After two days of thunderstorms, the sun is out. I need a shower. And want a long walk alone with my thoughts. Or rather, my feelings.
My mother died yesterday. Only the day before, my family (my father and my seven siblings, yes, seven) had a gathering via zoom (since we span three continents) to discuss the developments of my mother’s illness. I had known she was dying for a few years, since she’d told us that she’d been diagnosed with a rare form of muscular dystrophy and I decided to research what it was and what that meant for her. As I witnessed her decline from a distance through conversations, texts, and photos from my siblings- I have not seen her since 2015, and not talked with her since 2019 or 2020 (I’m not sure of when we last talked), I found myself more and more distressed at the pain and suffering that our medical and pharmaceutical institutions were able to prolong. Despite our rocky relationship and my need for strong boundaries with her, I did not wish this for her; rather, I wished that she would be free of this misery. In short, I wished for her death.
After the call with my siblings, I was debating whether or not to go and be with her. I believe that no one should have to die alone, and, again, despite the complicated nature of our relationship, I was willing to try to figure out how to go and be with her till the end. Could I find a cheap ticket? Where would I stay? Would I even be allowed to be with her since I am cvd-unvaccinated? I asked my partner, G, about his experience with his father, who died of brain cancer over a dozen years ago. He was with his father when he took his final breath. What was it like? How did he know to be there? He shared his experiences, but I was no closer to any decision.
Then, while watching videos of the Smothers Brothers, laughing heartily - we didn’t have a television growing up, but my father had a couple of records of their performances - I decided to check my phone. I saw over a dozen messages in my family chat group, opened them and my eyes fell on a message that contained the word “morgue.”
I was a bit stunned, but also not really. The day before, my brother and I were texting about our mother and her dying and both of us found ourselves curious as to how we would experience this. And so here I was, noticing that I didn’t feel the urge or need to cry. There was no feeling at all, other than utter acceptance. It was only when I read more of the messages, and as I verbalized some of what I’d been thinking about lately with G, that occasional tears flowed. I noticed that I did not, and do not, feel grief about her passing. The sadness I felt was for my dad, who I know loved her dearly. For my eldest sister who had just shown me the beautiful quilt, she’d just finished for our mother to have with her in her final days. I felt sad for my family. I thought I might feel relief, for now, she was out of pain, but I also didn’t and don’t feel that either. I thought I might feel regret for not having spoken to her for some time, or not having visited her. I don’t. I simply feel nothing. I am uncomfortably numb, uncomfortable because I value feeling emotions, I feel alive when I have experienced them.
I’ve alluded to the complicated relationship with my mother. On several occasions I have attempted to write about this, most recently, I started a letter to her, that I knew I would likely never send, but I couldn’t find the right words and some of it just felt as though I were re-hashing things that now don’t feel so important a necessity to express.
My mother was most likely suffering from untreated mental illness or comorbidity of mental illnesses that most markedly included a hefty dose of narcissism. Much of my experiences with her were painful physical and many times cruel mental/emotional abuse. Unlike most of my siblings, I was unable to maintain close or sustained contact with her. And yet, despite this, or perhaps because of this, I have always managed to find some love and compassion for her. Hence my wishing that she not suffer.
I imagine over the next days, weeks, months, and years, as I continue to reflect, the numbness will abate and give way to emotions waiting to be released. Until then, I remain presencing my numbness.
Perhaps your numbness is that you are still processing the passing of your Mom. A moment you knew was inevitable, even welcomed because of her suffering, but now a moment past any chance of saying things you have been holding in for so long. The painful feelings that have lived there in your heart. Probably not having been able to get there before she passed did not make a difference. Maybe even is a relief to not have to try to explain again your grief at missing her love and the care we crave in a mother. Who knows why she could not display that. It was not your fault. You were just a child. But now she is gone and you are left to reconcile your feelings. Numbness now, but I think you will feel more. Maybe it is a matter of taking the chance to allow yourself to feel those emotions. Crying is ok. Relief. The past cannot be changed, but you might think of things in a different light. As you alluded to, she may have had her own issues in life. That is how I reconciled my distance from my own Mother. I think we both missed a chance at something. I don’t know why. But I came to embrace my own self. Sometimes I love me and sometimes I don’t. I am grateful for my qualities that I like and keep working on the ones I don’t. Life is a work in progress. Hopefully we learn lessons from our experiences. Maybe you are a better Mom to Seth because of your past. Take your time. Much love.
So sorry for your family's loss, and most of all, for the distant relationship that could not be bridged. Both you and your mother deserved better. Death brings strong emotions one way or another, even the death of a troubled parent. But it also brings an opportunity for us to prepare for our own death. It is a learning experience that cannot be created at will; it only comes with a dose of luck and the will to be present. Your numbness is a valuable protection for your own psyche, but it also robs you of an important experience. Only time will allow you some insights and relief. And hopefully you can be present for your father's passing, or someone else close to you. The circle may be broken, but may it also be closed, by and by.