“Take your boots off and rest your legs,” these were the last words of advice that I received from my mother before she began her journey to her much awaited “home.” It was almost four months since she was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia; and I’d been carrying a heavy physical and emotional load since, so I knew her direction was both literal and figurative. As the hard-headed daughter, I was never accepting of her advice, so she was aware that her last messages would have to be unspoken.
Love
Over the years, my mother was plagued by many health problems that left her body and mind in a weakened state, and I understood the toll that chemo would take on her frail body, so the choice of intensive therapy or imminent death was not black or white. The decision was not easy, but she decided to go with chemotherapy, even though the odds of a recovery were not in her favor, plus she may not survive the treatment. I knew this decision, like the majority in her life, was not based on her true wishes, but how it would affect those she loved. This same self-sacrificing behavior is what set me on my own narcissistic path years earlier, allowing me to think that I was choosing to be strong, but as I grew older, I realized that I chose the easy route. Living for yourself is easy, but living for others takes true strength.
Over the years, my mother was plagued by many health problems that left her body and mind in a weakened state, and I understood the toll that chemo would take on her frail body, so the choice of intensive therapy or imminent death was not black or white. The decision was not easy, but she decided to go with chemotherapy, even though the odds of a recovery were not in her favor, plus she may not survive the treatment. I knew this decision, like the majority in her life, was not based on her true wishes, but how it would affect those she loved. This same self-sacrificing behavior is what set me on my own narcissistic path years earlier, allowing me to think that I was choosing to be strong, but as I grew older, I realized that I chose the easy route. Living for yourself is easy, but living for others takes true strength.
Life
As I looked into her haunted eyes and held her frail body, while she suffered through the poisons being pumped through her body, I could feel that there were moments unlived and things unsaid. At 73, she had lived a long life compared to those taken in their early years, but when one lives with fear, they never truly live. My mother had never been very decisive person, and readily allowed others to make decisions on her behalf. Her fear of trying new things was even apparent when choosing an item off the menu at a local restaurant. Her dependent nature gave me great irritation as a youth, and beyond, as I insisted she had to take charge of her life and stop relying on the direction of family, friends, and especially the doctors…
As I looked into her haunted eyes and held her frail body, while she suffered through the poisons being pumped through her body, I could feel that there were moments unlived and things unsaid. At 73, she had lived a long life compared to those taken in their early years, but when one lives with fear, they never truly live. My mother had never been very decisive person, and readily allowed others to make decisions on her behalf. Her fear of trying new things was even apparent when choosing an item off the menu at a local restaurant. Her dependent nature gave me great irritation as a youth, and beyond, as I insisted she had to take charge of her life and stop relying on the direction of family, friends, and especially the doctors…
As a child, my mother had me participating in many camps, sports, and other extracurricular activities, probably recognizing my own insecurities and shyness and doing what she could to divert me to a path of opportunity not presented to her. She always encouraged me to go to college, and even offered her inheritance when I stubbornly chose to attend an out-of-state university-my dad couldn’t say no to two hard-headed women. She wasn’t overly supportive when I decided to buy a house, nor the most elated mother-of-the-bride, although she was glad I would no longer be “living in sin,” and she never encouraged grand-children. I used to feel that I would never make her happy, but in retrospect, I believe she saw these things as hindrances to living and she wanted a more unregimented life for me.
My mother was raised Pentecostal, or as I would lovingly refer to as a “bible thumper” and her strict “fire and brimstone” beliefs never meshed well with my skeptical and open-minded views. From the time I came home from school quoting Emerson’s Self Reliance, religion was always a subject of contention with us, so I usually tried to avoid. During her treatment, it was apparent that she was pulling her strength from a higher power and it gave me great comfort to know that when I left her bedside, she would not be alone. The clearest I’d ever heard her speak was the day she told me that they had exhausted all treatment options, and it was apparent by the calmness in her voice that she was relieved. The doctors offered a short-term treatment option, with the goal of getting her to the holidays, but she was ready and opted for in-home Hospice care. She arrived home on a Friday and after spending some time with family, went to sleep and began her transition. Over the next two days, I didn’t stray far from her bedside, in anticipation of her call for help, but that call never came. I did my best to keep her physical body comfortable; a moistened sponge for her dry mouth, pain medicine for distressed breathing… But I could see by her look of serenity that her spirit was quickly exiting the broken body. Close friends and family were quickly called and encouraged to come say their last goodbyes, and by that Sunday evening the house was resemblance of holiday festivities, just as she liked. As the crowd departed, my immediate family gathered around her bedside reflecting on the day and speed of events, and it was at that point that we noticed her extremities had become cold and darkened and realized she had taken her last breathe. The thought of witnessing death always sounded terrifying, but watching my mother’s peaceful passing made me realize that there should never be any fear in dying.
Art of Being Human
As I reflect on my mother’s last lessons, moving forward is about living and reconnecting with myself- a long-distance runner, evolving cyclist, homebrewer, beer hunter, wine taster, plant-based and true food revolutionary, spiritual nomad... Because, I am a Live Culture…
As I reflect on my mother’s last lessons, moving forward is about living and reconnecting with myself- a long-distance runner, evolving cyclist, homebrewer, beer hunter, wine taster, plant-based and true food revolutionary, spiritual nomad... Because, I am a Live Culture…
