Grief comes in waves; some are ripples and others tsunamis

The thing about grief, as many have described it, is that it comes in waves. Some waves are ripples. Others are tsunamis. It has been nearly a decade since the loss of my mother, and still I can rarely predict when grief will hit me or just what intensity of wave it will bring.

This morning It I was hit by a ripple that grew bigger as I reminisced in my mind of the beautiful spirit that is gone from this world and the complicated relationship we shared. Instead of suppressing them, I allowed myself to surf through my feelings, and I let the tears flow.

Remembering my mom during my birthday week

This is my birthday week, and this week nine years ago my mother went in for a new-fangled procedure that knocked her down. She had told me she was going in for a checkup to see if her lung cancer had returned. But she already knew that it was back.

She hid the fact that she was not really going in for a checkup but rather a new-fangled procedure to treat the cancer that had spread to her brain.

Instead of helping, the procedure robbed her of much of her cognitive ability, leaving her unable to control her bodily functions. In one fell swoop, she went to being the rock I could always rely on to becoming the dear soul who needed others to feed her, clean her, and provide her with round-the-clock care.

When I visited the hospital the day after her botched medical procedure, I brought cantaloup and watermelon to her bedside, per her request. She loved melons and had been craving them all summer. As I began to feed her, I choked back tears and suppressed the knot in my throat. I remembered when I was a child how she would cut me slices of cantaloup for my breakfast, skillfully peeling the rind to give me a chunk “with no green on it”.

On the day of my 44th birthday that week, she didn't remember it was my birthday until the nurse mentioned it to her. Immediately, in spite of her diminished condition, she asked for her wallet and dug in, finding and handing me a hundred-dollar bill. Somehow in all the chaos of her mind she was able to recall how I had told her what I wanted most for my birthday that year - an annual National Parks Pass.

The gesture meant the world to me, but even after buying the pass I found it difficult to use it. Mom held on from August through October, and every time I drove from Virginia to Pennsylvania to visit, I would drive through the mountains, passing Shenandoah National Park along the way. But I would never go in. I just couldn't enjoy myself outdoors while she was stuck in a hospital bed with nary a view from a distant window.

I would also pass along the way to see her farm stands replete with the colorful marigolds of the season. In brighter times, she and I would shop the farm stands together, and she'd buy several potted flowers to adorn the front of her home. We had done this every fall for as long as I could remember.

Although I never made it to the hiking trails of Shenandoah National Park during the entire time she was in the nursing home. She entered hospice and passed away on the most beautiful day of fall, 2015, and the next day I finally made my way back up into the mountains. I found the parks pass that had been shoved deep in my glove box, and I made my way to the trailhead and experienced a most sorrowful.

Along the way I became disoriented, and I slouched along the trailside to indulge myself in hardy cry. I had missed the turnoff to the summit, as it was not a popular destination and so had become overgrown. Just then, I saw a blue butterfly, and it made me smile. “Hi mom”, I said. Then it disappeared into the brush and I instinctively followed it. To my surprise, I found myself on the hidden trail, and within minutes I was treated to one of the most beautiful views I had ever seen. 

I know deep down that the butterfly wasn’t really her, but to this day whenever I see a blue butterfly it makes me think of my mom. I am reminded that her soul is free from the confines of her failing body, and she is at peace. And just as suddenly as the wave of grief crashed upon my subconsciousness, my raging thoughts are quelled and the placid crystal blue waters of my mind return.