I'm Still Here Sweetheart

I knew it would hit. Not like a freight train, knocking me down hard. But I knew grief would start appearing. 

Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in September 2019. She was aware of her memory lapses, and navigated it as gracefully as she could. We continued to remind her that she was safe with us and we'd take care of her. As the symptoms progressed I started losing Mom back then. Each time we'd get together, she'd become more isolated, her world closing in. Personality changes started to appear. We had a long period of rebellion, denial, anger. That was the hardest time. In my sister and my eyes, Mom was acting like a child and we were having to parent her, and a few times yell.  We didn't grow up with yelling and here I was screaming at her to try to get through to her about how her choices were selfish and dangerous. And then minutes later, she didn't remember that I had come so unglued. 

I told myself that I'd already starting grieving over the loss of my Mom and yet I could still talk to her, spend time with her, and be with her physical presence. I told myself that I was given a long time to process the loss of her, thinking it would be easier when she finally passed. 

In her last days on Earth Mom told us that she'd be with us, we'd have her forever and always. Not alive, but in our hearts, and it the space between. She gave us a connection to look for. I shared on social media, a bit of a eulogy, her reminder to look for her as we look into the setting sun. The blink refers to the very moment the sun sets below the horizon. She always waited and stared at the horizon to see the blink:

Waiting for the blink. 

Each day the sky is different and Mom was different. 

I was lucky enough to spend 6 beautiful weeks with Mom at the ocean this year. As much as I could, I’d get her down to the beach to enjoy the beautiful sunset and appreciate the expanse of the ocean. 

Mom would say as we waited for the sun to set, “Wendy most people don’t wait for the blink. They don’t see the blink. Wait for it.”

I waited for a blink each day to see a glimpse of what Mom was. Memory issues are a slow slow grieving process. I don’t think it will make the finality of death any easier. I kid myself that I can still talk to her. Death will stop that.  

On Sunday evening as she began her final journey she said to Amy and I, “Did you see me drifting by?”

Without waiting for our reply, she said “No? Well don’t blink your eyes!”

I will think of Mom with every sunset I watch, waiting for the blink. 

Mom took her last breath here on earth today. 

Be joyful, be funny, be you Mom. 

What a graceful beautiful ending.

There's not a lot of sunsets in the winter in the Pacific Northwest. Cloudy, rain, overcast. With a delivery of a beautiful homemade cake this weekend, I realized Mom has been reaching out to me, making sure I'm okay. Mom loved taking care of her family, and she showed her love through food. Born in 1940, Mom delivered staples like stew, soup, pot roast, roasted vegetables, as well as pies, cookies, cakes. Her pie crusts were flaky, and delicious. Apple crisps, berry cobblers and brownies fill my memories of afterschool treats. 

The 1st time Mom nudged me? My school friend Jennifer stopped by for a walk through the neighborhood after Christmas. I think I talked the whole time, obviously needing to say out loud what Amy and I experienced in the last days of Mom's journey. Jen gave me a box of Christmas cookies. After she left, I opened the box to find all the cookies Mom used to make. The love my friend put into the goodies, the love she had for me to reach out and make sure I was okay. I felt nurtured, cared for, and loved. 

The 2nd time was with a delivery around 10pm from a working Mom who had just finished making cakes and texted me to see if I was still up. Yes, sure swing by. A lovely card of sympathy and two warm homemade cakes. 

On Friday night, I see a card on the counter. No name on it. I asked Reyde and James what it was. Reyde said, "Mom open the microwave, that goes with the card:

Our neighbors sent the card and the cake across the street. So kind. A homemade cake, a few sprinkles to make it brighter, drizzled with a lemon glaze. In the text exchange, I realized that Mom was reaching out to me again:

You and Karen are the best neighbors.  Thank you for the card and cake.  Mom showed her love through food. As kids, my sister and I would come home from school and Mom would have the house smelling of cookies or brownies. Christmas was all about the baked goods. Your cake made me feel loved. That little girl in my heart was brought forward last night. Thank you. I needed to remember that feeling associated with my Mom. 

 Well that is my moms favorite cake. I mixed it in my moms bowl and used my moms hand written recipe. So you must of felt the mommy love which was the point🥰your mom was such a cutie she had a lot of me in her😆my ❤️shares in your loss.    You guys are soooo welcome and we too are blessed to have neighbors looking out for us like you guys. Happy spring few..... we almost made it. 

 Yes. I absolutely felt all that Mom love. You are something else Julia! The spirit world and connection in the space between is so real. 

A lot of who I am is because of my Mom. The days will be hard, the tears will flow and I will cry them, be sad and move forward. And as I enjoy the sunsets, enjoy homebaked goods, and watch for other ways Mom is making sure I'm okay, I'm reminded that she is and will always be with me. 

"I'm still here Sweetheart," love, Mom.