This Labor Day weekend marks 6 years since I lost my amazing mother, Vivienne. She was looking forward to retiring to France in the family home she had cultivated there. It was her passion project and it took 15 years of saving money and vacation time to realize. She was very proud as it had been a dream of hers and she wanted to share it with us all.
I was unprepared when she decided to stop fighting the cancer that had ravaged her body. Just a few months before, right after her last birthday, she had been given the all clear -- and then out of nowhere she was given a stage 4 diagnosis. I can’t imagine the tumult of emotions she felt. Outwardly she was very stoic and didn’t want to discuss her decision to stop treatments. She said she didn’t imagine she would only have 72 years of life. She thought she had done everything right. It was rare that she drank alcohol, she never tried drugs and other than having a penchant for sweets, tried to take care of herself. The last surgery had been really tough. The chemo hadn’t worked. She didn’t want to go yet another round with any of it. When Mum made a decision, it was always final. She was exhausted and wanted to leave with as much dignity as she could muster, wanted home hospice and as little fuss as possible. She stopped eating and soon was unable to speak. We were all numb, in shock and navigating our own emotions. I was trying to be respectful and gentle around her and not cause her any mental anguish, tell her I understood and that we were all going to be OK. I knew she was still worrying about everyone else. There was so much I still wanted to ask her. I wanted to understand the arc of her life and why she made some of the decisions she did. It was too late.
We were close, but Mum didn’t often open up about the tough stuff. She was private and reserved. She had a painful childhood and while she did reveal bits and pieces over the years, it was often the same stories and she didn’t want to go too deep. Conversations were generally about others in the family, either her concerns or how proud she was.
As I move through my life, I still miss her every day and I often wish for her consult. I miss our morning chats over coffee, our regular catchups during my work commutes. That was a hard habit to break… dialing her number and putting on the speaker as I drove out of the parking structure. I miss all the small things as much as wanting to understand her experiences and wonder what advice she would give to a woman in midlife.
Most of my elders are gone. One by one, the matriarchs of my family passed away which puts me in the bizarre place of now being an ‘elder’. I don’t think I’m quite ready. Surely, I’m too young! I actually still need the wisdom of those who came before. I still have so many questions. Why didn’t I ask all those questions… even the seemingly small, inconsequential things? I know so little of my grandmothers’ personal journeys. I was too young to ask for their stories, or when I asked they didn’t want to share too much. I think that desire for privacy and not oversharing is ingrained within our familial DNA. So this is quite an experiment for me. This blogging stuff. I’m fighting against being vulnerable even now.
I’m currently having a respite in France, in the home Mum so lovingly manifested. Being here, I’m totally surrounded by her, everything in this house was chosen by her, and it’s like a time capsule. And while it could be difficult to be here, it isn’t. Rather, I feel like I’m in her warm spiritual embrace.
I am her legacy… well myself, my brother, her grandchildren. She touched so many people over the years and was so well loved and admired. She gave more than she ever asked for. I’m still finding out about Vivienne, hearing stories she never shared from her 2 best friends And sometimes from a distant aunt. These are the last of my elder relationships… and the women who knew her best. Mum was strong, but I’m learning she went through so much more than I ever knew. I wish I could tell her how proud I am of all that she overcame and how amazing it was that she was able to reinvent herself when needed. The last exchange we had before she stopped being responsive was how much we loved each other, always and forever. When I miss her, I find my heartbeat and close my eyes. She is always there, in me.
I want to urge you to talk to your mother, your aunties, grandmothers and all the wise women around you and ask questions. Knowing their stories is a gift. They also give insights into who you are… they are your foundation and you certainly wouldn’t be who you are today without them. If you are becoming that elder, your history matters too. And please remember to tell your daughters and nieces about your menopause transition. Our generation has the power to break the silence, to educate, and to also reinvent what this 3rd phase of our lives can be.
This post pairs well with 'You'll Be in My Heart' by Phil Collins.
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