited advertisements in the mail. This includes 10 million dollar lotteries and free trips to the Caribbean. Into the garbage they go!
2. I will not make dinner dates with boring people. This includes people who didn't used to be boring but are now.
3. I will not put off doing things that I want to do.
4. I will not attend meetings out of a feeling of obligation.
5. I will not play singles rather than doubles in tennis or play an extra hour because I'm afraid to say no.
6. I will not ride when I can walk or walk when I can ride, depending on how I feel at the time.
7. I will not take part in long phone conversations with talkative people who are boring.
8. I will not dress up to go out if I feel like wearing a shirt, sneakers and jeans.
9. I will not shop 'til I drop. I never did and I certainly won't start now.
10. I will not agree with someone unless I really do. I won't be afraid to express my opinion.
11. I will hang up instantly on phone solicitors with no apology whatsoever.
12. I will remove the tag from each and every mattress that I own with absolutely no fear of penalty of the law, and when I make the bed I won't always do hospital corners. Sorry, Mom!
13. I won't be afraid to break a date if something better comes along.
14. I plan to make a lot of money selling something on Internet. Don't know what yet.
15. I will not be intimidated by a surly maitre d' or waiter. I won't be afraid to send something back if it's not to my liking, and if the rolls aren't hot, back they'll go.
16. I'll squeeze the toothpaste from the top of the tube--so there!
17. I'll watch every Seinfeld rerun, all Frasier episodes and all Woody Allen movies.
18. I will wear white before Memorial Day and after Labor Day if I want to.
19. I will always remember that health takes priority over everything, and I will guard it carefully.
20. I will keep smelling the roses and seeing, tasting, touching and hearing the world about me for a long, long time.

Happy New Year!!

Elsa LaPook

Comments

[Rebecca Booth, MD - Huffpost Blogger]

How wonderful that your mother had such joy in her life! She would not have wanted to be seen as someone who could pass away at any moment-- it is clear she felt full of life to the end. How could you not be surprised and unprepared by the absence of Her.
Great post...thank you.

[JanaK63]

Thank you for the wonderful post, and to your readers who still have their mothers, cherish them everyday you have them with you!

[TheIndependenceParty]

Thank you Dr. LaPook. I really like your mother. Her humor and her strength, and her determination to live every day exactly as she chose. Reminds me of my daughter, and my two best past friends, and my parents. I can't see them either, ... but like your mom, the ripples from their landing in the pond of my life grow bigger every day, as long as we speak of them, and let them speak for themselves in their writings and their songs, ... their art and their gardens.

Denial is putting food on the plate for them and being disappointed it was not eaten. However, we can set their place at the table for special occasions, ... or light a candle in their name and in their memory, or leave their room as it was for a while longer, as simple tributes we perform to honor how lively they were while they were with us. It recognizes that we are the ones who miss them, and miss their presence near us. Those deeds heal us in the end, until it is our turn to take our leave.

Yes, I like your mother a lot, because her son and family, and her husband, ... loved her a lot. And if there is one thing we need more than any other, it is loving and lovable people. That ripple she left in your life has just washed over many thousands today. Thank you!

[skunky93]

omg...I feel so scared of this...i lose my breath at even a hint of the thought. I cried for you and every person who commented as I scrolled through. Bless all of your mothers and mine.

[Scurvybro]

After my mother died last September and I returned to work, I would reply to colleagues' condolences by saying that I understood how everyone could sympathize, as everyone has a mother.

One of them, instead of reflexively agreeing, stayed silent for a few seconds and then replied, "Yes. But not everyone has a good mother."

It sounds like you, as I, had a good one.

[bambi6]

Thank you very much for sharing your mother here. What a wise woman she was. As I approach what may be the last visit I have with my father, I can only hope that I am able to express to him what he has meant to me in my life, and the love I feel for him. Thank you for sharing your love, Dr. LaPook.

[billy goat]

After almost 20 years it still seems odd that my mother is gone. She missed so much of my life as an adult. I don't think this oddness will pass. I hope not.

[DrLaPook]

Thanks so much to everybody for such beautiful, thoughtful comments. I really appreciate them.
Jon
P.S. The best discussion I have ever read about grieving and denial is Joan Didion's brilliant book "The Year of Magical Thinking."

[TheIndependenceParty]

A singularly wonderful book I love, written by a mother who lost her daughter, is "Healing After Loss" by Martha Whitmore Hickman. I cherish her insights and her frankness about grief and loss, and the way back to a meaningful life. In this incredible gathering of writings and reflections, Mrs. Hickman has gathered the thoughts of philosophers, writers and commentators, and blended them with her own journey and journal after her loss. A single page for every day of the year, ... not a Hallmark calendar, but a mother's hand-scrawled roadmap of recovery from grief.

It is the single book I give to other parents and friends, physicians and patients whom I love, and who suffer loss. Just a suggestion. I keep one copy with me for those days I need to remember.

[FZliveson]

HuffPost's Pick

My Mom passed in May of '08 of congestive heart failure, while on hospice care.
A few weeks before she died, I was visiting her and slept on the couch. She peeked her head out of the door and said "If I don't wake up tomorrow, I want you to know I love you." Mom and I were "flat" with everything that needed to be said, long before having been said. So I smiled at her and said;
"Mom you will awaken in the morning and I've always known you love me."
She had told us that when she was in hospice care she didn't want a lot of people around. The siblings and I were there and friends dropped in to pay their respects. It wasn't until we all went to get some dinner at a near-by restaurant that she felt free to go. She was a beautiful and intelligent woman and even though nothing went unsaid, she is missed, dearly, every day.
Thanks for the good article.

[michyh]

beautiful post.

[middleoftheroad]

Wonderful post. I'm sorry for your loss and dread the day when it hits mine.

Time on earth is very short. Your mom had the right idea for loving the moment. So many people yearn for the past (though the past is usually not as great as remembered) and dream of a tomorrow, but never enjoy the moment!

[Polly]

My mother also died on March 4th at 82. Her death was not unexpected because she been diagnosed on Dec. 31with Pancreatic Cancer, but still knowing that she was going and having her gone are two very different things. My mother was exceptionly brave and I didn't even know that until it was all over - she faced the cancer and said let it take it's course I can not be cured of this so I will not fight it - we called hospice. She is missed!

[mollybaby]

Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful mom with the world through your essay. What a lucky man you are to have a mom like her! Please accept my sincere condolences.

[maumeeone]

Dear Dr. LaPook,

I know exactly what you mean...My own Mother passed away a little over three years ago, on the first anniversary of my Father's funeral. She was 89 whe she died. I still have the urge now and then to pick up the phone and call her whenever I see a beautiful sunset or a big bright full moon, as was one of our habits. Mom enjoyed nature and loved the simple things in life. She never let on just how much she missed Dad during that year. I was with her a lot, but I still wish I would have spent even more time with her. Mom lived in a wonderful assisted living residence, but I know how much she enjoyed it when I would pick her up and take her out for dinner, just the two of us. In fact, I still really miss picking her up just to go out on errands to the bank or to go shopping. Sometimes the smallest things are the ones we miss the most!

Although I know you will, cherish your Father while he is still with you. From my experience, once they were both gone, I felt a weird sort of disconnect...As if I was suddenly adrift and alone. It definitely takes some getting used to. It may be a cliche, but as long as they are in our hearts, they are still with us.

Thank you so much for sharing your feelings with us...

[Charmed]

Thanks Dr. LaPook for sharing.......she definately doesn't like boring people, lol.