The Awkward Transition

My friend did a drawing, which I liked, sort of tribal-ish of one person holding another. The person being held was passing over and the title was something like "will you hold me through the awkward transition". (the image shown is not that image... just apropos)

That word was so apt, to me. "Awkward" to describe letting go of this life. There are no apologies about it, not much dignity either. It's ugly and difficult... probably the most difficult thing about life.. the letting go.

How will my hair look? Will I make any embarrassing bodily noises? You get my drift.

Sunday, my mother made the awkward transition. I know that seems a heartless way to say it, but it was awkward and she was struggling so desperately. She was thin, her muscles shrunken, her face contorted, her mind (as we knew her) was almost completely gone. She had muscle spasms and could not swallow anymore. It was nightmarish and the very epitome of awkward.

So much fear surrounds death because we don't know what road we're taking and pain because of what and who we leave behind. I don't have much fear about dying but I can't stand the thought of leaving behind.

My mother had been ill for several years now. She was continually suffering from trans ischemic attacks or "TIA's". They're mini strokes in your brain. Not the kind of stroke where your face is left slack or there are outward physical signs.. just a slow gnawing at her mental and physical condition. It's very cruel. I guess, like Alzheimer, it's a black hole that slowly sucks everything from you. She was left with advanced dementia. In the end, she stared into the distance and I wanted so much for her to let go and rest. She seemed lost, afraid and alone. But she couldn't tell us any of those things. Perhaps it was my own projection but the look in her eyes was telltale.

My mom was a sillyheart. She was goofy and whimsical and sang while she cooked (with spatula in hand, no less). She actually used the spatula to accentuate verses, etc. She would call and leave songs on my voice mail that she had recently remembered from her childhood. Actually, she was much like a child in her joyous, giving and free spirit. She didn't spend much time concerning herself with worldly events. Her focus was her family. I have missed her these past few years and have grieved the loss of her the whole time. Now, it's almost a relief that she can be free and hopefully, somewhere, she is with my father and she is happy again.

Yesterday morning I woke to the sun absolutely flooding my room. It was glowing, powerful and moving. It was almost dreamlike and I felt her joy. The whole day I was relieved. A weight had been lifted and I just knew that she was OK.

She always sang to me "With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, she should have music wherever she goes". But it was really about her. I imagine her flitting through another world with her many rings (which she really did love) and her singing and music following her wherever she goes.

I love you Mom and thank you for my life.