On Beauty and Death

Twenty days ago I did the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I told my mom that she was dying. For her sake, I tried my best to hold back a torrent of tears.

I failed.

She didn’t shed a tear.

The events that unfolded over the course of the next several days were the most beautiful, graceful and loving I’ve ever been apart of.

As I sat there that evening, June 30, trying to process the agonizing reality (“perhaps 2-4 days” said the doctor), I stared out the window and pointed to the sky filled with rays of sunshine streaming from behind a grey cloud. Soon more clouds gathered and rain poured down but the rain quickly ended followed by a bright red sunset that peaked from beneath the clouds.

It was beautiful.

That night she dictated to my wife the exact arrangements for her funeral. Every detail from the church and funeral home from where she was to be buried to the music she wanted and who was to sing it to the exact color and type of flowers (yellow roses) to the jewelry she wanted on her (“pearls but nothing expensive”) to releasing three doves at the conclusion of the internment to whom she wanted to cater the repast and where it was to be held (my sister’s).

Over the next several days a stream of family and friends came to visit. Her brother immediately flew from Oregon and one of her best friends, who doesn’t fly at all, took a two-day train trip from Albuquerque. It was a time for family and friends to tell her how much they love her and how much she means to them. For her it was a chance to do the same.

Conversations flowed, stories were told, a few secrets shared, photos displayed, smiles and laughter were frequent, and she had carte blanche to request from us any kind of food she wanted…fried oysters, crab soup, vanilla milkshakes, strawberry gelato, and a home cooked ribeye steak all made appearances in her hospital room that week. It was a celebration of her life by those that love her and the best part is that she was able to participate and enjoy it.

It was beautiful.

One afternoon away from the hospital I wondered aloud to my wife whether having so many visitors was tiring for my mom. The next evening, it was if she had heard me ask the question or read my mind. When I walked in the room and leaned over to say hello and kiss her, she then immediately told me “I want anyone who wants to be here to be here.” My unspoken question was answered.

That night, for the second night in a row there easily must have been a dozen people visiting at one point. I quietly said to her “There’s a lot of love in this room.” She looked back at me and said, “There certainly is. It’s beautiful.”

Later that evening as we were talking she told me that for the past several nights she had been awakened by someone tapping on her arm three times only to open her eyes and see no one there. I asked her who she thought it was. She replied her mother.

A morning or two later my sister who had stayed overnight with her in the hospital recounted how my mother had woken up a few times and asked her to “turn off the light” because it was “too bright.” The lights, my sister said, weren’t on; the hospital room was dark.

A few days later on a sunny Sunday afternoon, my mom quietly went into the light and joined her mother. My sister, two of my mother’s sisters, a niece and a nephew were there by her side. The previous night nine family members had stayed over at the hospital.

It was beautiful.

Coincidentally, she passed away in the same hospital room where we had celebrated the election results together last fall. Little did I know at that time of joy and celebration that we'd be back in the same room eight months and one day later, still with tears in my eyes but a very different kind of tears. Those eight months were a gift for which I'll always be grateful.

The service she planned for herself was as lovely and graceful as she was. It was held on her 87th birthday. Family and friends traveled far and wide from Boston, Oregon, North Carolina, Texas, New York, New Jersey, and New Mexico to attend the service. The weather was perfect, the church crowded, the flowers bursting with color, and the music gorgeous.

It was beautiful.

My two sisters and I are now left to carry on. They are each far stronger than they realize and for that I admire them immensely. We’ll grieve the loss of our mom for a very long time but we’ll get through this together. It's our obligation to keep her alive through us and pass on to our loved ones and others the caring and kindness that personified our mom.

My sincerest gratitude and love goes out to many many people that have helped us through this time and in doing so turned a period that was extraordinarily difficult into one that was also extraordinarily beautiful.

• To my family, friends, colleagues and even strangers who showed tremendous support and expressed their love through hundreds of phone calls, cards, flowers, cakes, visits, emails, text messages, and Facebook postings. Thank you.
• To my aunts who stood by my mom's side almost continuously during her final days and stayed with us for many days thereafter. Thank you.
  
• To the many friends that unexpectedly attended the funeral, some of which I haven’t seen in years, and shared kind words and deeds of support. Thank you.
• To my friend and brother who was with me almost every day during my mom’s final days and took the initiative to help out anyway he could. Thank you.
• To the many doctors, nurses and technicians who cared for my mother and in at least one case quickly grew to love and deeply grieve for her. Thank you.
• To my longtime friend and brother who spoke in depth from his heart of his experiences and reminded us that as siblings the best way to honor our mother is to stick together. Thank you.
• To the kindhearted doctor who opened up to us and told of his six-year-old daughter who survived two recent liver transplants. Upon pronouncing my mother dead, the same doctor then asked for permission to say an Islamic prayer. Thank you.
• To my wonderful friend in San Miguel, Mexico who has hung a photo of my mom alongside her own mother who has also passed, in the villa where my mom stayed a year ago for our wedding. She told me our moms are having a good time together in Heaven. Thank you.
• To the unknown shoe salesman who took my wife’s hand in the middle of Nordstrom's and said a prayer for my mother. Thank you.
• And last but certainly not least, to my wife who I constantly lean on for strength and many warm love filled hugs. Thank you.

While talking with mom one of her remaining nights on Earth, she said, “I’m happy. Tell everyone I love them. Don’t cry.”

I’m confident she is happy, I followed through on number two and as far as the third part goes, well I haven’t been able to live up to that yet but I’m sure she understands why.

The weather we witnessed the evening of June 30th perfectly symbolized my mom’s life. She spread her bright beautiful rays of warm, welcoming, and caring sunshine around anyone who came across her path. Late in her life there were some dark clouds and brief rain. However, the end for her was and forever will be a beautiful sunset.