Saturday Night

This note is not intended to serve as an obituary or as any sort of reflection on my mother's life. It is intended to mostly serve as a resource of information for friends and possibly as a place for me to share some of my feelings surrounding these recent events. For me, sharing is cathartic.

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On the afternoon of Saturday, December 15th, only two days after she celebrated her 63rd birthday, my mom took a nap from which she never awoke. She was at home and in bed. She was happy and in relative comfort. While certainly unexpected, this has been a long time coming for those who know her. It's an emotionally complicated experience for all of us.

Let me first acknowledge that the outpouring of love from friends near and far, past and present, close and distant has been beyond words. Truly, the response to her passing has been nothing short of Christ-like. I am deeply appreciative of everyone who has had a part in the support effort for my family and me. The broad and intimate impact my mother had on so many lives is acutely apparent.

Most people that know her know she suffered from Multiple Sclerosis (MS). I believe she was diagnosed in 1974 -- that's three years after her marriage to my dad, 5 years before the birth of my sister, 8 years before I was born, and 39 years ago total. The average life expectancy of someone with this disease is 35 years after diagnosis. I'm very grateful we were fortunate to be on the longer side of this average.

She was experiencing a period of relatively good health. MS is a non-linear disease; there are periods of soothing remission interlaced with bouts of uncontrollable neurological pain. While other health issues and discomforts were mounting, I'm comforted knowing that she was enjoying a period of relative remission. However, this is the jarring aspect of her passing. Personally, I have been mentally and emotionally preparing for her passing for many years. But I always expected it to be in a traumatic event -- (hopefully single) car accident, falling down the stairs, hitting her head on something, etc. She was such a fighter; it seemed crazy to think that a peaceful passing away was imminent.

However, the more I reflect on her life and recent circumstances, the more convinced I am that the timing is ideal.

She had recently enjoyed her birthday and was genuinely appreciative and surprised by the outpouring of affection directed towards her. She had recently seen her grandchildren, and had even more recently talked on the phone with us and my sister's family. She recently found something of special sentimental significant to her (lost for a period of months/years). On her final Sunday, she stood from the pulpit at church and spoke with power and conviction, testifying of the divinity and saving grace of our Lord and Savior.

She was not a material person. She did not want things and she did not want attention. She wanted opportunities to serve. She vehemently hated the concept that people would someday have to wait on her and serve her. She never came to grips with the fact that she was "sick" and needed help. She actively looked for those who were in more need than she, others whom she could help. Just a week before her passing, my mom (who herself needed a walker or wheelchair to get around) actually fell in a parking lot while taking an older friend to the doctor, while trying to lift this friend's walker out of the trunk. My mom did not have strength in her legs to stand back up, but with the help of good Samaritans she got back on her feet and she carried on helping this good friend of hers. It didn't matter if it took her 5 minutes, 5 hours, 5 days, or 5 months to complete a task. If there was something she was able to do for someone and the only obstacle was time, she was going to do it.

I cannot express how glad I am that she was able to live her life how she wanted until the end. She never had to feel like she was a permanent "burden" on anyone else. She didn't have to reach the point of complete physical deterioration while still having her mental faculties. Most importantly to her, I believe, is that she never reached passed the point of feeling useful. She was genuinely helpful to those around her, both in conversation and in action, until her final moments. I can't help but feel that if she had to choose a way to leave this life, it wouldn't be much different than the present reality.

I am mostly sad for my children. They love her so much. Of all the grandparents, she has played and talked with them the most, and had the most active role. We had intentionally fostered as close of a relationship as possible, knowing this day would come. Naturally, this closeness makes the current events more difficult. However, I'm buoyed up by my own experience. My father's parents both passed away when I was younger than my oldest son. Their memory has lived through my parents. I look forward to sharing countless experiences I've had with "Grammy" with my kids as they get older and the situations arise. It's important to acknowledge that they still have their "Grampy" and my wife's parents too. They're very fortunate and very much loved in this respect.

I'm also sad for my wife and sister. My relationship with my mom has significantly evolved over the past ten years. I have needed her less as a mother per-se, and more as a wonderful friend who is also my mother. I absolutely cherish the memories I have of my years with her. Meanwhile, she had become like a mother to my wife and, along with my sister, shared a special bond from mother-to-mother. Whereas I feel the change in my relationship with my mom over time has eased the grief of her passing, the change in my wife and sister's relationship may have made the event more acute.

I feel for my father. I've looked at my wife with new eyes the past two days. I can only imagine the pain of looking at her pillow, knowing that her head will never again rest there next to me.

As for me, I'm truly, honestly happy for her. Unless you've been there, you cannot comprehend what it is like to want to do so much, to be so mentally capable but feel so horribly trapped by a physical body that just won't cooperate. More-so than not cooperate, a body that oftentimes fights back. I read a description of cancer once that I think is applicable here. The author spoke of the battle with the disease as being like a bare-knuckle street fight, except where your opponent gets to set the rules and you know you can't win.

To understand my joy, you have to understand our faith. You have to understand that this life is but a short moment in the eternal timeline. While grieving is natural, it's supremely comforting knowing there's little reason to have regrets concerning the truly important matters, like how much she was loved or what kind of an impact she had. She is still alive in spirit. She's fully aware of our love for her. She's fully aware of all those things that are of true importance. She's aware of the impact she has had.

She is finally rid of that terrible mortal tabernacle and can finally enjoy some peace. I'm sure she is also sad to be apart for this time and anxiously awaits the grand reunion. In some ways, I feel like I did when my dad would leave for a long business trip when I was a little child. I knew he would come back someday, but it seemed like such a long time. I have no doubt of our eventual reunion. For me, this is hardly even faith -- it’s knowledge.

The response of friends has truly been a testament to her lasting impact and faith. She truly was a force for good in this life, and undoubtedly still is in the life hereafter.