Dear Mom // Guest Goddess Jen Speed

When Anjua asked me to be a guest writer for her blog I said sure, having no idea what I might even write about. She said I could write about anything. What came out both surprised me and didn’t surprise me. It’s been a long time in the making.  A letter to my mother. When my Dad transitioned (passed away) I never imagined that I would lose my Mom in the wake. Noone talks about how to navigate losing a parent let alone losing the surviving parent to grief and depression. So here it is. A letter to my mother. 

Dear Mom, 

I miss you. We’ve drifted from the besties we once were. I know why, but I wish it could be like how it was. It took some time for us to become besties and in a blink (or so it feels) we’ve grown apart. Growing up I don’t recall feeling very close. We had the typical mother daughter relationship. But once I went off on my own, living in the “little house” that Grandpa built, on the property you grew up on, we grew close. We grew even closer when you got sick. Every Friday I would come sit with you while medicine poured into your veins. I drove you home and got you into bed where we fell asleep watching Rosanne together. Funny, because we never were allowed to watch that show when I was little. We became best friends. Once you were well, I knew I could call on you for whatever I needed. We laughed, alot. We shared joy and excitement. We even had a song, “Radar Love”. You always seemed to call when I needed you or was thinking of you and I did the same with you. One of the hardest things I ever did was move away from you, home. When Ryan and I moved to TN I missed you everyday. I still remember my going away party where you gave me a bottle of your favorite lotion so I could take the scent of “you” with me. I missed you everyday and even though we talked often my heart still ached to feel one of your hugs.

You were the first phone call I made when I found out I was pregnant. I couldn’t wait for you to meet our little girl after she was born. After our first trip back home with Ms. Danger I knew I wanted to move back to OH. You took my family in until we could get on our feet. Out of the nest again I went and moved my little family into our place. You and Dad visited all the time and even came over early one Christmas to see Ms. Danger open gifts at 5am. We were besties. The first person, outside of Ryan, that I shared everything with. 

When times got tough you took my family in again.  It wasn’t always easy but we made it work. As the years passed it was clear that Dad needed help keeping up with things so we stayed longer than intended. Which you welcomed and never objected to. 

Our relationship is very different now. I know it’s my turn to be there for you. I will never forget that night when it all changed. For you and for us. Hearing you call my name in the middle of the night. When I came to the top of the steps I heard these words:

You: “Dad died.” 

Me: “What?”

You: “Dad died. I helped him to bed a little bit ago and just checked on him. He died. I already called 911, they are on their way.”

In disbelief I put on some clothes and woke Ryan up. We came downstairs to assist in whatever you needed. I remember you sliding your hands over his head/hair and kissing his head. Pacing until the paramedics received “the call” and paced even more while we waited for the funeral home to come and collect Dad’s body. I never saw you cry. You were in nurse mode. You had been taking care of him for several months at this point, but I think we all thought he would eventually get better. So, deep in nurse mode you forgot to let yourself be his wife and to just be with him at that moment. To be in the presence of his physical body so that you could say goodbye. I wonder how different things might be now if you allowed yourself that time, if I thought to suggest it to you? I wish I had. We were all in shock and not in our awareness. 

Sitting in the car waiting to go into the funeral home you looked at me and said “I don’t know how I am going to do this.” I took your hand in mine and said “just like this.” Again, being the strong woman I have always known and witnessed you to be, you never showed your true emotion. I knew you had been blindsided and your whole future changed in a blink. But still no tears. I could feel your sadness. I still do. It’s so heavy Mom. 

It’s been over three years now and I realized that I have stopped holding your hand. You have fallen further into the depths of your sadness. I am sorry for letting go. I should have never let go. Grief is a tricky fucker. The waves and the sudden turns seem unfair. We’ve slipped away in part because you have slipped away. Your purpose and meaning, your compass in this life, no longer physically present. The other part because I let go of your hand. It has been really hard watching you slip away and the harder I held on the more resistant you felt. So I let go. 

I wonder if you had gone back to work as you had planned - who would you have become? Man Covid took so much from our lives that really can’t be seen in a statistic. If the hospital hadn’t changed so much and Covid wasn’t such a risk for your age group - how different things would be right now. But we can’t change that and things happen just as they are meant to. 

I can’t imagine having my spouse pass so unexpectedly, that pain I hope to never know. It must be really hard! And while your kids are all grown we still need you. Your grandchildren need you. I think mostly we miss you. I ask myself everyday what could I say, what can I do to convince you to help yourself?  To take that energy you were putting into taking care of Dad and turn it towards yourself or the home you and him shared. I know it seems like everyone's life kept moving forward while yours came to a screeching halt. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. At least not on its own. You’ve got to pair that with helping yourself. 

I miss you Mom, my best friend. I miss your hugs, your laugh, and your smile. I miss watching you walk through the yard and pick up sticks with Ms. Danger. I bet Ms. Riot would love to go on a treasure hunt with her Granny. I miss who you were before Dad died AND I know we can’t go back but we can certainly move forward and figure out who you are in this phase of your life. Together. You aren’t alone. You have the potential to experience many more years with your family and friends and it must be hard to imagine those years without Dad. And you are missing it. You are missing out on our lives. So maybe if I hold your hand again you would be willing to try. Try for Dad, try for me, try for the girls, and then maybe trying for yourself wont feel like such a struggle.

I miss you Mom. Love,

Jen 

That is not what I expected to come out when I sat down in front of this keyboard. But it was clearly needed. I knew how I was interacting with my Mother had shifted. I became more annoyed and irritated and less empathetic towards her. OOF - that realization felt awful! I could feel the self placed shame rise up within me. This is not what I want for her and I. How do you move forward and not get stuck in the grief and the guilt and the shame? If I am being honest with myself, this letter was the first step for me. Getting those feelings and emotions up and out of my heart so that I could breathe again. So that I could step back into the daughter role. I was able to acknowledge my needs even when they felt somewhat selfish. I was so worried about putting my grief onto my Mother while she was already grieving that I never told her how I was feeling until just recently.

If this resonates with you, if you are experiencing something similar I invite you to explore your feelings and where they are coming from. Go beyond what comes up right away. What emotional need is not being met? Once you have been able to identify the feelings/needs that are coming up for you the next step would be to express those feelings/needs. How do you feel comfortable expressing your emotions? Is it singing, dancing, creating art, talking it out with someone, exercise, connection with nature, work with a professional, whatever it is, I invite you to express these emotions in a way that you connect with. Feel them and then move them out of the body as the waves hit.  

You see, much like all of you I grew up with the phrase “time heals all wounds”, and I will tell you that statement is incomplete. Time alone doesn’t heal shit - excuse my french. I watch my Mother repeat the same day over and over again like the movie “ Groundhog's Day”, hoping for a different kind of day. But each day is the same for her. Each day brings the same sameness for her. Time without action is opting for the extended version of grief - in my opinion. Time combined with action equals healing. I am not saying it’s easy or that this will magically take away the heartache. I am saying that you can’t wait for things to change - another popular phrase, “nothing changes if nothing changes”. I have encouraged my Mother to talk to a grief counselor, a therapist, her friends, etc but she wont. I noticed a parallel with her and her grief and how she takes care of her house plants. Every plant she has is struggling. Root bound, wrong lighting, wrong temperature, not being fed… but she just keeps watering them hoping they will come around. She knows most of them need bigger pots and a sun rotation. But that would require a different action, that would require a change in routine, that she isn’t willing to take. It’s sad, it’s frustrating and it’s exactly how she’s handling her grief. 

How do you move forward in grief? How do you help someone who is stuck, move forward? You have to take care of yourself. Tune in to how you are feeling. Move those feelings up through your body in the way that you connect with so that you may express them. If they sit, get pushed down, or ignored, they will fester and just like any wound that goes uncared for it will only make you feel worse. You can’t make someone else want better or more for themselves but you can surely hold their hand through it, let them know they are loved, and remind them that their life is worth living too. The first step though, take care of yourself. Devote the time and energy into your own healing and your own way forward. Sometimes when others see you healing and moving forward they will be inspired to do the same. I leave my Dad goodies, plates of food, and a bunch of other things as an offering to his spirit and as a way to stay connected to him and his energy. I have noticed my Mom started to do this too on occasion. Grief is a tricky thing and there is no one thing or one magic pill that makes it better. It takes time and action. I pray that anyone who is going through it or something similar that you feel loved and held at this time and that you find a way to express your grief. 

Much Love, 

Jen Speed