No Nonsense Grammy

This morning, Renee came to me to tell me that she had been dreaming about Mom again. I think that she's very lucky to have this special connection with Mom; whether or not you believe in that kind of stuff, the conversations that the two of them have are so realistic to me that it's hard to discount the idea of it.

Either way, in this dream, Renee asked her Grammy what it felt like to die. Such a serious question, but so Renee.

In typical Grammy fashion, Mom said to her, "That is classified information, Renee."

 

Yup...no nonsense Grammy! Mark laughs how she would always tell you like it was, but do it in such a way that there was no way that you could be angry or resentful towards her.

I miss the twinkle in her eye and her spunky self so very much.

A Mother's Love

"There is nothing like a mother's love for her child."



Mom would often quote those words to me in hopes that it would help me to understand the decisions she would make regarding my sister, Renee. From the perspective of my 17 year old mind, I thought that she was just enabling her.

As time went on, I began to open my mind and heart to her sentiment as Mark and I became very involved in Renee's life. Although Renee was my sister and not our child, we loved her so much and only wanted the best things in life for her, just as any parent would.

And because of our love for her, when she passed away, we grieved as deeply as any parent would. Mark and I questioned our desire to become parents ourselves after living through such a heart wrenching experience. What would happen if something happened to our own child? If we felt this way about my sister, how could we even live if we lost our child? How in the world was Mom doing it?

As our friend, Michele, would say, Mom was a Rock Star. She carried herself through that horrible time in her life with grace and strength. She proved to the two of us that the fear of losing a child was not worth escaping the chance to experience that love for ourselves.



Four years later, we were finally blessed with a little girl of our own. We decided to name her after my sister, Renee, in honor of her loving and generous spirit. And though this blog post is mostly about a mother's love, as parents, Mark and I were instantly and hopelessly in love with this little person.

So THAT'S what Mom was talking about! That deep, intense love that would make you do anything for your child!

Let's compare the two photos above. One was taken in 1969 as Mom held me. The other was taken in 1999 as I held Renee. Do you notice any similarities? Yup! That look in our eyes? Adoration.

Mark called it! Mom was always right, and always the All Knowing One! Ha!

As our little peanut grew into a young lady, this love would eventually push me to throw away the parenting books and just trust in myself. This love encouraged me to really listen to this sweet, loving person, who just happened to be a very intuitive and feeling child.

Was that the easiest route? Not at all. Did everyone agree with me? Not always, but thank goodness I always had Mark and Mom to stand by to support me when I had to make a choice that might not be well received by others.

Mom had raised her girls more traditionally than Mark and I were raising Renee, but I think that life and its experiences had opened her eyes to see things in a different light. I especially became aware of this towards the end of her battle with leukemia when she became very protective of Renee and her feelings. She wanted Renee to be able to make choices regarding how much (or how little) she needed to deal with regarding Mom's end of life choices. She constantly reminded me to always remember that she didn't want her death to be a scary or terrible experience for Renee. She wanted Renee to remember the good times that she had shared with her Grammy, and never to feel guilty about the way she was (or was not) dealing with her death.

Yesterday, as we were driving to the medical school in Macon for the memorial service for Mom, Renee quietly told us that she wasn't sure if she really wanted to go. As the miles passed by, her insistence grew stronger and she became more upset.

I really want to blame myself for this, seeing that I was also very conflicted about attending. I've often said that Renee is a barometer for others' feelings, and I wonder if she was picking up my vibes of uncertainty?

Either way, by the time we arrived, poor Mark was beside himself as he couldn't resolve this emotional situation which had escalated out of control.

After taking a deep, cleansing breath, Mom's voice suddenly popped into my brain, which was quite full of turmoil at that moment.

"There is nothing like a mother's love for her child."

At that moment, I knew what I had to do. I turned to Mark and asked him if he would please go in for all of us, and I leaned over to hug my daughter. As she melted into me, I knew that I had made the right choice.



It's the choice that Mom would have wanted me to make as well. My heart tells me so.

Comfort

Grief and comfort; these two things usually go hand in hand. When someone is in pain from grief, it is human nature to want to reach out to comfort that person.

I have joked that when it comes to grief, I live in denial. I don't know if that's what it is exactly, but pushing the reality of the loss of a loved one out of your mind and your daily life is probably more like it. Some would argue that it's not healthy, but it works for me. Trust me, I have plenty of days of tears and being immersed in the reality of it all. I just choose not to remain there.

It was learning by example, I'm sure. I watched my Mom do it (and my Dad not do it) when my sister died. I knew that I could never get through a day if I let myself go where my Dad did. Everyone handles things in their own way, though, so we tried to comfort him the best way we could.

Comfort.

I'm sure that word means different things to different people. For my Dad, we quickly learned that it didn't mean talking about my sister, Renee, or even telling funny stories about her. For Dad, it meant listening when he needed to share, spending time with him, and eventually, it did include stories and laughter in remembrance.

Comfort.

One year ago today, I sat in an empty hospital room next to my Mom, who had just taken her last breath. Mark and Renee were trying to make their way up to Atlanta to be by my side, and I had never felt so alone in my life. There was a knock on the door, and in walked the hospital chaplain. He was a very sweet man who had been asked to come in to comfort me. I am ashamed to even admit this, but as this kind, gentle man attempted to comfort me in prayer, I was angry. Angry at God for taking her from us, angry at God for not allowing her passing to be in the comfort of our own home, and angry at this dear, kind chaplain for trying to comfort me. I feel so terribly guilty even sharing that.

On a humorous side note, Mark always teases me that I should have been born into a Jewish or Catholic family with all of the guilt that I carry. Since I am neither, what in the world is my excuse? Ha!

Pushing the guilt aside, I realize that those feelings of anger were fueled by my immense grief. Deep down inside, I really was gracious and thankful for the chaplain's kind words of prayer and comfort. At that very moment in time, though, just moments after my Mom's passing, our ideas of the definition of comfort were not on the same page. Just like my Dad didn't like hearing funny stories about Renee, I didn't want to hear that Mom was finally with Jesus. Finally? She was only 70 years old! Was that too long for her to be with us on this earth? Even the mention of Mom and my sister, Renee, being reunited in Heaven didn't help. Perhaps it was too soon for me to find comfort in that? Maybe in different circumstances or at a different time it would have been welcomed?

Comfort.

Once we left the hospital and began to share the news of Mom's passing, comfort came to us in so many forms.

~Words of love and support on our Facebook page and this blog.

~A home cooked meal with brownies for dessert to entice me to eat when I couldn't even think about putting anything into my tummy.

~Beautiful flowers, baskets filled with nourishing treats, cookies, and chocolate dipped fruit.

~The most lovely cards, which made me cry, yet feel so loved.

~Being taken out to dinner even when I didn't feel like going.

~The generous gift of plants and trees so that we could create a memorial garden in Mom's honor.

~A simple phone call to let us know we were being thought of.

~The flowers in Mom's memorial gardens blooming.

~Laughing with Mark and Renee as we shared stories of our very own 'Wilson'. Unlike my Dad, talking about her did make us feel better.

~Hugs. Lots of hugs.

All of these things did not make me angry, and in some way or another, I found comfort in each one of them. Matter in fact, I don't know how we would have gotten through this year without them.

Comfort.

And today, on the anniversary of Mom's passing, there was the gift of this song by Jason Mraz. If you've taken the time to read my rambling babble up to this point, please take a few minutes out of your day to listen to this. You will understand why I am asking you to do this once you hear his most beautiful lyrics.




Just like my Dad eventually found comfort in the funny stories of my sister's life, I realize that finally, I am open to different forms of comfort. Today, I am comforted by these lyrics, which are such an example of how Mom felt about life...and death.

But if love
If love is all there ever was
There will be peace on the other side
Years go fast
Live each day like it's your last
Me I'm gonna go out dancing
'Cause when I die
I'm know I'm gonna fly
Into an angel's hands
You are loved
You are loved
You are....loved

Yes, today, through my tears, I can imagine her, delivered gently into her Heaven by her angel's hands. She's been reunited with everyone she loved so much. I see her tending to her most favorite flowers and trees. She's not in pain. She is loved.

Comfort.

You are loved. That is my comfort today.

Death sucks for the living

Okay, maybe that title isn't the most ladylike that I've written, but today, that's just how I feel.

Last year, on this same day (February 20th), I wrote about my sister, Renee. It had been 15 years to the day since her death, and I finally felt as though I was in a better place with 'living' with that realization. I know that sounds totally dramalicious and all, but for a family who just lived in denial about it most of the time (how else do you survive?), it was a big thing!

Here we are again, one year later, 16 years since she left us, and I feel like I have taken about 10 steps backwards. Mom's death has a lot to do with that, I'm sure. It's been almost a month since we lost her. An important part of our support system is gone; we all leaned on each other and lifted one another up on the tough days.

The other day, I wrote to my friend, Lynne, about some recent 'Deep Thoughts by Mare'. Scary, yes, but most of my deep thoughts are emotionally charged ramblings that come from the heart. If those kinds of things freak you out, just close the page now. That's the only warning I am going to give you, so don't blame me later on! ;)

If you are still reading, here are some bits and pieces of what I shared with her. Today, they seem so relevant to me for some reason.



I've been thinking a lot about death, and it's strange how similar, yet different, it can be for each person in your life that you lose. When we lost my sister, Renee, almost 16 years ago, it was sudden and unexpected. She traveled often, so although there was such a void in our lives, our brains dealt with the loss by just pretending she was away again. That was all fine and good until the reality of it all set in during the most unexpected times. I remember sobbing in Mark's arms when we took a cruise we had planned to take with Renee. The smell of the ocean (she was a total beach bum) just hit me like a ton of bricks. It was reality smacking me right in the face!



I lost my Dad just a little over 3 years ago. Although my parents divorced when I was 5, I was very close to him. We shared a love of horses and guitars/music, both of which he did for a living. When we moved from New Jersey to New York, he would drive the 3 hours from Pennsylvania to come up and visit us. He loved little Renee so much, and there was nothing better in life to him than just being her Poppy. Then Mark got the job in Georgia. This was very hard on all of us, especially when Dad suffered a stroke and I couldn't be there to help and support him through his recovery. We spoke on the phone numerous times during those long weeks, but it wasn't the same for either of us. Dad died at the end of the year, and it wasn't a good type of closure for me. There was a huge amount of guilt on my part. Again, like with my sister, there were miles between us so it wasn't in my face 24/7. It gave me time to come to terms with the loss before I had to recognize that he was really gone.



With Mom, it feels different. Not only has she been with us since Mark and I got married (20 years ago this November!), but our lives have revolved around her cancers for the past two years. Everything that we did (Renee's homeschooling, shopping, vacations, what I was going to cook for dinner) was scheduled around Mom. It feels weird to just be able to pick up and go somewhere without having to make sure Mom is okay. It almost makes me feel guilty.



Mom and I would always joke about how I would deal with her being gone. Her favorite scenario was that Renee and I would make a life-sized cut-out of her and sit it in the glider in her room so that I could walk in there and talk to her...lol! It was something that we did everyday; I would make her coffee, walk it into her room, and we would chat about anything and everything. She thought the idea of me having conversations with a piece of cardboard after she was gone was hysterical!



Mom just had a fantastic sense of humor about it all, but we were very realistic about how our lives would eventually end up. She told me a long time ago that she had 70 wonderful years on this earth, and when God decided it was her time to go, she didn't have any choice in the matter anyway. How true that ended up being; she never did get to die at home with hospice and her family surrounding her with love. Instead, it was just the two of us in a hospital room. I am just so thankful that my stubborn side came out of hiding and I stayed with her, Lynne. I don't know how I would be dealing with the guilt of not being with her when she died.

Deep thoughts, indeed. Sometimes, I curse the fact that I am such a sensitive, feeling woman. On days like this, I wish that I wouldn't even think about the fact that it is a 'death anniversary'. How stupid is that? I know we all should be celebrating life, but my emotions are just too caught up in the reality of the moment. I'm sure if Mom's death wasn't so recent, it wouldn't be as raw to me today.

It also wouldn't be as obvious that three people who walked through this life with me aren't walking beside me any longer. That feels kind of weird.



But yet, here we are, Mark, Mare, and little Renee, three beings touched by the love of some amazing souls yet left without their presence on this earth. We all know they are in a better place, but our daily lives feel so empty without them. We are all so lucky to have each other, though. Maybe that is their gift to us?

As I sit here trying to find a way to end this post in a positive light, Renee just showed me a quote that popped up on a game she was playing on her computer.

"A well spent day brings happy sleep, so life well used brings happy death." ~Leonardo Da Vinci

Wow.

Are there angels watching while I vent here on our blog? Perhaps they feel as though I need some positive light sent my way via Renee's 'Virtual Families' game? If so, then many thanks, angels who watch over me.

And now that positive light is radiating from my soul, I can honestly say that no matter how many years they had on this earth, Mom, Dad, and Renee loved with all their hearts. If that isn't using life to the fullest, I don't know what is.

Maybe death doesn't have to suck for the living. Maybe death is a reminder to live and love and fight the sadness with all that you are.

Today, in honor of my sister, I am going to focus on the love that they all so selflessly gave to me. I doubt I would be the person I am today if I didn't experience that love.

And today, I am going to send love back to all who have stood by us during these sad days in our life. Words could never express how amazing you have all been. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Now that I have worked through all of that, what should I do about the title of this post? ;)

What is the definition of generous?

Generous (adj.)

generous - willing to give and share unstintingly; "a generous donation"
charitable - full of love and generosity; "charitable to the poor"; "a charitable trust"
generous - not petty in character and mind; "unusually generous in his judgment of people"
unselfish - disregarding your own advantages and welfare over those of others

The only thing missing from those definitions is a photo of my Mom. In life, she was such a caring, giving woman. Before she retired, she worked as a nurse who cared for geriatric patients, most of whom were at the end of their lives on this earth. A few days ago, before we lost her, I was filing some papers away and found some cards that were given to her by patient's families. While reading them I felt such happiness; they were talking about my Mom! She loved and cared for her patients as though they were her own family, and her kindness and generosity was always so appreciated by their loved ones.

Now, in death, she is doing one of the most generous things I believe a person can do. She made the very altruistic choice to donate her body to a University/School of Medicine here in Georgia. Her decision was based on not only the memory of her days in nursing school (where there was a serious lack of cadavers to learn by), but also by the knowledge that her lymphoma and leukemia could possibly help someone battling those terrible diseases in the future.

I am crying tears of pride as I write this tonight. Although we won't be having the traditional funeral or service, just knowing that her gift will enrich and expand a future doctor or nurse's knowledge brings me such peace.

Although I was the only one there with her when she took her final breath, Mark and Renee came to be by my side as quickly as they could safely get to the hospital. We said our last goodbyes in a lovely, quiet room, just the four of us. We had plans for her last days to be at home with us with hospice, but that wasn't meant to be. Instead, we shared an experience that reminded me so much of the day Renee was born, except that we were saying goodbye to Mom instead of hello to baby Renee. There were tears, hugs, and smiles. It seemed surreal, yet perfect, that we were able to be there together. It was just a special, beautiful moment in our lives.

She will be with us forever, in our hearts.

Forever Young

Forever young.

That's what my sweet friend Gail left as a comment after I posted on Facebook that my sister Renee would have been 38 years old today.

She was born on April 27th, 1971, two years my junior, the blond to my auburn. We lost her when she was just two months shy of turning 24.



After fighting as most sisters do through our teen years, she happily agreed to walk me down the aisle to marry the man who would love me forever. As we strolled towards his smiling face, we both cried like crazy. She leaned down and whispered in my ear that I was the most beautiful bride ever, which made me cry even harder.



A few years later, the three of us traveled together on a dream vacation to Mexico. She got tan, I got sunburn, and Mark stepped in to play her bodyguard when quite a few men in Cancun wanted to whisk her away and marry her.



A year later she was gone. Our family would never be the same, but in some ways, the loss of someone we loved so much made us appreciate each other even more.

Gail, who loved Renee as her own, also wrote to me today that the warm weather makes her think of Renee. My sister absolutely loved the beach, and it was the place that made her happiest. I've read that some believe that Heaven is your own idea of utopia. If that is true, then I'd like to paint a picture of Renee's Heaven...

The scent of suntan lotion permeates the air, nature's boom box plays the sound of waves crashing on the shoreline, coral painted toes are buried in the sand, and there's not a care in the world.

If I could imagine her anywhere, that would be it.

And somehow, that thought makes me smile a little on a day when I miss her so, so much.