My Grief Journey Continues... My Mom

While my mom’s death in July of 2020 was not a surprise, it was traumatic. Grieving is never easy. But I also was grieving our roles of Mom and Daughter getting turned around as I became one of her caregivers.  She was still my mom, but it felt like I was the parent, evaluating her everyday needs and medical care. Is she comfortable, happy, and safe? How does she look? Is she frustrated? Is this normal behavior or should we be more concerned? I became “the parent” to my mom. I needed to go back in time and remember my mom before all the doctor appointments and facility care. 

 Mom grew up in the inner city of Philadelphia. Her father died when she was five years old so along with being raised in a single parent household, there was alcoholism and abuse.  Determined to have a better life, she went to business school and found a job “across the bridge” in New Jersey. This is where she met my dad, got married and moved to the suburbs.

She quit her job to be a stay-at-home mom because that’s what most women did in the 1950’s. Family was everything but she cared for people, not just family, always thinking about her friends and neighbors. Kids would hang out at my house and could count on there always being snacks and goodies to eat. My friends and cousins would share their lives with Mom, telling her things that they wouldn’t tell their own parents.  

Our tiny house also hosted all the parties and holiday celebrations with a dozen adults in the kitchen, three at the table just a few feet from the sink and two or three people washing, drying and putting away dishes.  Kids would run in and out between them and it looked like bedlam, for us, this was normal. Friends and neighbors there because of my mom’s hospitality, not for the drapes, furniture or food. Her Catholic faith was her foundation for family and friends.. She certainly was my greatest fan. 

When I was promoted to Vice President at the bank, I tried to explain, “Mom, there are a lot of vice presidents at banks. It really isn’t that big a deal.”  She didn’t care. To her, itI was a big deal, “My daughter is a Vice President. You travel and have a big, fancy corner office.” She was a force to be reckoned with and I didn’t argue. 

But over time, I watched this one tough cookie shrink and become unsure and afraid to make decisions. Our roles were beginning to reverse. I, along with my sisters, were taking on the parental role. Nothing prepares you for this season and I didn’t like it. I’m not supposed to be “the mom” to my mom.

Witnessing her battle with dementia was painful. Once again, her fighting spirit led her through the early decline. In fact, she was the one who decided when it was time for her to go to a nursing home, removing the responsibility of her family from having to make that decision. A gift.

She enjoyed her first year in the nursing home. However, it didn’t take long before her dementia worsened and extreme paranoia set in. She was living in constant fear and there was nothing we could do to make her feel safe.  Even though someone would visit almost daily, to reassure her she was safe, she was obsessed that people were trying to harm her.

On her birthday, March 12, 2020, the family made plans to celebrate with her. But covid forced the shut down of her facility and no one was allowed inside. Mom was confused and convinced it was the staff who were keeping the family away from her. Frantic phone calls began as she begged us, “Please come get me. Come break me out of here. I’ll have my coat on and will be waiting at the door.” She couldn’t walk by herself, let alone get on her coat to “wait at the door.” It was heartbreaking.

Mom had fallen many times over the past several years, each one leaving her with a broken nose, shoulder, hip, or wrist. Then, while in the facility, she had her most serious fall to date and was taken to a trauma center.  Again, we were not allowed to see her. The frustration and anger was mounting. Over the course of five months, her condition worsened, while remaining in isolation. She had never been alone her entire adult life, until now. 

After my dad died, one of us (I have two younger sisters) was always with her. I moved in with her for about a year. Afterwards, my sister and her family moved in with her for about ten years. Then, she moved in with my youngest sister until she went to live in the facility, 

That terrible fall left her battered and bruised with a huge contusion on her forehead. She was in quarantine for 14 days as her health continued to deteriorate. After her quarantine, we set up a weekly video chat. It was the first time we saw the horrific effect of the fall. While her appearance was distressing, she was engaging and happy to see all the grandchildren and great grandchildren.

The second video call was completely different. She was not lucid and barely able to keep her eyes open.  We reached out to the staff and hospice to report that something was not right. We knew her time was limited and wanted to bring her home to be with her family.

It was a fight to get Mom released. My sister and I argued with the administration for hours until finally they released her into our care. We were grateful expecting to have a few days with her at home. After we settled her in my sister’s house, she lived for only two hours. But she was surrounded by her family. 

Looking Back

The death of my mom was the first death I experienced after I learned how to grieve in a healthy way. I know grieving all too well. I was present at the death of my Grandfather, my Dad and my Fiancé. I thought I was okay but I know now that I had a lot of unresolved grief. 

Learning how to handle grief in a healing, healthy way, with the right tools, made a huge difference in working through my mom’s death. 

The biggest difference is that I gave myself permission to grieve. I allowed myself to sit and be sad. I didn’t keep busy, distracting myself from feeling the pain of loss. I am able to recognize my behavior when I want to avoid the feelings. I knew I would feel her absence for a long time but this time, I would not put a time frame on it.

I miss my mom. I still get sad. She will always have a special place in my heart. But I know while I will feel sad and miss her, I will also still live my life. My passion is to help others. This is what she would want for me.

 Afterall, she taught me what’s most important, family and how to love, care, and serve others.

Thanks Mom.

Love, 

Your daughter