Wherever You Are

I spent the last days camped out beside my Mother’s bed. These last hours are the ones still raw, still fresh and are with me even now. Recited prayers, combing her hair, watching her chest move rapidly, her breath steady yet quick. I read her favorite passages of scripture and prayed the prayers she taught us as children, I talked to her and prayed necessary words she could no longer say. I blessed her and made her as comfortable as I could, I tried to keep her with me, but I knew I must let her go. My heart is heavy now, as I recall the tearing sounds that echoed through my body, a silent screaming of denial, a child’s pleading with the universe to guide her way. I asked repeatedly for her to watch over me and to never forget the bond we share. I promised to find her again, and asked that she never forget me, her daughter, her last born, her true friend. I was there to bring her comfort and to hold her hands in mine, to pet her brow and to assure her she was not alone. I reminded her of our loved ones who were going to take her hand from mine and lead her to the oneness of light. I repeated the words in the same way she did for me when I was young, and I thanked her for the love she gave unconditionally, the love that is with me still. I sang her favorite songs and choked back hot tears which spilled unchecked down my sad face. And when at last she struggled from this world to the next, I lay crying against her breast one last time and said my heartfelt goodbyes. Wherever you are my sweet Mother dear, remember you are with me everyday right inside my heart. Remember me and know I promise to find you again. Love, Theresa

This is the fourth Mother’s Day without you. Wherever you are right now, Happy Mother’s Day.

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10 thoughts on “Wherever You Are

  1. Thank you for sharing this life changing moment. It told me that I was not alone in experiencing this transition. If you want to see what I have written on the same subject check out my blog and catagory death, “I said goodbye” and a couple others.

    The pain gets less as time provides the veil to hide it. The good memories get warmer.

    I spent the last 2 days in ICU with a friend who experienced a mild stroke. So your posting was very timely for me. Again thank you

    Frank

  2. Indeed it is. A great comfort. Thanks Catherine. I know she is in the finest company, I just feel sad because I miss her. It’s selfish I know, but she was truly marvelous! 😀

  3. Theresa, I only tonight found your message at Blogcatalog and came over, something rare for me. I am sure I was meant to find your beautiful tribute to your mother because Sunday was hard for me and I have stuffed the emotions so far down that I did not acknowledge how much I miss my mother since her death in 2000. Many of your beautiful expressions here describe things I did for my mother also. The night before she died I told her it was ok for her to go. She had fought leaving me so hard that I now worry what condition her soul (or whatever goes on) was in when she breathed her last breath. Like you, I was right there beside her when that happened. She was asleep in her room, my husband was asleep on a twin bed we had brought in beside her bed, and I was asleep in a recliner on the other side of her where she lay. In the dark my husband and I told one another that all was well, that all is love. I held her hand for awhile as soft music played and I do remember making the sleepy decision to let go of her hand and cuddle down. My husband and I woke up at exactly the same time the next morning, 5:30. We each rose up from sleep and looked at her with a complete understanding that she was gone. It had only been moments, too. When I called to report to Hospice and to ask if I could now turn off the oxygen machine that had run for months, the nurse who answered that early morning call said yes, to shut off the machine, and be in the silence of what she called “the whisper of angels’ wings.”
    Now, why is it that I found comfort in sharing my story with you yet I absolutely have not been able to write about it at my blog? I just do not know. But I thank you so much. And I think that our mothers are probably aware that you and I have connected.

    Have a peaceful week.

  4. Hello,
    This was beautiful. Thank you for sharing. You took something so very hard and wrote beautiful words that made your love for your mother shine so clearly. It brought tears to my eyes.
    Blessings to you.

  5. I am regretfully belated in catching up on my favorite blog-reading and struggling to type this now through a veil of tears. As a fellow daughter, as a fellow last-born, as a fellow best friend of my mother’s, my heart is welling with indescribable emotion, and I send you many blessings for having endured this loss and persevering with such grace.

  6. Letting her go was just what I said, but the hardest part is that she left an empty spot when she journeyed forth and no matter how I try to fill it up, I miss our chats. I miss her smile and great sense of humor. She kept me grounded and listened as no other friend I have ever had. She was really something! She had the most delicate and soft hands. Just the way she would brush back the hair from my face, or bestow the lightest stroke upon my brow, as I drifted off to sleep, was a comfort I am blessed to have known.

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