It has been over a month since mom died. At times I still don’t believe it has happened, it seems like it is not real. When they closed the casket during the funeral, I thought that was pretty much final, and I thought I would fall apart, but for the most part I did not. At the gravesite was another type of finality and I thought I would emotionally lose it there. I didn’t. I just stared at the ground. Then came today: the insurance money arrived. Well, this is really the end, I thought, waiting for an inner reaction. I guess I did have one: I thought I would be happy seeing the check, but instead that made me feel sad. At the same time, all my reactions (or rather non-reactions) have me continually wondering just what is going on with me. I can honestly say I have no idea. I remember once this journey with dementia began with my mother, there were many times that I mentally said the way my mother was had died. She may still be alive, but the way I knew her is gone. I remember going through a type of grief then. Could it be that the grieving process (or at least the bulk of it) has already been experienced? I don’t know.

Sometimes I feel like David must have felt while he was praying, renting or tearing his clothes in agony over his son’s sickness. But when his staff questioned each other about how David would react to the news of his death, as recorded in 2 Samuel 12, starting with verse 19:

“Is the child dead?” he asked.

“Yes,” they replied, “he is dead.”

Then David got up from the ground. After he had washed, put on lotions and changed his clothes, he went into the house of the Lord and worshiped. Then he went to his own house, and at his request they served him food, and he ate.

His attendants asked him, “Why are you acting this way? While the child was alive, you fasted and wept, but now that the child is dead, you get up and eat!”

He answered, “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought, ‘Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.’ But now that he is dead, why should I go on fasting? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.”

Maybe this sums up how I feel about my mom’s passing. When David said “who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.” I thought that about my mother, even kept some of her winter coats just in case I needed them. But when the death happened, David in essence continued on with living life, even having a son thereafter, who was Solomon, a great king. For me, I donated the rest of her clothes and her coats, and it didn’t bother me to do so.

There are times I stare out into space, wondering what to do next. I am happy to be writing again, and I looked at one of my unfinished books and reviewed it. This makes me happy. At least my creative writing skills haven’t dried up. I took one trip and look forward to doing more. I am happy that I feel there is more for me to accomplish. But if you have been through the bereavement process, I would love to read your comments. I think that would be a great help to me. In the meantime, I will continue to write, and hope you will continue to read my words…

June 17th ended an eight-year journey regarding my mom’s illness of having dementia. I expected to react one way, and I have that did not happen. For example, I expected to breathe a sigh of relief. Have I? To a degree, yes, knowing my mother no longer is in pain. I expected to delve into depression or deep grief over her passing. Frankly, I have not experienced neither. I expected to be happy, knowing I could continue living life without thinking about mom before I did anything. Let’s just say I am not jumping up and down in pure happiness about me being free to do whatever I want.

This has me wondering what I am really going through.

If you have read earlier posts regarding this journey, perhaps you can get a better understanding. In 2015 I had no idea of what was going on with my mother, and I was in a downward spiral because I didn’t know how to react, how to resolve any of the problems I witnessed with the illness. Eventually, as the disease progressed, I concluded within myself that my mother as I was used her being…was dead. Her true personality and her laughter were replaced by confusion, anger and unexpected behavior, all of which I was not used to experiencing with her. Down through the years, I was seeing a familiar face that no longer had the personality I grown accustomed to; that was gone. Having said all that, could it be that for years I was undergoing the grieving process?

Though I didn’t recognize that at the time, I believe that may very well be the case with me. The times I spent praying for her, the sleepless nights sitting up in my bed thinking about how I could fix her and the situation while knowing at the same time I could not, eventually coming to the realization that I had to be patient with her (and myself) and allowing the dementia process to happen and go the full course is making me realize the whole time I was grieving.

During the funeral I was afraid I would just yell and scream and cry, and there were times when the tears came during the service. But I had more emotion at my aunts’ funerals years ago than I did at my mother’s. I thought I was supposed to have that, but I didn’t. Even now, in four days it will be a month since her death, and yet the surprising reaction is there doesn’t appear to be more reaction to it all. Why am I feeling so guilty about that?

When I look back at all that has happened, I believe God was with me and helped me in the preparation of her death. For example, I was not like my friend Mary who had to clean out her deceased mother’s apartment after the funeral. I took care of that after I found a nursing home for my mother to live in February 2018, donating the furniture to Habitat for Humanity. I walked around each room of her place as memories flooded my brain before I locked the door for the last time. Before that happened, my mother requested I put my name on her bank account so if she could not go to the bank, I could get funds out when needed. I remember being angry at God who I feel put me in a position of being a caregiver when I didn’t want to be, taking care of bank accounts, writing checks for her bills, being overseer of her finances (while struggling with my own), wanting time to be my own but knowing I needed to visit her and handle her affairs. I had to (maybe for the first time) literally stand toe to toe with my strong-willed mother and tell her loudly we were not going to do that (what she directed) but we were going to do this (my decision), much to her dismay. I was now the leader of the family, a position I did not ask to be placed in; I no longer had one child, I now had two, which included my mother. The more decisions I made, the more comfortable I became with it. When talking to the hospice staff about what to do next when mom’s condition worsened, I quickly gave directives on what to do and what meds to stop. I stood by those decisions and didn’t feel guilty about it. Nevertheless, it was still a surprising reaction I was not expecting.

I am doing my best to accept what I am and am not feeling, trying not to feel guilty about it, and accept the grieving process, regardless of how the grieving pendulum swings.

Since I got the news on June 17th at 3:15am that mom had passed, life became a whirlwind. There was so much to do, and I thought to myself that I wasn’t so busy when my aunt Ella died. And then I remembered, mom helped. She arranged the funeral, I helped her pick out the flowers for the funeral, together we viewed the body, she decided what clothes for Ella to wear. But this time, all of the arrangements had fallen on me. I had to do e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. My sleeping issues got worse. My mind could not be shut off. I was up at 2am. Well, I might as well do something since I’m up, I thought as I slowly shuffled to my desk and created two poems: one for my son Stephen to read at the funeral, and one for me to read.

Later, I came up with an idea to create a comedic moment, which gave me a reason to immerse myself in creativity. Once the idea was thought up, I created it on the Staples website, ordered them to pickup later, pleased with the effort. Now all I have to do is remember what to say in making the presentation.

I guess everyone who deals with the funeral director has issues to deal with. Their job is to get the biggest bang of a buck to provide their services. The first room during my meeting with the director housed the most expensive caskets: made of solid woods and costing $19000+. Truly that was out of my league. The next room was more reasonable and fit what I thought would be my pocketbook, and I made it known that that was the room we would remain in. My mother stressed to me not to put money in the ground, meaning get the cheapest of everything. She had already paid for her cemetery plot, and I truly believe she thought she paid for the opening of it, but she had not. She paid for two plots including the opening for both, but it was only for one: her sister Ella, who died 13 years earlier. Add another $1900+ to an already looming funeral bill.

My saving grace (thanks Mom!) was she had life insurance. The funeral home used a company that checked to verify that what I said was correct, and it was. Because of that, they fully paid the funeral bill, knowing that when the company processed the paperwork, they would get reimbursed. What a weight that was lifted off my shoulders! My chest felt less tight knowing the funeral arrangements could continue.

Then we went to another room to look at clothing for my mother to wear. Of course, what I liked was the most expensive, ($200+), and what they had was not in the color I wanted to use, which was her favorite color of yellow. I stated that we could use one of her choir robes if I could not find something. But I found something that I thought was perfect through my bestie…Amazon.com.

The price was ridiculously low (less than $45), it was yellow with flower appliques, and since it was one size fit all, I knew they could pin it where needed, and it covered her body…or so I thought.

In the end stages of her advanced dementia, her body started to break down which caused her to have deep wounds, and many were on her arms. Of course I did not want those to be seen. But with less than 24 hours to the funeral I got a call requesting to provide another dress for the reasons stated above. The dress was not covering her arms and thus her wounds were showing. I fought for her, and I fought for the dress.

After the call, I turned and looked at my closet. It was as though the Spirit of God was pulling me in that direction, along with something in the closet that seemed to be whispering “take me, I can help.” As I approached the closet, I saw a yellow sweater that appeared to be the answer to the dilemma. I quickly grabbed it, hopped in my car, picked up the robes from the cleaners and dashed to the funeral home. I stated that I may have a solution and if the sweater would work. The gentleman said he thinks that would work, and the robes were not needed.

When my son and I viewed the body later that evening, the sweater was in the perfect shade of yellow and matched the dress. Her arms were covered completely, and the dress made her look radiantly beautiful. Another heavy weight was lifted off my shoulders. At the funeral, many who came marveled at how lovely she looked. The casket was open only to show from the waist up; my way of protecting her so no one would see her wounds.

What is the conclusion of this story? For those of you who do not have life insurance, get some. It does not have to be a large one, but at least one that will cover funeral expenses. It will help those who are arranging your funeral.