In the Letting Go

Words to Heal the Heart on the Death of a Mother

Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC

CHAPTER 1

Loss

Loss. It is at once different for everyone, and yet the same. As Maya Angelousays, "We are human. Human beings are more alike than unalike."

But this first morning I wake, after my mother has died at a little past twoA.M., I am numb. I have slept late; my wife has returned from taking thechildren to school, and so here we are, together, looking at one another. Myfirst inclination is to call my father, to make certain he's "okay." I had saidgoodnight to him at about four A.M., but now it is nearly ten, and I am afraidof how I will find him.

I call, and am relieved to hear his voice. He tells me he has begun callingthose who were close to my mother. There are few left. She died just short ofher eighty-second birthday, and, I am reminded many times, most of hercontemporaries, friends, and family members of the same generation are gone.Those are people she had to mourn, to grieve over, to say good-bye to.

I feel the need, and I believe so many of us do, to take care of my father.They were together some sixty years. I begin the arduous task of submerging mygrief, anger, guilt—my sense of loss.

I have begun my role as caretaker.

There's a real cliché that is prevalent, and, I think, potentially damaging. Ittells us that we should "get busy" after a loss. Go back to work; becomeimmersed in the day-today routine.

Getting busy is denial in action. If you fill your days with appointments,obligations, meetings, and deadlines, you'll successfully bury your sorrow—butyou'll later harvest more anguish than you can believe.

I've actually heard survivors say, "I just don't have time to think about it,and that's good."

The best thing to do is feel. You need to take that first step, and it'sprobably the most painful step you'll ever take. You have to face your mother'sdeath; you have to admit your loss and remember what she meant to you, includingyour disappointments, your sorrows, your anger. Only after this step will you beable to take others.

"Death came very easily to her. She had lived such an innocent and loving lifeof service to others and held such a simple faith, that she had no fears at alland did not seem to mind very much."

—SIR WINSTON CHURCHILL, ON THE DEATH OF HIS NANNY

My friend Bob began confronting his loss over a long period of time. Hismother's fight to conquer her cancer was so protracted that Bob felt his loss,little by little, over two and a half years.

The days his mother raged against her pain, her surgeries and her chemotherapynever allowed Bob to begin the process of saying good-bye. While he wanted herto do battle with this disease, he also knew it could never be won.

His grief began before his mother died. He felt her lost her some monthsbefore her actual passing. So determined was she to win, she began to deny whatwas happening to her. This left Bob and his brother to either confront her withthe reality of her terminal illness, or to join her in denial. Bob's grief beganwhen he started to see that her self-delusion wouldn't save either of them.

"A man never sees all that his mother has been to him until it's too late to lether know that he sees it."

—WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS

It has been nearly a year since my mother's death. I want to become "unstuck,"as some professional grief counselors put it; being "stuck" is the need to playthe same memory tapes over and over that retain the same inner messages—

If only I had ...If we had just another ...I hope she knew ...Wouldn't she have loved ...

"My mother nearly smothered me with love." Joan is angry and frightened, and shedoesn't know what to do about her mother's sudden death.

"She controlled me from birth until yesterday. Yes, I loved her, but I had noidea that she has such a hold on me. Now I feel almost betrayed, like shedropped me into the ocean and said, 'Swim.'

"I don't know where to begin with this grief business, because I guess I'mjust too angry to face it yet. Why did she have to be on top of me all the time?

"We fought, but it always got resolved. Now she's really abandoned me, and I'mfeeling really lost."

"People are like puzzles, and when somebody special dies, there's a feeling thatthose particular pieces will never be assembled again—that particular picture isgone."

—THE NEW YORKER

"Death is as casual—and often as unexpected—as birth. It is as difficult todefine grief as joy. Each is finite. Each will fade."

—JIM BISHOP

Their repeated memories became enshrouded in a web of self-imposed isolation.This act of self-flagellation gets us nowhere—which sometimes is exactly wherewe want to be. But what of the rest of our lives? Would our mothers not havewanted us to carry on, to be happy?

"A mother understands what a child does not say."

—JEWISH PROVERB

"We just lost Mom, and after almost two years of taking care of her, I feelrelieved and feel guilty for feeling relieved."

Those were the words of Nancy, our friend who, with the help of her brother,had taken turns looking after their Alzheimer's-afflicted mother. It wasn't justrelief she was feeling. Nancy was also angry and hurt. After all the time andeffort of taking care of her mother, at the expense of caring for her family andherself, her mother would never be able to thank her or realize how devotedNancy had been. Their roles of caretaking had shifted. Nancy's guilt and angerand relief were intermixed with her feelings of loss.

At first, I want to talk about my mother—even the details, her last days, hours,minutes. I think this is because I'm supposed to be one of the "enlightened"ones regarding loss and mourning and grief and "processing" feelings. But now itis too hard. I see my father, my sister, brother, relatives, and friends. At thefuneral I have successfully submerged my profound sadness. I no longer want totalk about her, reminisce, look at old photographs, even reenter my parents'apartment. It is too hard. And it really should be. I will talk about her andconfront her death when I can.

"At first, we just walked—together. As I look back, when she first joined me, Ishifted from wandering to walking. At the time, I was barely conscious of herbeing at my side, and yet, I did know that someone had joined me. I was aware ofa presence walking with me. Still, in the engulfing enormity of my pain, I couldonly respond inwardly with integrity, and those walks were my time not to haveto care for others' grief. She did not seem to need response, so I gave none. Wewalked in silence. After a time, we walked in companionable silence. There wasno need for anything to pass between us. We were alone, together."

—ANNE WILSON SCHAEF, THE GRIEF WOMAN

"Mother died today, or maybe it was yesterday."

—ALBERT CAMUS, THE STRANGER

The finality of my mother's death really does not sink in. Because there wereperiods of time when I did not see her, her absence from my day-to-day life doesnot seem abnormal.

"When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her allat once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming,and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet anddrawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when theday comes—when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with thefeeling that she's gone, forever—there comes another day, and anotherspecifically missing part."

—JOHN IRVING, A PRAYER FOR OWEN MEANY

By nature, I'm an emotional loner. For a variety of reasons, so many of us arethe same with respect to showing our sadness as well as our happiness.

But something odd happened to me. At the funeral home, when relatives andfriends came to visit, I was open with them; I allowed them in. I needed them; Ineeded to hear what they said about my mother, and somehow, and for some reason,for once, I did not turn away, but instead began to feel a connectedness withothers in the room. I realized all of us were grieving, and we all needed oneanother.

"Had Julie not been deceased, it was a funeral she would have loved.

"The minister, in her desperate struggle for an analogy of comfort, said toher three sons sitting rigid in the front row, 'Think of your mother as thespirit leaving the body. The shell is here, but the nut is gone.'

"The organist forgot the music and the only song she knew by heart was 'TheDays of Wine and Roses.'

"And her middle son, Steve, flew in from school with only the shoes on hisfeet ... a pair of red, white, and blue Adidas with stars that glowed in the dark,which he wore with a three-piece brown suit.

"It was hard to believe Julie was dead, at forty-eight, the victim of a 'kind'cancer that acts quickly and with accuracy."

—ERMA BOMBECK, MOTHERHOOD: THE SECOND OLDEST PROFESSION

"The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world."

—WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE

In some ways, we lose our way when our mothers pass on. We may have jobs,obligations, social functions that must be attended; but when our mothers aregone, suddenly we're rudderless.

Our world, when Mother dies, is upside down. Our emotional equilibrium isthreatened, and most of us don't understand why we're adrift for so manyreasons.

Mother was everywhere. We sought her assurances and acknowledgments in themost peripheral ways. We miss her for reasons we don't understand.

After all, we were barely able to see when hers was the hand that rocked ourcradles. We do go on, though, and remembering her love is what keeps us going.

In the days following my mother's death, I adopt the same erratic rasping coughshe had the last few days of her life. To my ears, it is identical. I wonder howI could mimic the sound of it, how completely I had taken it on, as if I weresomehow extending her life by imitating her. Later I learn that this phenomenonis not unusual. Often people who are very close with the deceased have"unexplained" components of the illness that befell their loved one. It's calledsympathetic illness. I am surprised by this, but in an odd way, I'm comforted byit, too.

"Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spiritof the garden,Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehoodTeach us to care and not to careTeach us to set stillEven among these rocks.Our peace in his willAnd even among these rocksSister, mother,And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea.Suffer me not to be separatedAnd let my cry come unto 'Thee.'"

—T. S. ELIOT

Losing Mother has meant, among many things, that the remaining family, myfather, my sister, and my brother, must now come together, if only figuratively.We now share an undeniable experience: we have lost a mother; my father, hiswife.

We all feel the loss differently. She was a different person for each of us.Looking at us as honestly as I can, I see that she left behind three extremelydifferent children. But now we share the commonality of grief; now we are forcedto reflect on what we've lost and what the loss means to us.

I cannot dictate how my brother should feel, nor can I expect my sister'sbereavement to echo mine. I do hope this inevitable tragedy brings us closertogether.

"Grant me the ability to be alone;May it be my custom to go outdoors each dayAmong the trees and grasses,Among all growing thingsAnd there may I be alone,And enter into prayerTo talk with the oneThat I belong to."

—RABBI NACHMAN OF BRATZLAR

CHAPTER 2

Grief

Although I do not know why, and perhaps never will, one of my siblings had notbeen in touch with my mother at all for over two years before her death.

I don't now whether it was because of fear—seeing Mother deteriorate—orbecause of denial, but it hurt those of us who remained in contact with her.

Mother never got to say good-bye—nor did they even share a "last"conversation.

I believe that my family member who was aloof and unreachable during thoseyears probably suffers silently, secretly, now.

The death of our mother is a major change, one that brings about a profoundchange in our lives.

We do so well with denial, and death is one of the "events" in our lives thatwe're quick to turn from. If we know it's coming soon, we face the other way. Ifwe are taken by surprise by an "untimely" death, then we can easily fall intodenial coupled with anger.

"Right now that word 'joy' may choke you.... For anyone, newly grieving, to takeeven this first step is as difficult as learning to walk for the first time. Youare, in fact, back at the beginning of learning to live again, to function, toparticipate in life. You are learning to live the second part of your life, sobe patient with yourself."

—EUGENIA PRICE, GETTING THROUGH THE NIGHT

"The ultimate lesson all of us have to learn is unconditional love, whichincludes not only others but ourselves as well."

—ELISABETH KÜBLER-ROSS

This vague otherworldly feeling must be similar to what is known as "going intoshock" as a result of an accident. Days, even weeks after her death, I don'thave the same self-awareness that I normally do. I feel out of body, anonlooker; I feel like an observer, not a participant. Secretly, I know that thisis another way of distancing myself from the reality of her death.

"Each person has his own safe place—running, painting, swimming, fishing,weaving, gardening. The activity itself is less important than the act ofdrawing on your own resources."

—BARBARA GORDON

I do not think I have consciously decided to prolong my bereavement. In fact,I'm fairly aware of how I want to move through the stages of grief. But thingsremembered pull me back, causing depression and suffering. The holidays are uponus, her favorite time of year.

I know I must not dwell on this, but I also know that, to some extent, I mustgive in to it. Part of my process is to allow myself to feel the grief, not justtalk about it.

"Sorrows cannot all be explained away ... In a life truly lived, grief and lossaccumulate like possessions."

—STEPHAN KANFER

"What restraint or limit should there be to grief for one so dear?"

—HORACE

You need to give yourself to grief. It does no good to deny it. It does no goodto attempt to rationalize it, overthink it, intellectualize it.

You would not rise up from the pavement and go about your business after beinghit head-on by a bus. The pretense of strength, willpower, or stoicism willprotect you for a while but later, just when you think you're above and beyondit, grief will have its way. Then you will feel profoundly and suddenly alone.Not allowing the process to direct you in a natural healing way will create afestering and incapacitating isolation later.

"He sows hurry and reaps indigestion."

—ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

If I feel detached—and I've created a distance with reality on purpose—I know itis because I do not want to acknowledge her absence. Still, in middle age, Iwant to feel the buffer, certainly imagined, but real to me, that she createdfor me. She was my protector, my comforter, my ally. I feel adrift when I beginto acknowledge her death. But I am still numb, and try to hide behind thenumbness, and let this strange limbo take over, like a mist, like a fog.

"I know well what I am fleeing from but not what I am in search of."

—MONTAIGNE

This is hard. One of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I'm supposed to bewell equipped to deal with emotional upheaval. I know how to cope.

But I find myself going inward, gradually creating a silent emotional habitat.Strength is a virtue, we've all been told. So be strong; remain stoicallysilent. Hide your bereavement and it will go away.

I know this is a damaging thing I'm doing. It causes a decaying of the healthycoping I've tried to adopt and practice. So each day now, I try to express mygrief in outward ways. I read about loss, or I look at family photographs, or Igo to sleep with pleasant memories of my mother, from earlier days, when wedidn't think of losing one another.

"Beware the easy griefs that fool and fuel nothing."

—GWENDOLYN BROOKS

"Half our mistakes in life arise from feeling where we ought to think, andthinking where we ought to feel."

—J. CHURTON COLLINS

I feel like I'm operating on two levels: One is the outward me—the one I projectto those close to me. It's cordial and reserved. The second level is the darkharbor I have been left with—my point of view of the world is now totallyskewed. I feel withdrawn, aloof, almost watching my own life from above. Ibelieve this atmosphere of detachment comes from anger and denial. But now it isa vivid, memorable feeling.
(Continues...)Excerpted from In the Letting Go by JONATHON LAZEAR. Copyright © 1994 Jonathon Lazear. Excerpted by permission of Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC.
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