9.16.10 - saving voices

my mom and her companion of nine years, wally, were two peas in a pod, inseparable, cute, cute, cute - both barely five feet tall, in their 80s, almost always teasing each other and laughing, and deeply in love.

my mom died on august 19. i still feel very quiet about the experience. i had no idea that being with her day and night for three weeks before her death, and with her as she died, would be such an intimate, life-changing experience. i am so grateful. and i cannot say enough about hospice - what an incredible organization. hospice made all the difference in mom's quality of life and death and in our experience of caring for her.

i have thousands of photographs and dozens of videos of my mom over the years, and also i have dozens and dozens and dozens of cassette tapes that i saved from all the answering machines i've had over the years. i have hours upon hours of the voices of my mom, my dad, my two sons, friends and lovers over the past 15 years. my mom's voice changes as she ages, but in almost every message she says, "deborah, this is your mother. call me when you can, please." we talked on the phone at least twice a week every week for the last 33 years. it's surreal not to be able to call her now. i called her phone number the other day, thinking maybe it would be like a Twilight Zone episode where she'd actually pick up the phone. but it was disconnected. i talk to her a lot anyway, quite a lot now, and say all the things i wish i had said over the years. one thing for sure, all these years she knew i loved her, and the last month of her life she knew wally and her very dear friend mary lou and i were doing everything we could to make her feel loved, safe, and comfortable, and that's what makes her death easier for me.

my little, sweet mom showed me and my oldest son, who flew in from L.A. for a couple of days to be with her and then again for the funeral, how to die with dignity and grace, even with humor. i'm not afraid anymore of the actual process of dying. it was quite beautiful, the last days and hours of her life. i think often about breast cancer recurring, i do try to make the most of every day, and now that i know that hospice can actually make death a comfortable experience, i feel much better about how my eventual death might affect my sons.

when i think about mom, i think of this quote from garrison keillor's book, "Pilgrims":

"You live in my heart. You bring me joy and sorrow. You'll never know how dear you are."


xoxo