My Mother’s Passing

Waves of intense sadness come over me

at the weirdest times.

Brushing my teeth.

Listening to the words of a song,

which mom would have never heard.

Hovering over my computer

writing about something unrelated,

but somehow related.

A flash of her sitting

in her favorite chair

leaning on her left elbow.

Distinctive expressions of her dad

are evident.


but with a slight twinkle in her eye

and that playful, crooked smile.


A mother going through the motions.

Wanting to carry on,

but not wanting to carry on.

Weary of trying to be strong.

Reluctantly succumbing

to the darkness of grief.

Giving in.

Mourning losses.

Grieving humanity.

Harboring guilt.

Feeling profound emptiness.

Taking up space

in a chaotic world

with no place for her.

No longer wanting to

worry others.

Worn out from pain.

Wanting to rest easy.

Ready to float free

among the clouds.

In peace.

When Grief Overwhelms the Body and the Mind

I never imagined my mother would sink into a slow spiral of grief and depression after the death of my father. She was always a pillar of strength and resilience during my youth.

Grief had other plans for mom.

During the first year after dad’s passing, mom went through what I would describe as a “pink cloud”. The transition that recovering addicts go through before the reality that they have been numbing themselves to finally slaps them in the face. It can be a cruel awakening. But liberating if one can manage to re-orientate their behaviors and mindset to that new reality.

Grief counselors may call this denial.

Eventually grief weighed her down and did so internally. I am not sure she fully realized this descension. Her heart was no longer in the game.

She withdrew so very slowly. Under the radar. She was losing her spark and that spirit she had when dad was alive.

I don’t think it was deliberate. But when a part of one’s heart and soul vanishes no one can help recover it. There is a part of me that thinks she did not want to show her hand. But her grief was real and becoming tangible. Maybe there was guilt with not being able to move forward.

Dad’s memory was everywhere because he touched a lot of lives in the community, as she did. Not sure if that was a comfort for her or just a constant bittersweet lump in her throat. Probably both. I believe on some levels she went through the motions to help others deal with his loss. That was her modus operandi, after all.

Going Through the Motions

In retrospect, there were signs indicating her will to live was fading, Phone conversations she and I had were shorter than usual. In some ways this may have been mom’s way of avoiding my inquisition regarding her state of mind or health. She would attempt to say goodbye and I would start on another topic. It was frustrating, but understood. I was never much of a phone conversationalist, myself.

There are days when I have just gone through the motions. We all can attest to that behavior. Just getting by, surviving the day. Like a robot stiffly moving through each task on the docket. Some are unable to snap out of it.

When my dad passed away, my family was devastated. Not in a visible sense, but we all struggled internally. The patriarch of our family was gone and way too early. We were not prepared.

My siblings and I went through the motions. We did our due diligence with the service plans and dad’s wishes. We held up well when friends and family lavished us with sympathies. It is what people do and we did it. We did not break down to the point of making any kind of scene. Standing tall in the face of tragic events is what my family has always done. Our private selves find a quiet space in which to melt down. Expelling our despair individually.

My quiet personal space to melt down is on the canvas and with my writing.

The Unbearable Silence

Mom was in a great deal of physical pain, but equally intense was her grief and broken heart. Mom and dad were partners for 48 years. They set out to make a life at 19 years old, distancing themselves from their past.

Mom had a good life with dad, her children and friends. Silence was not part of that life. Although sometimes she wanted it to be. Their life was fulfilling, overwhelming, often frustrating. And far better than her youth as an only child of divorced parents in the late 40’s and early 50″s.

She had resigned herself to the fact that nothing could replace what was. There would be no replay.

Silence crept in gradually and made itself at home in her life.

That quiet uneasiness created a discomfort she would often ward off with the television. A constant din to alleviate the absence felt. Filling a void when needed.

We have had conversations about the differences between alone and loneliness. As an independent woman, she was okay living alone and said so repeatedly. In retrospect, I don’t think she was grasping how the isolation was affecting her internal state of mind. Fairly certain she was making these motherly proclamations so I would not worry.

A Generation Lost

Now both parents gone – it seems a generation has been lost. Questions unanswered. I am experiencing a sense of loneliness for some reason. I guess, the connection between us is stronger than I imagined. Her loneliness is being transferred to me. So what am I going to do about it, I can hear her say.

Do I carry a torch and what does that look like?

How am I going to visit mom now? How will she present herself?

I think she will float freely among the clouds. As a fervent cloud gazer and daydreamer that is how I want to remember and be visited by her.

An Artist’s Journey

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