This interview was one of the only times that Mom and I spoke about her not being here. See, I still have trouble saying it. About her dying. With all my work that I had done leading grief counseling groups and reading on the subject, it remained the elephant on the table throughout the 14 months of her illness. But that was how she wanted it to be, and I was following her lead. She said early on that she didn't want "any bad news" from the doctors. And so, my husband and I filtered it. We stayed behind after doctor's appointments and asked questions like "How much time are we realistically looking at?"
But talking about death does not need to be negative. The focus does not need to be on loss, but rather on legacy. As you will find in the skillfully formed questions, Dr. Lorraine Hedtke is a master craftswoman, carefully carving out meaning from the mundane.
Who knew crocheting could hold so much meaning and serve to connect past and future generations of women?
I read a draft version of the chapter, but have yet to finish a read again. So, if you made it this far, thank you. Mom was a very private person, but obviously granted her permission for this to be used to help others. And that's just what this book will do, in due time. For now, it's hard to read through the tears. Although the focus of this interview, chapter and book is on the positive, and I remember being content that day, I am currently battling regrets that creep in when I think of her, and overshadow our would-be happy memories. From regrets that I didn't take leave from work and stay home with her those last months to regrets that I didn't stop her treatments earlier.
But how was I to know? And what would she say to counter this? "Don't be silly, Meggie. You did all you could have, and it was more than I could have hoped for or needed. And now that you have Autumn, you finally understand just how much I loved you, and how much I love you still. You wouldn't want Autumn feeling this way, just as I don't want you to shoulder that burden." I just have to let her voice be louder than mine, because I know it's the right one. Besides, the what-ifs will continue indefinitely if I let them. I have a ways to go, and work to do, as we approach the second anniversary of her death on October 8th. I hope to report to you in a few years time that I am past this phase, but still feel as close and connected to her as ever. Because that's the goal of this approach; actively fostering connections instead of "letting go" or "moving on."
I leave you with two photographs of Mom taken three years ago today. Right after she was diagnosed, had brain surgery and moved to Tustin to be closer to us, we walked to the park across the street from their new apartment. We put the diagnosis and fears aside and had a wonderful evening at a production of Hairspray. This is how I want to remember her, and her and I together. And this is how I want my memories and thoughts to be, instead of cluttered with the what-ifs.
Our daughter now has volleyball practice at this same park (pictured above) every Thursday evening. From there, I can see the apartments Mom, Dad, and Glen lived in after we moved them to Tustin for treatment and before she moved in with us, before this interview. Although I still wistfully imagine her living in the apartments still, and imagine how much more my children's lives would be enriched with her physical presence, she remains very much a part of our lives. Reading this now, nearly 9 years since her death, I do take away an indescribable amount of meaning. And presently, there are no tears as I read through it, indicating the ebbing of the sadness, which makes room for the joy and comfort that represent Mom. Since this has been written, we have visited the home she grew up in, and that speaks of, we have visited with her sister Anna, whom we have re-connected with and seen several times since her passing. In reading this, I realize that this is the summer to teach Autumn to crochet while sharing the stories, not just of mom but of her Mom and her grandmother (Autumn's great, great Grandma) Mary. I feel reinvigorated and recommitted to speaking about Mom to my children and imbuing their childhood with funny stories and anecdotes about her. But I guess I have been doing a fairly good job because just last night, after we cleaned his room, Charles asked me, "Where is my blanket that your Mommy made for me?" I honestly don't remember telling him anytime recently that she made that for him. But her heard it and tucked it away, and it held meaning to him. And coincidentally, he brought it out and asked me at just the right time. But the older I get, the less I believe in coincidences and the more I believe in a plan. I see God's hands at work and meaning in things that, at the time, only seem to be a coincidence, like when Mom crocheted a blue blanket while I crocheted a pink one. And now we have a boy and a girl. I knew that when Mom was interviewed and when this book was published, it would help me at some point in the future. And now, the future is here.
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