Dear Mom – Truck finished!!!

Dear Mom.

I finished rebuilding the truck today! After removing the engine, tearing it down, replacing a bent piston rod, rebuilding, reinstalling and putting everything back together, I turned the key, and it started right up! It runs smoothly. I drove it down to the end of the road and back. I’m still stunned.

I am amazed. It feels like something is wrong, but it’s not. It worked. I really did it! With a little help from Mike, of course, but I did the majority of the work. I know you believed in me. I wish you could be here to help me celebrate.

It’s going to be hard for me to sleep tonight, even though I’m completely exhausted. Wow! Just wow!

Mom’s Funeral

Today was mom’s funeral.

I picked up my sister and drove to San Antonio to the cemetery where my father is buried. There were quite a few of my relatives there. Some I hadn’t seen in 20 years.

It was a simple, but wonderful service performed by the son of the pastor I grew up with.

It was weird seeing mom for the last time lying in the casket. I guess that is to be expected. She was wearing the clock on a chain that she always wore when she went somewhere. The clock had stopped, so I had set the time to 7:10pm. The time she died. Nobody knew about that. It was my secret.

I was pleasantly surprised to see three of my friends from school who had come for me. Interestingly, my closer friends didn’t show. These three were not really that close to me during school, but have become very special. I can’t figure out why, but I am very appreciative to have them.

Everyone enjoyed the slideshow of her life as narrated by herself. There were many awkward moments when I had no idea what to say to some people. A smaller group was present for the graveside memorial. It was sunny but windy and cold.

After the service was over, my three friends and the closer relatives went to a steak restaurant, where we were able to talk and spend some time with each other. It was very nice. My uncle paid for everyone’s meals, which must have cost hundreds of dollars. He has always been a generous person. I wish I was like that.

I’m back home now, and I’m exhausted both physically and mentally. It’s only 6:30, but I’m ready for bed. I’m glad the funeral is over, and I’m glad we had it. Nobody should ever have to go through this, but everybody does. I’m so tired. I wasn’t sure if I could write this, but it has been helpful to me. Writing helps cleanse the soul.

Just the facts – Trying to make sense of my grief

It has been a week to the minute now since my mom passed away. 7:10pm on a Friday. I’m still trying to make sense of what I am feeling and what I am not feeling.

Conflicting thoughts keep swirling around in my head. I guess that’s normal. Sometimes I can sort things out better if I make a list of facts.

1. Mom loved me and I loved her very much.
2. She would want me to be happy.
3. She would not want me to spend a lot of time grieving.
4. She lived a very long and excellent life, being 92.
5. She was ready to die.
6. She made all preparations.
7. She accepted her death and met it courageously.
8. She did not suffer.
9. She didn’t want to be a burden.
10. We said everything that needed to be said.
11. I should not feel guilty for letting her die. There was nothing more I could have done.
12. I kept her as comfortable as humanly possible.
13. I made it possible for her to live independently all those years.
14. She really appreciated everything I did for her and told me so.
15. I happily gave up the best years of my life to take care of her.
16. I am now free to do as I please. She would want that for me.
17. She left me an excellent inheritance. She would want me to enjoy it and be happy.
18. The money will help me live more comfortably.
19. I don’t have to take care of her or her house anymore.
20. I don’t have to drive to the city every week anymore.
21. I don’t have to take her to appointments anymore.
22. I can move on to a new stage of life.
23. Worth repeating: She wants me to be happy.

I’ll add more when I think of them. This is a good list, and it makes me feel good to read it. That’s the point.

I’m still feeling strangely good right now, though it seems one shouldn’t. I’m trying to just go with the flow. There’s no need to rush or delay the mourning period. It happens at its own pace and on its own schedule.

Christmas is coming up quickly. She loved Christmas. It feels difficult for me to get into the spirit of the season more than usual. Maybe it will be best to embrace it rather than make it depressing. The magic doesn’t have to die. I will put up the Christmas tree and watch my favorite Christmas shows. She enjoyed seeing pictures of my tree, since she didn’t visit my house that often. I’m going to bake some of her famous oatmeal cookies and cook some of her favorite dishes.

Rather than being depressed about her death, I should be joyous about her life. She couldn’t have asked for much more, and I’m proud to have made it excellent for her.

Mourning Update – 5 days since mom died

It’s been five days since mom passed away. I’m a little confused about how I’m feeling. I feel mostly OK, but it seems that I shouldn’t. I’m almost angry that I’m not sadder. Is it too soon?

I’ve never mourned anyone before. My father died when I was 9, but I don’t remember grieving at the time. It seems that life went on normally. Mom was very strong for us and I don’t remember her spending a lot of time grieving either, though I’m sure she did somehow. I was pretty young. Sure, I spent my entire adult life missing him, but I can’t remember anything at the time that it happened other than him actually dying and the funeral itself. Could I have forgotten or blocked it out? The mind is a mysterious thing. I might just not have been properly sentient yet.

This is the first time in my conscious life that I’ve directly lost someone close to me. Other people around me have died, but I never really felt anything since they weren’t close. Mom was my mother and my best friend, so I don’t think it gets much closer than that except for, perhaps, a spouse. I wouldn’t know anything about that.

Overall, I’m pretty Stoic except when someone else talks to me about her, then I feel the heat behind my eyes, and they start leaking. I don’t understand why I’m not much sadder than I am.

Today I was invited, along with my sister, to Thanksgiving dinner with my aunt, uncle and cousins. Nobody mentioned her, which I was partially glad about but partially wishing they had. I suspect that others don’t want to stir up emotions in those who are immediately affected by the loss. I can appreciate that. I would be much the same. It’s difficult for everyone. I had a pretty good time, and it was nice to be around other people who care for me rather than sitting home alone watching movies all day. Mom would have wanted me to be happy and for everyone to have a good time while remembering her in their own ways. My family has never been much for discussing feelings.

I’ve been seeking out podcasts about mourning and grief to help me make sense of what is going on. I found a few, and they were mildly helpful in that I heard stories from people who experienced similar losses. It made me feel a little like I’m not the only person on earth going through this. Yeah, I know. Death comes for everyone, but I have to tell you that when it happens to someone you love, it seems like it is the first time it has ever happened in all of history.

I found, on the internet, that there are 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

I have not experienced any denial, anger or bargaining. Perhaps it is because of her age and condition, It’s not like it was a surprise. I’ve been preparing for this for many years. I remember, even, lying in bed in my room as a child, worrying that she was going to die at any minute and I would be alone. After the death of your father, I suspect that any child would suffer from this fear. I was lucky to have another 43 years with her in my life.

I’ve suffered general depression due to my chronic loneliness for at least 40 years. I’m no newbie to depression. However, I don’t really feel any depression about her passing. Maybe it is since I know she lived a long and wonderful life. I know that she was at peace with her upcoming death and is now at the ultimate peace. Perhaps if there really is an afterlife, I know that she would be with my dad and grandparents. That’s a comforting thought, whether you believe it or not. I’m not giving up that I will not be depressed sometime soon. Maybe I’m still in some kind of shock? Can you be in shock if you are expecting something? Maybe a little numbness would be a better description. The weather has been cloudy, cold and rainy for the last seven days. That doesn’t help the situation. A little sunshine would go a long way in brightening up my mood. I would like to do something else other than sit on the couch all day.

Could I really be at the final stage of acceptance? I do accept it. It was expected and I’m OK with it. It seems too soon for the final stage. I’m thinking these 5 stages are for regular people. Or maybe they are bullshit made up by people who think they know something. There have to be more stages. There are, no doubt, long-term feelings and experiences that I have yet to endure. This is a confusing time, indeed. I expect that I will feel sad enough to cry whenever I discuss her with someone or when I see something that reminds me of her. Especially as I have to deal with her house and possessions in the upcoming months. That will be difficult.

I would really like to be able to talk with my sister or other family openly, but I don’t think I can do it right now. It’s hard to talk when you are crying. I’m so glad I have this blog to fill in for personal conversation until I am able to do so in an intelligible manner. I can’t tell you how nice it is that you are there for me. You ARE there, right? I can’t tell. I’m going to assume that you are.

I have a lot to learn about mourning and honoring her memories. I guess it’s a lifelong thing that you experience forever.

The funeral is in two days. It will be the last time I ever see her. I’m kind of looking forward to it as well as dreading it. It might mark the end of her death and the beginning of the healing process. I have no idea how I’m going to react during and after. Being the primary organizer of the service, I know what to expect. I only hope that a large number of people show up because she deserves it. She touched so many lives and deserves a little respect for it. It won’t be like my funeral, which nobody will attend. It has helped in the past when pets have died to remember that their bodies are just shells. Their consciousness is no longer inside. It has either dissipated or gone somewhere else, depending on your beliefs.

Should I feel guilty for not being more upset? Am I where I should be? Am I OK? What is even normal? Do I need a psychologist? Well, yes, but do I need a psychologist for this particular thing? Please say something.

How am I?

It has been three days since my mom died. How am I doing? I’m not entirely sure, but I think I’m doing OK. Perhaps I’m still in shock, but I don’t think so. It’s not like it wasn’t unexpected, but the feeling I’m experiencing is highly unusual.

Of course, I’ll never speak to her again. That’s probably the most difficult thing to handle. I’ve already thought of a few questions I may never get answers to.

We were very close as I took care of her for 45 years since my dad died. I was only 9 at the time, but I was smart and managed to take over the physical management of the house upkeep with little or no help from my younger brother. I was the man of the house. I had to be.

Even after I moved out at the age of 29 (I think. I don’t even remember all those years.), I continued to visit her weekly and keep the house in great repair for her. I did it all until now, as I’m 54.

Having been so close, we pretty much knew all there was to know about each other and what our thoughts were. I don’t feel that we left anything unsaid or unknown, which is a satisfying condition to be in now. I know she didn’t fear death, and she knew it was coming, so I know she was calm and collected about it. I will miss her forever, but I know she was happy and satisfied at the end, so I’m not sad for her. Only for myself. Hopefully I will get over that to some degree eventually. Most people do.

Yesterday, my sister and I went to the Funeral Home to make the final arrangements. Fortunately, mom had pre-arranged everything back in 1977 when my dad died. The only thing we had to pay for were some flowers for the casket. Pink roses for $360. She saved many thousands by doing it all in advance 45 years ago. Let that be a lesson to you if you care about such things.

The funeral will take place this coming Saturday and will be handled by the son of the pastor who was at our church back in the day. He’s a pastor too, now. She thought of asking him just a few weeks ago. It was a great idea that I would never have had myself. She was very sharp even to the very end.

I had created a slideshow a few years ago of her life. I played it for her last year and recorded her describing each picture. It made for a wonderful, personalized funeral video. Click here to watch it and hear her voice.

I know I did everything I could for her and then some, so I don’t feel like I let her down in any way. Her happiness was my prime directive, and I succeeded. I know she was proud of me. She told me a few times, and that meant everything to me. I was proud of her for being such a wonderful, well-loved, person. She was amazing. I wish all mothers could be like her. The world would be a perfect utopia.

So, how am I doing? I think I’m doing very well. I will survive and be happy. My only problem, which as always has been, will be my crushing loneliness, which will be even worse without her. At least it may be offset by my newfound freedom. I hope I can manage to not waste it sitting at home alone every day. I promise myself I will not. I hope I can keep that promise.

I’m trying not to rush my mourning period. It has only been a few days. I’ve done a lot of sitting, staring, and thinking. There’s a lot to think about. I’ll do my best to go with the flow. There will be a lot to do in the next few months as well. I’m the executor for the will, which means I’m in charge of preparing and selling the house I grew up in. That might be the hardest thing a person can do. Go through her stuff and sort it out. I don’t want to think about it too much right now. Later.

I think I’ll be OK. This life-changing event was good for her, and I think it will be good for me eventually. Wish me luck, please.

Goodbye, Mom

You passed away last night after 92 years. It was a rough last month for you, but you’re at peace now. It was 7:10 pm. Your sister, Puddin, came over to be with us and to give me a chance to get a little sleep. I had just been in bed for five minutes when she came in and got me.

Your breathing had slowed down in the hours before and when asked if you were in pain, you responded, “No.” I was glad to know that. I didn’t like giving you the morphine, but it helped your breathing and calmed your transition. I know you didn’t want to take it, and I felt like Harry when he made Dumbledore drink the horcrux water. You accepted it when I told you it was important.

Puddin had just sat down next to you and asked you if you could hear her. She told you to move your left hand if you could, and you did. She read a letter to you that she had written the last time you were in hospice. She had a hard time reading it, as I would have. It was very heartfelt. The moment she finished reading it, you took your last breath and slipped peacefully away. We sat with you for an hour before calling hospice, who took care of all the next steps. She stayed with me overnight, and we talked about our memories of you. I don’t know what I would have done if I was alone.

You were not only my mother, but were my best friend for 54 years of my life. I am going to miss seeing you every week, and will miss you the most when I am eating out. I know that was your favorite thing to do. I hope you are reading over my shoulder as I am typing this because there are so many things I just couldn’t bring myself to say for fear of crying. I can’t remember the last time I actually cried. It doesn’t come easy for me, and I’ve never been very good at expressing my feelings.

Right now, I feel relieved that you are free from the unpleasantness of mortal life. Your life was truly awesome. Most people never accomplish and experience all the things you did. You had a good family, did amazing things and went awesome places. Anyone would wish for a life like yours.

I’m sitting here drinking your last Dr. Pepper. It was your favorite drink, and I drink the last one in your honor.

Everyone who knew you is going to miss you greatly. None more than I. I was lonely before, and now I wonder what will become of me. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. You taught me so much about life and how to get along with what you have. I really appreciate all you’ve done for me just by being there. Now I’m on my own and a new age of my life is about to begin.

I am going to meet with the funeral director tomorrow. I know the church will be packed because you touched the lives of so many people. Even Aaron wrote a response to Puddin’s text about you that made her cry.

I spend so many years both preparing for this day and dreading it. I know you did as well. Nobody has ever been so well organized as you were. Your last year after graduating from Hospice was a major bonus. You did everything you could with that time to make sure that everything was ready for this day. You gave all your family albums away to the right people who will remember you forever for all the hard work you put into them.

You were so lucky to have lived a long and healthy life. You were so active for as long as it was possible and had an amazing attitude that put smiles on the faces of anyone who came near you. I can only hope to have a tiny amount of what you had. Everyone loves you so much.

Don’t worry about anything here on Earth. I know what you wanted and will make sure that everything is handled properly as you wished. You gave so much to Goodwill and Disabled Veterans over the years. I will let the family take whatever they wish from your house and will get the rest of it to one or both organizations. It will all go to someone who needs it. You joked about us putting it all in a dumpster, but rest assured that nothing will go to waste. It will be difficult for me to handle having someone else live in the house, but houses outlive us all. I know someone else will love it just as much as we did and raise a great family there.

Hold on. I need to stop for a minute and blow my nose…

I certainly hope you are now with Dad and the rest of the family. You waited a LONG time to see them again. That’s a lot of patience. Having great patience is something I also learned from you. I will wait as long as it takes for someone to find me and make my life complete. Patience is definitely a virtue.

I haven’t told Maria Elena across the street yet. I know she will miss you greatly. I think she really enjoyed coming over to visit with you every day. You made her life better just by being there. It was the same for everyone who knows you. It certainly was for me. I can’t imagine my life without having you in it. It was a privilege and honor to take care of you all those years. It may not have looked like it, but I enjoyed taking care of your weekly to-do list. It made me happy to be able to make your life easier and allow you to live independently all those years up into your 90s. People couldn’t believe that you were living on your own all that time, but you were doing perfectly well. Better than anyone could ask. You amazed everyone.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your love and support though the majority of my life. I would not be where I am without you. I can’t imagine a better mother ever existed throughout the history of this planet. You can rest assured that you made a difference in so many lives and nobody will ever forget you. You are immortal. You are a saint. I love you forever.

Although I am extremely sad, I am going to choose to be happy because I know you had a great life and just now achieved the most difficult part of life and did it with a great amount of courage. I’m also going to be happy for myself, because even though you won’t be around, I am now free to start my new life. I know you wanted that for me, and I know you’re happy for me. I’ll write to you often, as I did to dad. Now that you are together again, I know that you are as happy as one can be.

Mom’s last days

My 92-year-old mom is staying with me and is under hospice care. Her kidneys are failing.

She went through this in 2020 and made a full recovery and went home to live by herself for a whole year. That was a good bonus for her. She went through a lot of papers and things over the year to help get her affairs in order and prepare. This year, right after her 92nd birthday, she relapsed and is no on the edge of forever.

She is staying with me, and I’m in charge of caring for her because there are no other options. Don’t get me started on why medicare doesn’t pay for inpatient hospice in a nursing home. That’s just plain WRONG. It costs $4000 a month out of pocket and nobody has that kind of money. The only alternatives for most people is to lose their house to pay for it. Does that bother you at all?

She is slowly getting worse. Today, she is extremely weak and difficult to understand. It’s possible she had a slight stroke, leaving her with a lisp. It may be just what happens when you get that weak. The nurse put in a foley, so she doesn’t have to get up to go pee, which took a lot out of her, even with me doing most of the lifting. Her breathing is fast and sounds strained, so we’ve started giving her a small amount of morphine to ease her breathing and ease the pain she’s feeling.

Overall, it’s a very unpleasant situation for both of us. I hurts me just as much to see her suffering and not be able to fix it for her. All I can do is sit here and wait. I can only hope that the end comes quickly now. Nobody should have to suffer at the end of their lives. In a better world, it would be legal and common for doctors to assist those who are suffering, to come to a dignified and comfortable conclusion. Someone needs to do something about that, and they had better do it before death comes for me.

Thanks for letting me talk about it to someone. I don’t have anyone to talk to about it in person and even though I actually do, I don’t think I could do it verbally.

Dear Dad, Mom’s last days. Please come get her.

Hi Dad.

Mom is suffering her last days here with me. She hasn’t eaten in a month and is extremely weak. She is unable to do almost anything for herself. I have to lift her to the portable toilet and back. She can barely hold up a cup of water to drink. She has a painful bed sore from sitting in her chair and is extremely uncomfortable.

Dad. Her time has come. Please come get her as soon as possible. Neither of us want to see her suffering any longer. She is ready to go and needs you to pick her up. Please don’t waste any time.

Mom back in home hospice care

It was bound to happen. After a year of being recovered, Mom is in bad condition again. She just celebrated her 92nd birthday and a few days later was suddenly unable to walk or be mobile in any way.

I happened to be visiting her the day it happened, and I stayed the night. During the night, I was helping her use the toilet when she fell and fractured her left wrist. The fall was due to the inability to balance.

We got her to the hospital and after getting a splint and being discharged, I brought her directly to my house. There was no way she could live alone again.

She has been with me for about two weeks now. In the mornings, she is relatively strong and able to help me as I move her to the portable toilet next to her recliner. In the evenings, she can barely even more her hand to her mouth. Evening toileting is extremely difficult for us both.

She has kidney failure, but even though her function is very low, it seems to be just enough to keep her alive in a state of unpleasantness.

She has virtually stopped eating, other than a bite or two every day. She is still drinking and prefers Dr. Pepper. Each night I think this is the end, but she is better in the morning. It’s a little frustrating because she is suffering and is ready to leave this plane of existence. Everything is in order for when the time comes. Her mind is still sharp, and she remembers things I forget. It is just her body that is failing ever so slowly. Her worst problem other than mobility and weakness is being plagued by a cough that makes talking and sleeping difficult.

I love her so much, as she is my best friend as well, but I agree that her time has come. I pray that God and or Death will come for her quickly and not make her suffer much longer. Nobody wants to live that way. I certainly hope that by the time I reach my end, that doctors are allowed to hasten death, so I do not have to suffer as she has. I will have nobody to care for me, so I guarantee I’ll have a plan that I can carry out when my time comes.

If there is a God, I sure hope he is paying attention because it shouldn’t be like this.