She was sick for several years. She had a bunch of mini-strokes that led to the symptoms and decline of Alzheimers. For the last two years, my mother (whom I adore) was a prisoner in her own home (when she visited me, my dad had to stay home and/or they had to have home health care people), having to care for the body that used to house her mother. I have been less of a daughter than I should have been. To me, affection/warmth is the only thing that warrants love. My mother is one of the best people I know, warm and competent and funny and real, but her mother was a cold fish. She was monetarily generous with me, but never warm. I never developed warm feelings toward her (my other grandmother is totally different, and I adore her), so when she got sick, I didn’t respond warmly. When she no longer remembered anything, I thought she should be put in a facility where she could receive good medical care, but my mother wouldn’t have it. She took care of that body tirelessly. She went through the agony of her mother treating her like a stranger and biting her because she didn’t know the difference between people and food. She changed her diapers and carried her and kept her warm. I didn’t even want to hear about it. I was wrapped up in my own life. Esther’s suffering is over and I have hope that my mom’s life will now improve greatly. I hope, between now and the end of my mother’s life, I will become a daughter worthy of her.
My condolences to you and your family.
Always remember the good times, no matter what bad ones there were.
Duffy
mycondolences to you and your family jessie.
My condolences Jessie.
My maternal grandmother died a few years ago after a lengthy bedridden period where she had just brief moments of clarity and wakefulness. At 93 she had outlived nearly everyone of her generation, and it seemed she just wanted to die.
I can remember her now as the strong, happy lady that she was for so much of my life.
I am glad you value your mother so much. Most of us as not as good to our parents as we should be.
My sympathies to you and your family, Jessie.
My sympathies, Jessie, but it does sound like a blessed relief for all concerned. Remember the good times and don’t dwell on the endings.
I suspect if you ask, your mother will tell you that you already are.
In our modern western world, bereavement always seems to evoke guilt and introspection. Better instead I think to celebrate the life that’s passed, and all those it touched along the way. The ripples of our lives lap gently against the shores of so many others, and theirs against ours, down through the ages.
I will play a tune for your granmother May she find the peace that the long epilog to her life Had robbed her of. I will play a tune for your mother Free to settle in to the good memories of her mother, Letting go the rest. Free to make more good memories with her husband, daughter, grand-daughter. I will play a tune for you That you may find joy in having your mother returned, I will play a tune for your daughter, That she may more fully know and inherit the heart of her mother and grandmother. I will play a tune for all of that which is unspoken among the ladies of your family.
Lee, thank you very much. You always seem to write beautiful things with ease.
I wish I had good memories to hold onto. But I don’t. I have empty memories of her. I guess my mom has some good ones. She told me the other day that she believes her parents were lacking as people, but were good parents. I think being a good person helps someone to be a good parent, but my mom is entitled to her thoughts about them. Her father was a warm and brilliant man, if a bit critical and stubborn. When I spent time with them as a kid (they lived very near), I stayed with him. They slept in separate rooms (yes, she was a cold fish) and I stayed in his room. He got up with me and made me breakfast. He turned the heat up and played with me. He died with indignity, too, of long, drawn-out Parkinson’s, ten years ago. To her credit, Esther cared for him until he died. So did my mom. I presume she will go through a multitude of feelings including relief and mortality. She is now the grandma. Hopefully, the next generation’s cycle will be more smooth than this one has been.
Please accept my condolences.
It helps to talk it through (and sometimes impossible NOT to). We are all fortunate to have this supportive forum in which to share our triumphs and tragedies.
M
Vicki and I will be thinking of you and praying for you!
- Cal
Jessie, my thoughts will be with you and your mother today. It’s such a strange feeling when a family member’s death is as much of a relief as a bereavement – I, at least, felt that there wasn’t an adequate societal paradigm for this situation, so it felt very awkward receiving the traditional condolences when the real situation was far more complex. But in a way, the situation made my family closer, because among ourselves we could honestly share the complexity of emotions the situation brought out in us. I can only hope that a similar deepening and strengthening of family bonds happens for you and yours.
Noel
I’m so sorry, Jessie.
Sometimes the inability to show emotion masks a painfully sensitive soul. That “cold fish” facade can be a defense against the hurts the world can dish out. It’s hard to know what may have happened in a person’s life to make him or her that way. My paternal grandmother was like that, and I never developed the kind of close relationship with her that I had with my maternal grandmother or my own mother and father. It’s only been in recent years…many years after her death…that I’ve started to get a handle on the “whys” of her life.
Redwolf
Thank you, Noel. Yes, it is complex. I am very close with my parents, and this whole situation has been the one thing that my mom and I disagreed about how to handle. She thought I was insensitive (I was) and I thought she wasn’t thinking with her head (she wasn’t). My dad has been wonderfully supportive of my mom, but he has talked to me about the stress of having this almost dead ex-person in his house for the last few years. We all agreed that it was time for her to die. I know my mom needs to grieve in her own way, and that it’s not a matter of mourning the loss of what her mother had become, but rather, finally letting herself come to terms with the fact that the mother that she loved is never coming back.
I feel awkward calling my parents’ house. I feel as if I should let my mom grieve without interfering. It’s strange.
Condolences Jessie. It’s really important to have positive things to anticipate each day; you’ve got a lot to look forward to. Be well,
Philo
Good point! Back in the days of her childhood, divorce was extremely uncommon. Her father had an affair and his mistress told him she was pregnant. In 1927, when my grandmother was 11 and her brother was 10, her parents got divorced. Her father married the mistress and she turned out not to be pregnant. He divorced her after 5 years. He regretted breaking up his family and fell ill. My great grandmother took care of him and nurse him back to health. He committed suicide when his daughter (my grandmother) was around 30. Her mother took care of my mom when she was little and my mom adored her grandmother. I guess Esther was scarred from the traumas caused by her father. I never really thought about how that must have affected her.
I often feel like the most sensitive way to let people handle difficult situations is to give them time alone, but OTOH I’m not sure that’s not just a reflection of the fact that I cope with things best via solitary time, and therefore project that need onto others.
When each of my parents died, I found that what I needed most from other people was so odd and idiosyncratic it was hard for me to ask for it – after my mom died, I wanted people to go to midnight movies with me, and after my father died, my only consolation was chain-smoking on a certain friend’s back porch (it had a great sunset view, and there were usually people hanging out inside so I didn’t feel lonely).
You could just tell your mom right out front that whatever she might want you to do with her or for her, whatever might help her feel better, no matter how eccentric it might seem, she shouldn’t be afraid to ask you.
Noel
My most sincere condolences, Jessie.
My family went though an almost identical experience a decade ago, except that it was my aunt, the unmarried daughter, that wound up caring for grandma and refusing to institutionalize her after she’d spent a lifetime alienating her son (my dad) and most of her grandkids. I only mention this to lead to the end result. My aunt, once her grieving was over, finally got the chance to actually live outside of grandma’s active and then invalid-based dominance. She became a much happier and more satisfied person and finally got the quality of life that circumstance and guilt had denied her.
May your mother’s grieving eventually end in acceptance and happiness for all of you.
Jessie, let me add my sympathies.
This year is the cycle of life with your newborn, and with your grandmom passing away. Someone told me that was a good answer for little kids when the kid asks, “why do people die?” That death is part of the cycle.
My grandmother passed away in March. It was a very similar situation to yours with my mom spending most of her day caring for grandma. I spent some time with grandma in the hospital, playing my whistles for her. Every night before leaving, I would close with “Ribbons of Light.”
Blessings to you,
Bill
Lyrics:
Pick up the thread, slowly we weave.
Criss-cross and back, tapestry seams.
Ribbons of life, ribbons of light,
Follow the thread and see where it leads.
http://www.concertina.net/tunes_convert.html
ABC:
X:1
T: Ribbons of Light
R: Slow aire
C: Bill
A: melody
M:5/4
L:1/4
Q:1/4=100
K:D
| F F F F2 | E D E F2 |
| F F F G2 | F E/ D/ E D2 |
| A G F E2 | A G F E2 |
| G F/ E/ G2 D | E F D3 |
My condolences.
Death in the family is always a difficult situation.
I wish the best for you.
I’m sending warm thoughts to both you and your mother.