On This Day…..
I listened to the voicemail from time to time, but today hearing the voice repeat these words spark a deep ache. My mother says, “ yeah Ellen, I was calling you. It’s a book I want you to get for me on audio book; Lies My Teacher Told Me, I don’t know the name of the author. Get that for me if you can. Give me a call, I’ll talk to you later.” The faint beeping of hospital equipment is heard in the background. She is on dialysis for permanent kidney failure. My mother goes weeks without doing the necessary three days of dialysis, which land her in the hospital. Our shared love of reading was her final request for me. I never got to deliver that audiobook by James Loewen.
The weeks leading up to her passing, I tried my best to support her. I traveled to north New Jersey form DE to ensure she was properly cared for, the nurses telling me her heart has grown weaker. The last visit was to convince her to accept treatment and allow the doctors and nurses to help her medically. She would refuse treatment and berated the staff regularly. A feisty fighter, but also afraid and alone I saw her vulnerable and at ease during our last visit. I combed her hair, wiped her face, and greased her hands. I held it for a good while, staring at the ring she wore on her left hand that used to be her mothers. In this moment one hand was the past and present. What would the future hold?
My mother was a lot of things, what I know for sure was that she fought to live life on her own terms. She wasn’t afraid to figure it out, letting go and moving on as she saw fit. She had no problem telling you about yourself if she didn’t like what you were doing. Yet, part of her was always dependent and needing care, always asking for support. At times I felt more like her steward than her being my steward.
Our relationship was a complex one. Especially at the end I worked hard to create boundaries, create a loving connection and have consistent communication. I forgave the hurt of the past. I allowed there to be room for misunderstandings with respect. I can say with certainty I loved my mother, even the pieces of her I did not understand or fully known. I loved our conversations about books and world events, I miss her raspy laughter. Veda May Cappard, you are deeply missed.
Grief is not linear, it comes in waves. I am getting better with allowing it to visit, not shoving it back down, ignoring its call for me. I hope for days without the waves of grief. Hope even feels heavy to hold in the midst of grief. It is part of the human experience, one that I can’t ignore, an integral part of growth. I am tender with myself in the moments it feels heavy on me. I thank grief for its recent visit and hope it leaves soon.
