On Christmas Eve my mother died. I’m not using the popular euphemism of “passed away,” because it was death that came for her.
For more than a week before, I had passed little vigils of a few hours each day at her bedside, where she trembled delirious with fever and called quietly for help. I couldn’t reach her then – no one could, and I had the feeling she was wandering in the underworld, trying to find her way. She would snap out of it, and i would see the spark return to her eyes, and she would sit up and talk and even make a little joke. But the fevers wore on and on, and she got weaker and weaker.
On Christmas eve I felt funny, and had a bad a bad headache that evening, and so turned off my phone and went to bed very early. But i felt so restless. I tossed and turned. I felt a tightness in my chest that hurt. I lay and thought about the Christ story, how he was betrayed by one of his own disciples, beaten, humiliated, dragged around, tortured by evil people, losing everything, dying, being defeated, but in the end, it was not losing, it was a willing sacrifice that became a blessing for everyone throughout time.
I was roused by car lights coming down the driveway. Mirin and my sister-in-law had come out to get me, since my phone was off, to tell me my mother had died, so I could rush off through the Christmas eve night to see her before her body was carried away.
I drove as quickly as I could to get there. On the way i called Ethan to talk to Clo – that is the only way I can communicate with her when she is with him. Not surprisingly, he smugly denied allowing me to speak with my daughter, and refused to tell me when I might talk to her on the phone. This is just what kind of human being he is. It’s the spitefulness and the power/resource hunger that has been so difficult to work with.
When I arrived there were candles lit outside. Some longtime family friends and neighbors greeted me very kindly. When I went back to the room, she was so pale and empty to the touch. You can always feel it when the spirit is gone.
A few family members came and sat around and talked and did various things. I just held on to her, feeling the memories, remembering the body of my mother, thinking of who she was and what she had lived, until the poor funeral people who were on call came out on Christmas eve to carry her away.
Thoughts of my children hovered in the background – Mirin was there and said something nasty to me in the meantime. He’s still angry with me for setting some extremely reasonable boundaries with him. I hadn’t been able to get a hold of Rose, but I also know she hates talking about anything difficult, so i decided to not call her again. I thought, my children will never sit with me this way. It’s not the same for us. They don’t have the connection or love for me. It surprised me that I felt relieved with the thought that they won’t feel the sadness i was feeling in that moment.
On the drive home through the dark night, I felt her there with me. I felt how free and peaceful she finally felt. I felt happiness from her, like laughter hidden in the distance.
Toadstools And Fairy Rings 
Dear Angie, I saw your mom’s obituary in the Gainesville Sun. I am sorry that you have lost her physically but she is a part of you forever. I wish you comfort and peace but I know the emotions range far and wide. Your children are still growing and figuring out where they fit in this bewildering, often noisy world. I had my mom for over 100 years and she was physically so diminished at the end but still so sharp mentally. I thought she would welcome death but she wasn’t eager to go. It is a mystery but indeed comes to us all, whether early or late. Know you were loved and taught and carry on the thread of your ancestors.Becky Adkins (Evelyn’s mom)
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Hi Becky! Thank you so much! Of course I remember you.
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Sad to hear about the death of Maria. She was a wonderful friend for all of us in Diamond Village. Is there an obit page or remembrance page?
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Hi! I will email you the obit! Thank you for the beautiful flowers!
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Hello Angie,
I just stumbled onto your site within the past hour because I asked Google whether spiderwort was edible. Your post about spiderwort soda was a hit. There is something about your writing and outlook that makes me think of you as a kindred spirit.
I’m sorry to hear about your mom. And the paragraph about your children tore at my heart.
I think a lot about the relationships I have with my family of origin and how they are or might be different from my relationship with my own kids. It hurts so much to offer affection, love, or even just presence to people who are a part of us and to have them turn away.
What helps me sometimes is this: I remember all the love and care I feel for my own parents, even though I said and did some deeply unfair and unkind things to them when I was younger. It was not the lack of love or connection that was behind my words or actions back then. It was just pain. Pain and, when I was a teen, a social and emotional lack of awareness. There was a rawness to everything and a sense of urgency. I was so enmeshed in my own feelings and confusion about growing up that I wasn’t able to think about how what I said or did would affect others. In a time of fear, I didn’t want to love or be openly affectionate because I thought it would make me vulnerable.
There’s nothing that can take away the magic you created with and for your kids with the spiderwort soda. Or all the work and love of homeschooling. All the other times you felt so connected with them and lovingly created them, each cell of their bodies and every moment and memory together that made their souls. No matter what your kids say or even feel right now, that love and connection is part of who you both are. They will always be your children. And no matter what anyone else does or says, including your kids themselves, you will always be their one and only mother.
Sending you love,Gretchen
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Dear Gretchen, First of all, I love the reference to the Baba Yaga story in your email name! And thank you for sharing – it makes me very glad that you enjoyed my writing here! I think that older children do need to separate and go their separate ways and figure out who they are in the context of the world, away from their mother. I completely agree, many times it’s just part of the process. It makes me realize, too, that mothering is such a sacrifice. It really is one of the most incredibly selfless, difficult endeavors. When I was a young mother, I was under the impression I was really investing in my relationships with my children, but now that they are grown up, I see that they don’t recall (at all!) any of the difficult times I held them in my arms while they were barfing everywhere, or times we spent reading together, or the special birthday gifts I saved for months to buy them. Instead, they remember times when I raised my voice, or didn’t notice they needed something, but they did, or times I misunderstood them. That’s all that stands out at this point. I realize that the things I did to care for them and love them were a sacred sacrifice. I would have done the same things, even if I knew they wouldn’t remember it, because I really feel in my heart of hearts that it was important, even if it’s gone completely. It also reminds me of how much we take for granted our mother the earth, who supports us and feeds us every day of our lives, and the sacrifices that we accept from her, so often thoughtlessly or ungratefully. I feel like it makes the sacred work of mothering even more special, because it’s done without asking for anything in return. Thank you so much for sharing, Gretchen! Maybe someday they will look back and appreciate – perhaps not. But I know if I did it all over again, I would do the same thing.
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