I wrote a short piece about my mother to use in the church newsletter, but I can't copy it into here. Some electronic block occurs each time I try to copy and paste. That prompts me to retype the whole thing, but I know in my heart of hearts I wrote it because I was thinking about Jim's mother who is leaving this life soon. We are going to Southern California tomorrow to be there with her as she moves on. It is difficult to lose any parent or anyone who is close family, but we experience it in a variety of ways. Sometimes the difficulty is in wishing the person would die and relieve everyone of the anguish of watching the suffering. Sometimes the difficulty is in trying to be sad when there is an absence of feelings, a numbness, because you don't know how you feel about the loss. Sometimes there is a difficulty because you don't want to be in a place where memories are stirred that might need to be left covered over by years and distance.
My mother died sudenly at 87 years old. My brother called and with little emotion told me she had passed away only hours after being taken to the hospital. Her funeral was planned in four days and I needed to get to Florida for the events. We had a wake at the funeral home, an Episcopal memorial service and then we flew to Texas for the graveside service. It was too much to do, but that's what my mother wanted. Her friends and family were there, but my oldest brother couldn't stand the funeral home service or the Texas visit, so he opted out. He missed out on the after funeral reception at the local Mexican restaurant where we all drank margaritas and ate nachos. My mother would have loved it all.
She had given away all her belongings as gifts long before her death. As she got older she would give away anything anyone said they liked. Her favorite phrase was, "Take it, Honey, and enjoy it." Her favorite handpainted china, her glass paperweight collection, her paintings, her art work, her antique furniture-everything went. Her life was all contained in a small apartment that took only a few hours and a trip to the Good Will to give away the last items. When I flew home after the funeral, I didn't have a feeling of burden. I felt light because we had done it all and her life was now memories and love gifts.
Don't get me wrong. We had some tremendous disagreements. I left home at 20 or so and never went back to live there or visit often. My father was an alcoholic and difficult and she protected him until the day he left her. I had learned the correct vocabulary by the time I was 30 years old and I knew enabling when I saw it. Her response was that she loved him; she was a nurse for 50 years and I thought she should have known better. She never recovered from his leaving her; he had ruined her dreams of their future together that she had worked so hard to preserve. She never got over feeling betrayed. I wanted her to go on with her life, and she did, working to support herself until the very end, but I thought she was scarred. Now I can see she was a product of her early life on a small ranch in East Texas and an era when women didn't have much position if they didn't have a man. I still resist that internal voice of hers that tells me the same thing: if something happens to Jim, I'll be nothing.
So, we go now to watch as Jim's mom passes on. She is 99 and has had a good life. I know it won't be as tidy in the end because she didn't prepare like my mother. We'll have lots of things to sort out and organize. Maybe that's OK, too. It'll give us something to think about and work on during the immediate weeks after the death. As a family we'll gather and tell each other stories about Grandma and Granddad Wagner. That will keep us busy and dull the sadness at another generation finished with this life. To Alma Laverne Moorman and Mary Elizabeth Wagner-mothers extraordinare. Peace, The WhidbeyWagners
