Losing a Loved One at Christmas:: An Indigenous author shares her moms legacy of love
It is 6 days until Christmas. It is 2020, we are still in the middle of a Pandemic. My Mom died just before Christmas 11 years ago today.
Christmas is my favorite Holiday so I should be happy right now! My whole family has taken precautions, and steps for safety, amid the pandemic, in order to be together here in this house. Their childhood home, which I recently bought back (I lost it 7 years ago, and that is a story for another time). I love that they are bringing their children here and we can all be together. I should be happy.
Over the last few days, I noticed that I was a bit emotional. This morning, however, when I woke up, my emotions got away from me very quickly and I have been weepy all day. What does weepy mean? Weepy means that every single time I turn around, my eyes are tearing up and I am feeling sad, tears simply start rolling down my cheeks and I can’t even tell you why. I don’t know why. Then I realized, as I was brushing my teeth actually, and doing my normal “I love you” mirror work (thank you Louise Hay), that it has been 11 years, today, that my mother died. Right in front of me.
I stood there in front of the mirror and cried, saying over and over
“I love you, Mama.
I love you, Mama.
I miss you, Mama.
I miss you so very much.
Thank you for everything you ever did for me. For all of us.
I know you loved all of us so much.
I know you’re still here watching over us but, just once, I’d like to feel your soft skin against mine.”
I finally got myself together enough to head right back into my bed and lay still for a while. While laying there, I went back to that day, this terrible day, 11 years ago.
I need to make a correction; she died in front of as many of us (who loved her so very much) that could fit in her tiny bedroom, The bedroom where she had slowly wasted away for the previous three months.
My mom had been sick for a long time. She first contracted acute pancreatitis in 1977, the year her first grandchild, Francis, was born. She didn’t tell any of us, except to say that she had to be more careful about what she ate. As time went on, we started to understand more of what this meant. I say we, I mean my brother and sister and her husband, my stepfather Floyd. And of course, Ashley, the granddaughter that she and Floyd raised, and all her grandchildren knew.
We all knew that she would get sick, that it was painful; she couldn’t do certain things; she also had to wear soft clothing around her waist. We knew these things. What we didn’t know was how shocking it would be when the Doctor sent her home, saying there was nothing more they could do, in the fall of 2009.
We were not ready for this.
I flew in from Japan to do my part, not because anyone made me but I didn’t believe it and I just knew that if I helped her eat better, she could get better. I have to laugh at my naivety at this point, but, truly, I believe that we can only handle what we are ready for. There is no way I was ready to believe my mom would be departing this world soon. Not if I had anything to say, or do, about it. We went to work and had her upstairs bedroom made into HER room, complete with a bathroom. We knew that the stairs would be an issue and we wanted to make her as comfortable as possible. She was on a hospital bed in the living room while this modification was being made, quite cognizant, and quite able to still kick my ass in card games. Mom was a brilliant lady. We had great fun playing games when she could.
This wasn’t an easy time. She still fought me over things like butter in her oatmeal. She wanted her oatmeal the way she loved it: brown sugar and butter and milk. I wanted her to use a sugar alternative and no butter. I will never forget her stubborn face telling me she wouldn’t eat that shit. So, I’d have to go back into the kitchen and make it her way. The only way I could get her to eat was if I made things her way. That cracks me up right now but I will tell you, it was extremely frustrating at the time. You know, because I thought healthy food would cure her and all.
I also wanted her to stop smoking. I mean, seriously! Besides for her health, it was also because I was sleeping on the pull out couch in the living room where her hospital bed was. If she woke up in the night and wanted to smoke (which she did, Every. Single. Night), I would grumpily get up and put my bed away just so we could go outside in the Minnesota fall nights. Oh, Mom! How I treasure, now, those starry nights and quiet conversation! Finally, my sister Lela, helped me understand that she needed to do whatever it was that helped her feel better and I gave up that fight.
I gave her leg massages daily and it was my pleasure and my honor. Although, cutting her toenails was not my favorite part, but it had to be done. Caring for your ill loved one involves many things you really never thought you’d be doing.
The family was there for her too, I am sharing my part in this, just to be clear here. I was not alone helping with mom. I would announce loudly that it was someone else’s turn whenever I felt the need, and of course, they would step right in. We all took turns helping her.
The bedroom was almost ready and I was starting to accept the inevitable. I sat with my mom on the edge of the hospital bed and told her I would grant her any wish she wanted. What did she want? Did she want to take a trip? I would take her anywhere. London? Paris? New York? We had already been to these places together but I wanted her to know how serious I was about giving her what I realized would be a final wish.
She thought quietly for a few minutes and looked up at Floyd and then at me and said: “I want to marry Floyd again”.
Floyd, in his ever-present humor, made some kind of joke and we all laughed but, I told her we would do that.
I didn’t discuss this with her but I knew why she wanted to do this.
She wanted to declare her love for him in a big way, with all of us present. I was thrilled with this wish! I couldn’t attend their wedding in 1987, and most of her grandchildren were not present then either. Plus, I could tell how much this meant to her.
I decided that this was going to be a fabulous wedding, in her home, with all of us present. My kids didn’t live in Minnesota. Francis and his kids came in from Virginia. So did Nikole and her children. Curtis was in Japan and so was my bonus baby, Katherine. As they made plans to come home, the plans for the wedding were moving forward.
We would print out selections for flowers, take them into her room that she’d been moved into, and she would select what she wanted. We did the same for the wedding cake. She chose it all.
She asked for red, silky pajamas for her wedding “dress”.
Ashley found her wedding topper. Things were rolling along swimmingly and her house was full. She knew what was going on. She knew that they all came and it was the last time she would see them. At times, she got a bit snarky about it because she said we were trying to hide that. No, we were still in denial and it was important for us to all be together Mom, because we all love you so very much.
We took this whole wedding so seriously, and Floyd is not the serious kind of guy. I had to pull him aside and tell him, with tears in my eyes, that he had to ask Mom to marry him all over again. You see, my mom is the love of Floyd’s life. There is NO WAY he was ready to say goodbye to her. His humor was the way he was dealing with this great loss, to be sure. But, I wanted their wedding to be perfect in every way, and that meant a proposal from him. He agreed to do it, almost losing his composure, but he held it together. He is a Marine after all. He asked her during a commercial while they were watching a football game together. I was proud of him for following through.
I went shopping for her wedding dress. Now, our family home on the Indian Reservation is up in the boonies of northern Minnesota. It was December. She wanted red silky pajamas. Yikes.
Finally, in my 3rd store, at the K-Mart, I turned into the women’s section to see, all by itself, one last pair of red silky pajamas, in her size. I immediately broke down in tears and crumpled right there on the K-Mart floor, clinging to those pajamas as if my life depended on them. I was so grateful to get exactly what she wanted. My mom had worked so hard all of her life, and her life had been a hard one, finding the pajamas she wanted as a wedding dress was the very least I could do.
I took them home to her and she loved them.
Finally, the big day arrived!
It was a Monday. All of us were crammed in her home. The Nett Lake Baptist minister, Kevin Lasley, came in to do the ceremony. If you’ve read my first book, you know that my grandma was a product of the Boarding Schools so all of her children were raised as Christian and because of the way the Indigenous Americans were treated there, my grandma thought it was best for her kids to be Christian.
Mom surprised all of us by telling us that she wanted to stand. She was less than 100 pounds at this point but she insisted. She stood for the whole ceremony. My sister Lela and her husband, Fred, stood up for Floyd and Mom. We forgot a very important detail, a camera. At some point, along the way, someone said “Hey! Who’s got a camera!” oops. Someone took out their flip phone and tried to take photos. I assure you, the picture of my mom, standing there, shakily yes but still standing there with Floyd next to the Christmas tree, is forever etched in my mind but we do wish we could have gotten pictures of this beautiful event.
This would be the last time my mom stood up.
We got mom back into her bed, she enjoyed some of the amazing wedding cake made by my daughter, and she was exhausted. But, we pulled it off! It was amazing.
That week, we saw things happening that signalled the end was very close. She had finally given up smoking a few weeks before (she couldn’t get up any longer to smoke) and her days were spent in and out of sleep. The wonderful Hospice folks helped us enormously through this time. We helped each other.
She also spoke frequently about seeing people who had passed before her. We weren’t sure what it meant but then she started refusing food. It was getting so close and we couldn’t tell if she was fighting to stay or if she had given over to the idea that her time had come. On Friday night, the 18th, we all decided that we each needed to tell her it was ok to go. We would be ok. We knew she needed to know that we would be ok. We knew she must be suffering, even if she wouldn’t admit that to us. We all took our turns letting her know that. It wasn’t easy but it had to be done. For her.
At some point early in the evening, she needed to use the restroom. Now, mom had said at the beginning that she would never wear Depends and none of her children would be wiping her ass. So, we had installed a bidet in her bathroom and we always helped her go, in privacy. This night was no different, except that she was so weak after she went to the bathroom that I had to call my oldest, Francis, in to help her get into bed. My big boy with his strong arms ever so gently picked up his grandma and carefully put her back into her bed. The love (and care) he showed while doing this was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.
She was still in the red, silky pajamas. We kept trying to change her but she would adamantly refuse. We finally figured out that she had decided she wanted to die in them. All we could do was honor her wish. Until she “crashed” that is. She was a diabetic and her sugar went so low that she broke out in a sweat and drenched her pajamas. My sister and I joked about finally being able to get her out of those pajamas but that she was going to kick our butts when she became cognizant again.
We were all very restless that night. We all took short turns being with her on this night. She barely spoke, we knew the time was near. Ashley came out and told us she thought it was time. We all crowded into the room.
We all told her how much we loved her.
We watched her vein throbbing in her neck.
Until it didn’t.
My son cried out: “I’m not ready!”
I cried out: “no!”
The rest is a blur.
Until the gentleman came from the funeral home. He came alone.
He asked if someone could help carry my mom.
He had put her in a body bag. My son, who earlier, had ever so gently got her back into bed was the only one who could possibly help. It broke my heart, again, to watch him have to carry his grandma, this time in a body bag.
At the funeral, the same minister who did their wedding ceremony spoke about it. He spoke of feeling so much love in the house while he was there. He spoke about the legacy of love that she built, and left, in our family. I was happy, and I knew she was too, that this was her legacy, and it was noticeable outside of her family.
It has been 11 years. It took some time to get through the day without feeling a void. It took even longer to be able to celebrate Christmas as we buried her on the 23rd. I have learned so much since her passing. You see, she came to visit me a few years ago.
For some reason, I was especially tired on this particular day in 2016. I normally do not take naps but I was really really tired this day so I laid down. It was around 2 pm. Once asleep, I started dreaming about me and my kids going on a trip. We were in what looked like the presidential suite at the Homestead Resort. In my dream, I decided to lay down. I thought my eyes were closed but I saw her.
She came towards me and I immediately knew it was my mom. Except, instead of being sick and unhealthy, she was young and beautiful. Her hair was shoulder-length, even though she never had shoulder-length hair while on earth. It was dark and wavy. As she sat on my bed in my dream, I could “hear” her words though she didn’t speak out loud. It was as if I was reading her thoughts. She told me she loved me, and she missed me but that she was perfectly fine now. She was happy and she wanted me to tell everyone something. She asked me to tell everyone that everything really is going to be alright. She asked me specifically to tell my brother and sister, all the children. I told her (without speaking), that I would. I told her how happy I was to see her. And how beautiful she was! We had a great conversation, without speaking, and I could feel her warm touch on my leg where her hand rested.
Finally, she said she should go and she reminded me to tell everyone. As many as I could. Everything really will be alright.
She got up to leave and I realized that I was in my bedroom, and that is where she had been too. I wasn’t sure how this could happen but I did know with my dad’s near-death experience (read about it in my book, Warrior Spirit Rising), speaking without words was something that happened to him in his experience so it wasn’t that far fetched. Or was it? I didn’t care. I picked up the phone and immediately did as I was told. I told my family.
And now I am sharing it with you all. Why? Because my mom raised a good girl. One who listens to their mom, even if she had been gone from this world for years when the message came through.
Also, because even though I still miss her like crazy, especially during the Holidays, it is extremely comforting to me to know that she is, in fact, happy, and joyful and is there watching over all of us. Giving us love as she did in her earthly presence.
If you know someone grieving, most do silently, reach out to them. Just let them know that you are thinking about them. Tell them they are special. Tell them they make you smile.
Just.
Reach.
Out.
Nothing more is so important as to let people know you care.
I care for you. I hope you know that you are loved.
And
I hope you find comfort in these words.
I love you, Mama.
Thank you for everything.
