She lived ninety-two years and ten days. She bore four children, had one miscarriage, and those four children gave her seven grandchildren, who had five altogether. She lived for those children, whether good or bad, had tragedy follow her, but always had a soft place to fall. She was afraid to die, but she was more afraid to live. She was tortured in her own mind, but could use that mind to get what she wanted when she wanted it. She was my mother, and I loved her.
My mother died two weeks ago, after a brief hospital stay, unexpected really, as we had been in this situation before with my mother many, many times. She always pulled through but this time she had had enough, had lost the will to live. She longed to see the daughter she loved so deeply but lost , six years earlier, and my father, the love of her life, who was gone fifty years earlier at the tender age of forty-one. As quoted in Ecclisiastes, there is a time for every purpose under heaven. This was that time.
I had a love-hate relationship with my mother after her mental health deteriorated about thirty years ago, after a lifetime of alcoholism and dependency on those around her. She turned into a bitter, vindictive woman who loved to cause a good fight, or give a good guilt trip. I realize now this was all part of that illness, she had been in and out of mental health facilities but to no avail, it dogged her until she was too ill to play those games and just wanted to lie in bed and wait her turn to die, even though throughout her life, she had many opportunities to live a full exciting life but chose not to. This is the real tragedy of her life. She had excellent physical health, a keen mind and could be humorous and engaging when she wanted to be and when she took her meds regularly. She was sweet as pie to strangers, would give greeting cards and candies to everyone (but us). She would do anything to get a visit, but then when there, the acid tongue and accusations would erupt until you left or were forced to leave. I am sorry these are the memories that stick with me instead of the wonderful childhood memories of family outings, holidays when my father was alive.His death killed something in her also, and her mother came to live with us. Although she welcomed the help with four children to raise and support, I think having her mother there undermined her confidence and authority until she just gave up and drank some more. We never had car, never got to have or go to sleepovers, never any presence at school events or interested in our friends or hobbies. We depended on my aunts and uncles.
My brother left home first, then Nanny died and my mother was free to do whatever she wanted, two years later both my sister and I moved out and married and lived quite far away, there was little interaction with my Mom. Her drinking increased until she was forced by her health to quit. I moved back into my mothers life after my divorce and lived in the same apartment building. Myself, my new husband and April my daughter grew very close to Mom and my sister Maggie who lived six floors below us.
Those were the halcyon years. Happy times, shopping, holidays together, until as life goes, Maggie met a man and moved out, then later moved five hours away and married. Living on her own changed my mother and she started into the games and neediness that became her trademark. I make it sound as if I hated her, I didn't, I did everything and anything I could do to please her, to win her approval and love. I think we may have been just too alike in personality to ever see eye to eye. It was Lorraine she depended on, when we had to transfer her to a retirement home, it was Lorraine who visited daily, took care of her day to day affairs, paid all her attention to her. When Lorraine died suddenly, her whole world came tumbling down.
Our relationship was tenuous from that point forward and sadly, it was mostly out of obligation, that brought me around.Every year from March to May, her three biggies, Lorraine's death, her birthday, which she hated to celebrate, and my father death anniversary, there was either a hospital stay, or a strange illness that would bring the attention she craved. In this last year there were several illnesses and incidents but I had had my own tragedy, my husband had a massive stroke which required me to not leave my home. We barely saw each other, but through my own angst and loneliness I finally started to understand what my mother, of limited mental capacity went through all those years. She lost the power to hurt me so when I did get to see her there was only joy and love and honesty between us.
So when she had this illness again that brought her to the hospital, we all figured she would bounce back once we were all around her and had our attention. But sadly, it was her time, and she went quickly and painlessly, with all of us around her, I was holding her hand, and saw her draw her last breath, felt her last beat of her heart. And there was only love left, a deep abiding love. Always my dear mum, always.
