Last month, my mother passed away. Even at her elderly age, it still happened relatively quickly and unexpectedly. On Saturday, I took her for a walk, and she had one of her best days in recent history. We were excited about her mobility, and we had a great talk. Two days later, we had to take her to the hospital with pain and shortness of breath. The doctors told us they would observe her for a couple of days and likely send her home. They prepared us for what was coming and explained that her systems were starting to slow and fail. They estimated she would have another eight to fourteen good months. Unfortunately, she never left that bed, and four days later, she passed away.
She lived a full life. She never complained, even when most people would have. And she left a big hole in her family's lives, especially mine. For at least a decade, every evening at 7:00 pm, if I wasn't physically with her, I would call her to talk before she went to bed. So I needed time away to grieve, about a month, to be exact. But it's still not over. Every night at 7:00, there is something missing in my life that will never be replaced.
So now I carry a candle with me. No matter where I am, at 7:00 pm that candle comes out of my pocket and gets lit, and I remember my mom. Sometimes I am in places where people ask me to put the candle out, but when I explain why it's lit, they have always allowed me to burn it for at least a few minutes. This is, of course, nothing unique to me, and we all must go through this process at some point in our lives.
I will end with a passage from my book, From the Shallow End to the Deep End, Sonnet No. 4, Page 4, written specifically about and for my mom, and it is a passage she cherished deeply:
Steadfast Mother, always there she stood;
a lantern shedding sunlight from her shelf
reminding us of all that's just and good,
and never thinking first about herself.
She lived a full life. She never complained, even when most people would have. And she left a big hole in her family's lives, especially mine. For at least a decade, every evening at 7:00 pm, if I wasn't physically with her, I would call her to talk before she went to bed. So I needed time away to grieve, about a month, to be exact. But it's still not over. Every night at 7:00, there is something missing in my life that will never be replaced.
So now I carry a candle with me. No matter where I am, at 7:00 pm that candle comes out of my pocket and gets lit, and I remember my mom. Sometimes I am in places where people ask me to put the candle out, but when I explain why it's lit, they have always allowed me to burn it for at least a few minutes. This is, of course, nothing unique to me, and we all must go through this process at some point in our lives.
I will end with a passage from my book, From the Shallow End to the Deep End, Sonnet No. 4, Page 4, written specifically about and for my mom, and it is a passage she cherished deeply:
Steadfast Mother, always there she stood;
a lantern shedding sunlight from her shelf
reminding us of all that's just and good,
and never thinking first about herself.