My mother, Gail, had always been thin, always moved slowly, but always showed fierce love for her children from a seated position. More often than not she was sitting down in photographs - as well as in life. It was only later that I learned why. It was only later that I even gave it a thought. Gail lived her childhood with Childhood Rheumatoid Arthritis, meaning constant pain, swelling and morning stiffness and this followed her into adulthood. My dad got us up for school, made breakfast and got us organized so that mom could wake slowly, allowing her body to 'wake' to the day.
But on Sunday, September 30, 1962 things turned out to be different. Walking into our small ranch house kitchen, I came upon my two brothers and dad slumped to the floor, arms around one another, crying, in anguish. All 3 seemingly lost is their own pain, not noticing I stood before them. The image of dad in the middle with his arms wrapped around a son on each side and grieving has been with me for a lifetime. Eventually, one of them, I am not sure who, said "she's dead".
It was 1962. Family, human connection and social correctness were far different than today. Grandmother Liston came immediately and took control of this grieving little family. Two decisions on her part shifted my world. First, I was sent to school the very next day! There were old fashioned classrooms at Nelson Place School with desks and chairs bolted to the floor. In the back, separated by a wall, was the class coat room. I have an auditory memory blazed in my mind as well: a girl on the other side of the wall saying "oh, she won't be here, her mother just died yesterday". But my strict, Scottish grandmother who had lived her own depression story felt the out of sight, out of mind philosophy would best suit my needs. So no talk of mother EVER again in her presence. As well, her second decision was to not allow the children to go to the funeral. I guess her thinking was that it would be too sad and it was best to move on.
Those few short days have defined a large part of my journey. Today I choose to view death and saying good-bye to those we love in a very different way than I was introduced to. Today I work in a church that embraces the end of life stages, the authentic way we can say good-bye and drawing all of the family into the process. To me that seems so 'real', so healthy and so positive. I wholeheartedly believe as individuals we must face this scenario.
My journey from my young mother dying at 39 years old, to my step-mother who died a tragic death, to my life today caring for my husband who has Parkinson's disease has been shaped by my early years. Is your glass half full or half empty? Do you live a comfortable 'lie' with only some of the pieces of your reality showing or allowing others to see what actually is? Have you extended yourself in care and truth for others along your journey or have you made life all about you? Have you made life a half-truth letting people think your life is perfection, that you have it all together because that is what makes people happy? Do you walk in faith or is there a person who is walking beside you?
Besides, mom Inez always told me that after 40, the rules shift and you don't always have to be who others want you to be. I am embracing that truth!