The Fabric of Life , & End of Life

October 25. Today is my birthday.  and a year ago today my Mother’s last day on this earth. Throughout my adult years every October 25 I would send Mom flowers with a note that read ,

                                                                          

     Congratulations, Mother ! 34 (44,54, 64) years ago today you gave birth to a brown haired, brown eyed baby girl . Thank you , Mom. I love you . 

     I think of my darling Mother that last day, laying  on the hospice bed , opening her eyes; her body tired and worn out, lovingly looking into my eyes as I swab her mouth and take her hand. She draws me near and whispers  Happy Birthday, Kathy. I kiss her cheek . 

     This day, my 69th birthday, memories of my Mother flood my heart; I picture her happy smile and think  of her goodness, her joy of life and genuine kindness, and care for others . I think of her deep, abiding faith in Jesus. How she  would say, He will never let you down, no matter what.

     I know how blessed I am to have had Mom for 68 yrs.  My Mother , my first friend ; always my best friend.  

     I reflect on the intersection of my birth date,  and Mama departing this life - two hours past midnight , 2 a.m. October 26.  Although , our trials and heartaches not always easy to understand , or accept; the anguish sometimes so sad , and overwhelming,  I believe there are no coincidences, only Godincidences , that He threads the needle and weaves the fabric of our life. For His better plan and purpose.   With the date of my birth , and the date of my Mother’s passing from this life to be born anew in the Heavenly kingdom so closely linked ,  I am ever thankful for the eternal, loving, special bond my Mother and I share 

     So, as I remember my Mother today .. I say, 

Congratulations, Mom! ! 69 years ago today you gave birth to the brown eyed, brown haired girl 

you prayed for.  Thank you , Mom ! I am so very grateful!  I love you forever and always, Kathy.

                                                                   

Confused Memory, but forever love

i sleep next to the same man i have slept next
to for over 40 years , although he doesn’t
always know who i am . We sit together in the
TV room and he’ll ask where his wife is, i say
i’m right here, dear. No, no, says he, and points
to our Wedding picture hanging on the wall ; that’s
my wife . Yes, i say. That’s me . Just a long time
ago.  He wonders aloud whose house this is,
where’s the bedroom , and asks the time.
7 o’clock  i tell him. In the morning ? No, at night.
i mention our two sons, Garrett and Gavin
and he smiles . A minute or two passes, then a clear
moment of recognition, and he says, such good
men are they. The best part of me . I am so
proud of them , and love them so much.
Another minute or two pass, and again he
asks, whose house is this ?
And my heart in its longing , weeps for the
memory of how my husband used to be ,
but grateful for the moments we still share

a Party in Heaven

     I wonder what he’d be like at 65. Perhaps ready to retire after years of working hard. Collecting Social Security. Riding his Harley. Fishing. Likely more white than grey headed, and still holding things of the heart close to heart. But forever young at heart, with the same kind spirit and happy, playful  smile he always had, like he knew the joke better than anyone.
     Today, another remembrance and celebration of my brother, Walt Cooney born September 4, 1954.
     This year different than last, as this year I picture our  beloved Mother celebrating with him - both overjoyed at being together again . With grandparents , aunts and uncles and long time friends.
In Heaven there’s a party going on .

                                                                         

                                                                       

                                                 

(Happy Birthday, Brother ! Give Mom a kiss from me, I miss you both more than words can say)
     

a summer rain

i sit in a favorite wicker chair
under a natural canopy
and can see in the distance
a brilliant orange blooming
from the Trumpet bush,
and listen to rain softly tapping
the broad, heart shaped leaf
of the Red Bud tree;
birds nestled between branches
adding their sweet song
to this lovely moment
Beautiful
Peaceful
Tranquil
and i think of the loved ones,
family and friends
who once sat in this place, too;
my mother and brother
with their love and laughter,
and am grateful.

Mama’s Backyard

                                                                   

                                                                 

    May 12. Mother’s Day. I sit outside in my Mother’s backyard. The yard she worked so lovingly in, planting and weeding; decorated with pink flamingos and angels. The yard she enjoyed so much with  her beautiful flowers , the Rosebud tree, squirrels scurrying about  and birds on wing .
     Twenty five years of friends and family who gathered here laughing and talking . My brother, Walt and Jim, Gavin and Gary and Patty. The Howell’s . Jeanne and Brenda , Karen and Mary Lee; the Chapin girls, PaddleFest pals, and many others who graced the backyard with their presence.   Birthday celebrations,  4th of July fireworks , summer luncheons , gentle conversation at twilight .   Little vignettes, now passing moments in time . Happy times, peaceful times in what we thought of as a magical, enchanted place and started calling it, Mom’s Secret Garden.
     Last year at this time  when Mama and I were sitting out back, she looked around and talked about  how lucky she  was to have this backyard, it brought her such joy. "God is so good to me", said Mom, " I think of all the wonderful times with loved ones here, and it makes me smile.”  Along with  the many loved ones ,  the solitude of being  in her backyard,  and the tranquility it brought her lifted Mom’s spirit.  Especially in the last few months of her life.  She loved watching the Morning Doves and Hummingbirds,  and was always so grateful for what she had .
     Mom and  I laughed about a time Walt was here. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we were enjoying the outside.  Walt knew I had been doing some weight training so he wanted to see my ‘body building’ pose . He pressed on , even demonstrating how I should bend forward, pull my arms inward and flex my muscles . Then I did , to All That Jazz playing in the background, and Walt taking pictures like I might be featured in some muscle building video.  There’s no doubt I looked pretty silly,  which got my brother to laughing out loud ,  and our Mom , and all there , including me. It was  one of those   fun, memorable moments in Mom’s backyard !

                                         

      As sons and daughters honor their Mother’s today , I remember mine with an everlasting love and deep gratitude for her unconditional love and friendship, for all that we shared . For being everything good and kind , for being the very best of Mother’s, always . And I give thanks to God for making her mine.   I think the endearing, tender note my brother wrote to Mom on Mother’s Day 1991 sums it up pretty good.

Mom , this is your day, but it is also my day, for you are here with me to share it with, if ever a person is more deserving of a day designated to only Mother’s of the world, then there isn’t a finer mother I can think of than you . You’re the best Mother and friend a guy could have . All my love from the beginning of time til the ending of time . Love, Walt. 

                                                                     

              

     So here I am , Mama, carrying on. Feeling blessed in your backyard for all you were, and all you provided - for your nearness still so close. And for my sons, that they will know my love for them always and forever. A legacy of love from you to me to them.  Happy Mother's Day, Mom ! I love you.


                                                                                 

      

Easter Sunday and my Mother's Birthday

     Last Sunday, Easter Sunday millions of Christians commemorated the Risen Jesus. Holy Family church was packed, standing room only , filled with worshipers coming to sing Easter alleluias and give glory to God. While it was impossible not to observe the joy and festive spirit of those gathered , many dressed in cheerful, spring colored clothing , I sat like a pouty child not getting her or his own way - missing my mother and husband being  with me. Wishing I could reach out to touch my Mother’s hand , to give Mom and Gary a kiss at the Sign of Peace. On this day of great joy I was using all my self control not to cry , and can only hope Father Root didn’t notice the gloomy look  on my face as he proclaimed the Gospel and gave a homily on the Easter message.
    I wondered if my mother and brother  received Holy Communion from the wounded hands of our dear Jesus; I gave thanks for 
friend , Jeanne sitting with Gary allowing me to attend Mass , and for family and friends so dear to me. I followed the prayers of the liturgy , but with a melancholy heart. Then something amazing happened , after receiving Eucharist I decided to leave and was walking down the aisle towards the back of the church when the choir began singing the hymn, Be Still And Know That I Am God.         It was as though a heavenly presence had tapped me on the shoulder.  I immediately stopped , turned around and this time didn’t hold back the tears that welled in my eyes. My mother’s favorite bible verse from  Psalm 46. Be still and know that I am God .  How many times had I heard Mom recite , and direct me to that verse whenever  I was troubled, hurt or worried over  
something .  I knelt and bowed my head giving thanks to our Lord Jesus Christ for the glory of his cross and resurrection, for his faithfulness and tender mercies , and  for my mother with her continuing presence in my life and her loving reminder Easter morning, to Be still and know that I am God.

    Now it's Wednesday April 24. My mother's birthday. Surely the stars twinkled brightly the day she was born, and her presence graced the earth. I  think of Mom's genuine goodness, her sweetness and strength; of her unconditional love of my brother and me, and I am grateful. One of my favorite things was when Mama would tell stories about her youth. It seemed Mom always  had a love affair with life, reflected from the days she was very young,  and the joy she found in her family and friends.
                                               

     Mom shared how when she was a little girl, Great Grandma Norton would ask her what she wanted for her birthday. Each year Mama would say, your Applesauce cake, Grandma.   Mom said she never ever tasted Applesauce cake that was as good as Grandma Norton's, and that when she (Mom) got to Heaven that was one of the first things she was going to ask for  - a piece of Grandma Norton's Applesauce cake.  
    Well, my darling Mother, I have no doubt you're in Heaven. And today's your birthday.  I'm smiling thinking of you celebrating with all your Heavenly family and friends, and once again enjoying Grandma Norton's  homemade Applesauce cake ! and yes, missing you, too, and our sitting in the backyard laughing and talking, and  listening to music as we liked to do. But I rejoice in this day, Mom, the day you were born; for from  that very day the fate was sealed you would one day be my Mother. Lucky me !

     
 * In eulogy for Walt i quoted e.e. cummings - the words i spoke for my brother then,  hold the same meaning and truth for you, Mom
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in. my heart)

Happy Birthday, oh Mother of mine ! I love you. 


    

THE THIEF ( ALZHEIMER'S)

He was half sitting up on the bed when I walked into the room.
Staring  in the dark.
What are you doing I asked .
I don’t know where I am he said. I don’t know how I got here.
Why didn’t you call for me?
I didn’t know who to call for; whose house this is. Who would come.
I gently patted his hand,  and wiped his brow. It’s okay, honey  i’m with you  now.
I'm glad you're here he said. It was scary.
Whose house is this , he asked.  What city are we in?
It’s our house I tell Gary,  my husband of forty years.
 We live in Clarkston.
Oh. I thought I drove my truck to Huntington Beach.
Are  we close to the beach?
No, dear. But we are near a river.
Wonder if I have to use the bathroom. Where is the bathroom?
And on and on it goes until he’s more calm and falls asleep.
Alzheimer’s is like a thief who comes again and again,
at first stealing just a little bit, then more and more
until nothing’s left but
confusion
sadness
forgotten years
fear
and tears

Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia have touched the lives of many families, robbing
loved ones of memory, vitality, a sense of well being.  But like all journeys , there are sign posts along the way to help guide our  path;  family, friends, Alzheimer's support groups, faith.
Along with God's word  in the Bible, that He is with us always , I have found the following books  helpful in understanding more about the disease, how to better relate to my husband as we travel this road together, and the importance of finding some  quiet time for myself.

* The 36 Hour Day by Nancy L. Mace, M.A and Peter V. Rabins, M.D., P.P.H.

* My Two Elaines
 Learning , Coping, and Surviving as an Alzheimer's Caregiver by Martin J. Schrieber

* where Two worlds Touch 
A Spiritual Journey Through Alzheimer's Disease by Jade C. Angelica

*Learning to Speak Alzheimer's 
A Groundbreaking Approach for Everyone Dealing with the Disease by Joanne Koenig Coste

Three Months

                                        

    Three months can seem either a long or short time.  Depending on the circumstance I suppose. I recall when I was in school in the 1950’s and 60’s we would get three months summer vacation.  I spent three months in the hospital one year laying in traction due to a broken back and crushed right femur. In my twenties I toured Europe for three months with my friend, Mary Kay.  And today it's been three months since my Mother passed away. Three months of  Mother not being here seems a long time not to hear her voice, see her smile; to sit with her drinking our morning coffee, listening to music, watching birds at the feeder, to feel the touch of her hand.       Sometimes I let myself be fooled  and it seems Mom just away on holiday , and she will soon return home to resume our daily routine,  and all that was familiar and comfortable.  That she would sit again in her prayer chair to read a verse or two from her devotional or poetry book to Gary , Gavin and me.  Something she thought was important to share, and hoping we’d let soak in.    But then I realize my Mother’s not coming back. She won’t be walking through the door, or asking me to get her purse, no more our going to St. Vinny’s together , or out to lunch with  friends. No more laughter and long talks we shared. She’s gone.  Some days I can barely stand it. The pain is so great.
   It’s called grieving. I’ve been reading a lot about it, the process, and have concluded grieving for a loved one never ends , we will always be missing,  and longing for that dear one who was such a vital, loving  part of our life; a void,  an emptiness is there now . How can it not be ? We are lonely, homesick for the one we love.  But I'm learning  we can also find solace in the Lord's word to us, His promise of resurrected life; that  one day we will be reunited with our deceased loved one(s) ; transfigured, made whole. Renewed.  Restored. Never to be separated again.  That is our hope. And  our trust in Him who is ever faithful. All in God's good time. Until then with the help of His  grace, and tender mercies we persevere and carry on, thankful for  caring friends and family who help nurture and love us;  cry with us, give encouragement, and listen with their heart.  I am so very  grateful for my dear family and friends who have done  this for me - giving me their time, being present to me, praying for me as I journey through the grieving process, missing my Mother.
    Mary Kay, the same Mary Kay I traveled Europe with for three months in 1974 believes past generations when families were inclined to be together and visit that conversation about the deceased more often, and perhaps more  easily would include stories and memories of the dead. Mary Kay says she  remembers even as a kid listening to the grown ups talk and hearing the conversations that kept departed loved ones in their life, sometimes even ones she'd never met became a part of her.  I share that experience. My Mother often talked of deceased great aunts and uncles, and others she loved and cared for  who had died before I was born, bringing them to life in her stories.  I learned to know them through Mom. And through the years as other family and friends died,including my darling brother, Walt we would think of them and talk  of them with sweet remembrance. 
    I don't recall exactly when but sometime during Mother's senior years she began inviting the deceased souls of beloved family and cherished friends into her front room to pray her morning prayers with her. Putting into practice her belief in 'communion of saints'. When Mom shared this with me I pictured  the dear ones she mentioned, and couldn't help but smile. As I reflect on this now, I am comforted in knowing Mother is with her circle of heavenly friends and family praying for me and her loved ones here on earth. True love is everlasting. It knows no boundaries;  not time, space or distance.  I miss my Mother's physical presence but her enduring love is ever present and eternal. 
    When Edgar A Guest wrote the following poem he said he always felt Mother's Day should be observed every day of the year . Good as it is to set aside one day in her memory, it is never enough. 
I agree. 

Never thought for self had she. 
   Never for herself ambition.
Goal of all her dreams were we,
   Holding us her earthly mission.

We were first in every thought.
    Friend or foe could not divert her.
Failing her in what she taught,
    We alone had power to hurt her.

Looking back, we know today
    We were source of all her gladness,
And whene'er we went astray
     We were source of all her sadness.

This the  mother that we knew !
    Never any life was purer.
Gentle, tender, brave and true,
    Never any love was surer!