Yesterday, July 19, marked 11 years since my Mom's passing. I was less melancholy than usual, since we also celebrated my grandbaby Colin's 2-year birthday (which is actually tomorrow, July 21) and I will blog about that Wednesday. It was a very Circle of Life occasion, and I know Connie was peeking in from wherever she is, taking in the joy and the chaos. She would have loved this little guy!
How can so much time have gone by? Seems like only yesterday I flew up to Atlanta from South Florida in May 2009 to go with Mom to a doctor's appointment (Mari had been diligently holding down the proverbial fort), Mom asked what phase she was in, and the doctor looked her directly in the eyes and told her honestly that "it was the beginning of the end". We called my sister and brother on the way home to share the news with them, and convened a meeting at Mom's house for the next day. Talked about all the options, and chose to bring in home hospice a day or so later. At that point, what for me started as a two-week visit lovingly morphed into end-of-life caregiving.
Mari, Brad, and I quickly circled the wagons, and affirmed to do whatever it took to keep mom happy and comfortable, also bringing in her dear friends/neighbors Claire and Steve, Ann, and Rose. We spread the word, and other friends/family scheduled visits, always careful not to wear mom out. I got my nose pierced with a tiny diamond, to always remind me of her: shiny and sharp... :-) We made, and checkmarked, a To Do List. We grocery shopped and cooked, and Mari was in charge of Happy Hour. Brad came over every Sunday to vacuum the carpets and do odd jobs, and then stayed for our Family Dinner tradition. We started keeping a daily journal to log Mom's ever-changing medical routine (pills and nebulizer). We vowed there would be no woulda/coulda/shouldas, and there weren't. No regrets.
Her body betrayed her (pulmonary fibrosis), but Mom stayed alert until the very end. She is in all of us, with so many special character traits, most especially joie de vivre. I experience memory sparks every day: a song, a movie, a TV show, a philosophy, a laugh, a smile. Constance (Concetta) Elaine Izzo Driskell Maresco knew how to live. Despite occasional friction, I loved my mom fiercely and am grateful for the lessons she imparted and the love she bestowed... 💖
SONG: The Circle of Life by Elton John/Tim Rice, from The Lion King
BOOK: The Circle of Life: The Heart's Journey Through the Seasons by Joyce Rupp, Macrina Wiederkehr
POEM(S): Still Falling for Her by Sharon Olds
The phlox in the jar is softening,
from the sphere of it a blossom flutters,
and the whole sagging thing makes me think
of my mother’s flesh, when she was elderly, and it was
wilting, keeping its prettiness
in its old-fangled gentleness.
It’s as if I’m falling in love, again,
with my mother, through the gallowsglass of my
own oncoming elderliness, as if,
now that she has been gone from the earth
as many years as a witch’s familiar
has lives, I can catch glimpses of my mother, at
moments when she was alone with herself, and would
pick up her pen, and her Latinate
vocabulary, and describe what it
was like, on their last cruise, when she rose,
by invitation, from the captain’s table,
and stood beside the black, grand
Steinway, in the open ocean,
and sang. I do not need a picture to
remind me of the look on my mom’s
face, when she sang—extreme yearning,
a yearning out at the edge of what was
socially acceptable
on a ship like that, and you could also see
how happy her face was, to be looked at,
and you could see her listening to her own voice,
to hear if it started to go flat, or anything
she needed to do to get the music
to its hearers intact as itself, I am falling,
and I do not feel that there are rocks, below,
I think I may go on falling, like my own
flesh, for the rest of my life, and maybe I’ll
still be falling for my mother after
my death—or not falling but orbiting,
with her, and maybe we’ll take turns
who is the moon, and who is the earth.
Eagle Poem by Joy Harjo
To pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can’t see, can’t hear;
Can’t know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren’t always sound but other
Circles of motion.
Like eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky
In wind, swept our hearts clean
With sacred wings.
We see you, see ourselves and know
That we must take the utmost care
And kindness in all things.
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
We are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.
In beauty.
QUOTE: "There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love." ~ Washington Irving
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