Forgiveness.

I have tried to write this post for about two years. It’s been almost two long years since I have last spoken to my mom, touched her, told her I love her, or physically laid eyes on her.  Losing my mother was one of the most beautiful and terrible experiences I have experienced so far in life. Some days feel more difficult than others, by far. I think I’ve always had trouble sharing this story because I don’t like being vulnerable, which must run in the family. My sisters and I didn’t shed one tear at our mom’s funeral. Not because we didn’t care, but we just don’t show our emotions very publicly. Many of my friends have had to ASK me intimate questions about all of this because I DO NOT talk about it. But I’m ready to begin healing. I’m ready to talk about it. I’m ready to forgive and move on in my life. 

I knew my mom was going to die before she ever told me. She had been battling cancer for about 6 years, and she had always looked very healthy and beautiful. You would have never known she was sick unless she told you. She did not like the pity, something that runs in the family. I vividly remember sitting in class in September thinking, “next month my mom’s going to die.” I just knew. There were so many physical changes in not only the things she could do but also her appearance. It was the beginning of a massive heartbreak.

 I believe watching someone you love slowly deteriorate is worse than the surprise. You’re constantly wondering “is today the day? Is she doing to die when I go home to sleep? When I go take my midterm?”. I was in a constant state of anxiety because I wanted to be there for her, but also did not know how to even live my life without her. I had spent 20 years with my mom. I was terrified to be all alone. Just me and my two little sisters, who I’m supposed to care for, whether they need it or not. I am the oldest and that’s just what we do. 

For six years my mom battled cancer alone, despite having her large family. A single mom of three girls, with little outside support… Things were hard! My mom would never lead anyone to believe our life was anything aside from normal unless she truly trusted you. My mother had a consistent few people in her life, and I don’t need to name them. They don’t need validation because they know they were around. I am grateful for those who helped take care of my mother through the YEARS, not the last two weeks she was alive. If I sound angry it’s probably because I’m still learning how to forgive everyone who was never around for my mother, those who said they would be around for her but never followed through, and those who were around when it was convenient for them. I’m not even mad they didn’t even think about my sisters and me, I’m hurt they didn’t show up for my mother until she was on her death bed, literally. 

Moving my mother to hospice was terrifying. People go to hospice to die, and I know that. The first time I went to visit her I had such bad anxiety. I had to face people I had not seen in years because they were overwhelmed with guilt and wanted to be there for my mom her final days of life, to appease their own guilt. Sitting with them in her room was always awkward, like a bunch of strangers bunched together for one amazing woman. I have always been a peacekeeper and didn’t let my feelings be known in front of everyone. It was about my mother NOT me. Thankfully, through it all, I was comforted by my wonderful partner at the time who was more than amazing to me through the entire experience. I will forever be grateful for having a partner who was so kind, supportive, and understanding of the entire ordeal, even after her death. 

Every day she was in hospice my anxiety grew. At first, she was very aware of everything that was happening, she would talk, eat, laugh, watch TV. Probably by day 3 or 4 my mother could no longer feed herself. One of the hardest moments of my life was feeding my mother MILK by using a straw to drop some in her mouth. Eventually, a few days later, the doctors told me we had to stop feeding her because it was prolonging the process. She wanted to stay alive. She wanted to be here. She was scared. She would ask for milk or to use the bathroom whenever she felt scared that she was going to pass. She kept herself here as long as she could. 

I remember sitting around her bed, trying to make conversation with the family members that were in the room. I remember I said something along the lines of my mother was the only one out of her 10 (11 including her) siblings who had three children. Everyone else had less. My mother was asleep, or so I thought because out of nowhere my mother goes “Should’ve stopped,” in the faintest voice. I couldn’t help but laugh. I said don’t worry mom, I won’t tell Amanda you said that. That was just one of the first memorable conversations I had in Room #123. 

There were only two bad moments my sisters and I had experienced in hospice because it truly was a beautiful peaceful place. My mother had 2 specific brothers, Jim and Tim, who were causing problems with the rest of my mom’s family, making it about them and not my mom. They refused to sit in the room with the rest of the family. Now for this next conversation, I am SO grateful my sisters weren’t in the room to experience. Everyone was sitting around my mother, sharing stories, and trying to keep the peace when Tim came into the room, no problem I don’t care you can be there for my mom. However, he had asked everyone to leave the room so he and Jim could say goodbye to my mother. Without hesitation, I shot back at them, “No one is leaving the room. You guys are more than welcome to come in and say goodbye to her but no one is leaving the room, this is about my mom, not you.” He didn’t say a word back to me but went into the commons area to tell Jim what had occurred. A few moments later the both barged back into the room in anger, giving my mom a kiss on the head and saying, “I’m sorry THESE people won’t let us say goodbye to you.” Before Jim left the room he made sure to yell, “Jenny (my mom) asked me to kill her.” Which for a variety of reasons is fucked up to say. 

1. If she did say that she was quite doped up. She thought Scooby-Doo was in the room.
2. If she did say that, why would you tell her child that?
3. I don’t think my mom said that. She was TERRIFIED to go naturally, and you wanted to say she wanted to be MURDERED?  

I was extremely angered by that conversation but I kept my cool for my mom. I wanted everything to be peaceful for her. I wanted her to feel like she was leaving the girls and me in the hands of people who would be there for us, even though I knew I was lying to her. I let it be. 

If you know me you know that I’m a huge believer in signs. My mother being in Room #123 was already a sign to me (synchronicity). As her time neared closer my mother kept telling me how scared she was. How could I blame her? She was laying in bed, quite medicated, and asked me if I would “go with her”. I remember telling her, “it’s not my time yet mama, I can’t.” That broke me into a million pieces. My mom wanted nothing more than to be comforted and I had nothing to offer her. Until the next day. Her neighbor in Room #124 was an elderly gentleman named Frank, and he passed away the evening my mother asked me to go with her. The next day Frank’s room was filled with another elderly gentleman named Walter. My mother’s father’s name is Frank Walter. I knew it was a sign. I went into my mom’s room that beautiful Sunday and knew what was going to happen. The light was shining so brightly, the fall weather was crisp yet offered warmth, and Sunday’s happen to be my favorite day of the week. I walked right over to my mother and sat next to her, like always. I said, “Remember when you told me you were scared? Your first neighbor was named Frank. Now you have another neighbor named Walter. Like your dad, Frank Walter. He’s here for you. He knows you’re scared and he’s here to help you. Don’t be scared.” I could feel the peaceful energy that gave my mother. I knew her day was going to be that Sunday, October 14th, 2018. 

All of my mom’s family was gathered around her. I think I counted 29 people in the room with her as she passed away. It was beautiful, mostly. My sisters and I all held her hand, talking to her, telling her it’s okay and that we would be fine. Two of my mom’s brothers were holding her other hand, giving her kisses and talking so sweetly to her. I loved that moment. She was the little sister being taken care of the way she deserved to be taken care of her entire life. She looked just like a child to me at that moment. This beautiful moment was ruined by Jim. He barged into the room, ran up to my mom, and was practically yelling at her to “let go.” “Come on Jenny. You can do this. You’re almost there Jenny. Let go Jenny.” I don’t even want to think about all the dumb ass shit he said in front of my sisters and I. I regret not telling him to get the fuck out of the room. As soon as my mother took her last breath he went to grab the nurse and left the building before she even announced the time of death. He ruined a peaceful moment for my sisters and I. I will never forget what he said or how he behaved. But I’m going to try to learn to forgive, in time, for ME to find peace. 

When our mother died I don’t think that any of us really knew how to deal with it. We all knew it was coming, but there’s really no way to prepare for something you’ve never experienced. Preparing for her funeral was hectic and stressful. I had so much to do in a few days (I picked out her casket flowers and created her giant collage ❤ ) while struggling to be able to do anything. I couldn’t clean my house. I wasn’t hungry. I could not do anything but cry at home. But I pushed through it ALL. I kept going to my college classes. If Amanda couldn’t drop out of high school there was no way I was taking a break from college. And I finished that semester only missing class the day after my mom passed away. I went to work the day after her funeral. My sister Megan and friends helped me clean my house when they would come over. My sisters and friends are an amazing support system. Since my mother’s death/funeral I have only heard from ONE of my mother’s siblings. I am grateful to another one of her siblings for caring for Amanda until she moved out, but that’s about as much of my mom’s family interaction as I’ve had since 2018. Maybe they didn’t think we needed to be looked after? Maybe they were just trying to please my mother before death so they wouldn’t feel so guilty about not being around…I don’t know. I was very angry at everyone and I don’t want to be anymore. Regardless of what has happened in the past, I KNOW who my real family is. 

I am so grateful that my sisters and I have each other. They are real, strong support systems despite having just as much on their own plates. I am grateful for the few specific people who reach out to my sisters and me. We notice who is there for us and we are eternally grateful for those who make us feel like part of their own family (Dawn!!!!). I think that my sisters and I still have some healing to do in regards to grieving our mother. But this feels like the first step in the right direction. I want to forgive everyone to ease MY hurt. I refuse to hold onto this anger, pain and sadness anymore. I have told my story and I’m ready to move on.

“Forgiving isn’t about being nice to them, it’s about being nice to yourself”–Jen Sincero, You Are A Badass. 

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading about this part of my life. I already feel so much lighter and truly ready to continue BLOOMING. 

XOXO,

Morgan Hope