July 28, 2007: a hard day, but one filled with so much humanity

Today is the day that my momma would have been 65 years' young. Her birthday feels very different than Mother's Day felt. I think it's because Mother's Day is for all mommas, but her birthday is just hers (and always will be).

Getting a call while you're walking across a busy NYC street laughing with your friends after just seeing an amazing play...a call that leads to information and a decision...that leads you to a million emotions and a zillion things you have to take care of--but had never thought about because you've never lost a parent before--is really hard to explain. Because you've never had that experience before.

And then getting into a cab because you need to get home to pack to get on the first flight out from NYC to Alabama after you've just had to rush into a coffee shop so you could better hear the Doctor and give the OK not to resuscitate your momma should she flat-line (these were her explicit wishes should she ever be pronounced brain dead) and then needing to make the call to your sister, while you're still in the cab, to deliver the horrifying news and hear her horrifying scream is nothing short of surreal.

You're choking on tears and need to vomit but must somehow compose yourself because you have to make flight arrangements and pack so you can get on the first flight out. All you want to do is to get to your mother's side. But all these obstacles--like finding a flight, packing, calling people, thinking straight, having to remember to pack a black dress for the impending service--are between you and your momma's side.

While you're sitting on flights--or waiting between 3 layovers--you keep calling the hospital to see if she's still alive and they say "She's doing fine." You think this means "She's made a comeback!" But what they actually mean is that she hasn't flat-lined and is still being kept alive by machines. And then you say, "I'm worried she's thirsty, I know she's thirsty, please make sure to give her water and plenty of pain medication as I know she's hurting." And they so kindly say, "Honey, she's lost the ability to swallow, remember that she can no longer breathe on her own, she can't feel any pain...because her brain no longer processes pain."

And right about then--I think I was in Cincinatti Airport--it hits you that the agenda for this trip is nothing short of laying the person you love the most...the person that knows you most...to rest.

Scientifically, I wonder what the grieving person's brain and heart looks like during these moments. But all you can do is take it one moment, one flight and one task at a time. Because when you finally arrive at your momma's side you realize that the worst is nowhere near behind you.

And then 17 weeks go by and it becomes a little less surreal. You're pleased that you celebrated her life in a way that aligned with her true spirit, you're proud you got through Mother's Day and now it's time to get through the "first birthday." And you realize that you miss her as much now as then...and that you will continue to miss her this much for the rest of your life. The act of accepting loss is not one where you stop missing the person, it's accepting you'll continue to miss the person and weave that into your everday life.

That's not to say I'm not moving forward nor is it to say I don't have joy. Life has certainly changed but life is, by all counts, still very full. My work is going well (and busy!), my social life is fun, I've a ton of friends old and new (both online and offline), I have a good appetite and sleep well. I've confirmed that I made the right decision to work for myself, to live in this grand city and to be a part of the blogging community. It's just that I really miss my momma.

Many people asked me if I found new faith through my loss. I explain that I found humanity. I will forever remain astounded--absolutely, positively astounded--at the kindness of this community and that of my offline friends, too. Your prayers, poems, posts, thoughts, cards, e-cards, calls, teddy bears, stuffed lion animals, charity endeavors, momma tree (!) and precious eBook dedication to her memory have left me without the right words to express my gratitude. They continue to touch and impress upon me so much and you have all made this process filled with so much humanity...I can't imagine anyone needing any one thing more--and it is truly the one thing that best honors her memory. I've you fine people to thank for that.

PS: That's a classic shot of momma at the top and one of her giggling and swinging with my amazing sister, Melissa, on the right. More great pics of mom and happy stories are right here.

Update (07.29.07): I've just learned that a fellow member of our community, John Moore (of Brand Autopsy Blog) lost his mother on Friday. I thought you would want to know. Sending a world of love, prayers and strength to his family during this difficult time.

Comments

[Jonathan Trenn]

Well, CK, you are your mother's daughter. Through and through. In the short time I've known you, that clearly shines through.

[Bob LeDrew]

You honour your mother by being a good person and by using your talents to write things like this post.

I'm beginning to think all we really can do as living beings is cause ripples that affect others. Your mom obviously did that for you. And you are now doing that yourself.

Thank you for sharing your feelings.

[Tim Jackson]

Dear friend, we have all been touched by you in many ways during the time that we've known you. Here and offline, you continue to share and give and enrich lives- just as your momma taught you. It's a testament to her, each and every day that you continue to be you.

I can only imagine the pain that comes with this loss, but I hope that the joyful memories continue to shine and enrich your life.

Much love to you today- as always.

[Connie Reece]

Hugs to you, CK! Time does lessen the pain, but there will always be moments when it pops out of nowhere and squeezes your heart, hard. The "firsts" are very difficult.

I read this morning that John Moore (author of the Brand Autopsy blog) lost his mother yesterday; she had been battling ALS. It reminded me of losing my dad to a neurodegenerative 6.5 years ago. I cried at the memories of my dad and at the knowledge of what John and his family had been through. I loved how he had made videos and, before she lost her ability to speak, got his mother to narrate stories about the photos in her scrapbook.

And like you, I found humanity today. To counter my blue mood, I dreamed up a silly contest on Twitter (Make Connie Laugh in 140 Characters of Less) and then got serious about it, posted it to my blog, and offered copies of The Age of Conversation. The laughs have been rolling all day long. (Contest runs through midnight Sunday.)

All the best to you today. Thanks for sharing from the heart.

[Gavin Heaton]

You honour your momma by living well, by living a loving life ... and, of course, she will never be far from you, because she lives within your heart of hearts. And I love the swing shot. Lovely!

[Lewis Green]

CK,

You are loved by many and friends of many more. Momma would be proud.

Lewis

[mindblob]

CK,
Thank you for sharing with us this very special day. You are honoring your Momma today, and you are honoring her everyday, sharing with us your vision of this world, with heart and with a unique respect for the good human values. She is in your heart and reaches our hearts... thanks to you. Sending Melissa and you my kindest thoughts ever. Love. Luc.

[Mack Collier]

Another wonderful tribute to your mom, by displaying your amazing strength during horrible circumstances. And so glad you included that pic of your mom and Melissa!

[Valeria Maltoni]

Words can fall so short of feelings. I wrote something to this effect at John's post. Know that we're here for you, CK. There's a special place for mothers and I'm sure yours smiles upon you from there.

[Lori Magno]

CK: I have no words. Thank you for your open and thoughtful piece. I'm sending hugs and love from Boston for you and your sister.

[Toby]

CK - I love the photo of your momma and sister swinging and giggling .. celebrating life in such an innocent and happy way. Even through your pain you show us the positive side of life. Thank *you* CK.

[gianandrea facchini]

Humanity is the greatest gift we can receive in these troubled times.
I'm glad if this community was able to make you feel better and loved. G.

[Tangerine Toad]

Be brave. It is true that it gets easier with time, tough as that may be to believe. There are always moments it hits you from nowhere, but like everything else, it all only serves to make you stronger.

[CK]

All: Thank you for your kind words and your support. The humanity I've witnessed have been nothing short of extraordinary. There is no one thing that anyone needs more during these times--I really am honored to be your friend and colleague.

[Gill]

CK, I want to convey to you my deepest and heartfelt wishes for your continued healing and carrying on despite the sadness of your loss. July 28 was the anniversary of my parents and would have been their 54th, except for the passing of my mother back in October, 2005. I also miss my mother still, and most probably always will, on one level or another. Loss is painful, and yet we carry on, and are grateful for the blessings in our lives. Thank you for sharing with all of us and may you be blessed with all your heart desires!

[maggie]

CK,
just read this post and it brought so many memories back of my own mother's passing. This was beautiful and a touching tribute to your mother. I went through a similar situation dealing with the hospital (my mother had lung cancer) and I swore I would be with my mother when she passed. Unfortunately I wasn't able to get there in time. Over time I have come to believe that my mother knew it was here time. But I know she watches over me and my boys every day. Your mother would be really proud.