On a day full of clouds,  a wind that swept up the sand and a sea that was most unhappy, we scattered mom. It was, as someone mentioned, “the beginning of your four seasons”.  And so today, sifting through the year of phone calls I did not get to make to mom-for all the reasons we call our  mom, a year of packing up the life of someone else and looking through countless pictures, the year of memories, the year of feeling robbed and cheated of many more years of having mom, I cry a little bit more and look back at the four seasons of saying good-bye.

I can tell you what I went through, I can tell you what my brothers went through, my husband, my precious child in this year of four seasons, and I can also tell you, along the way, I heard countless others speak of their own four seasons of saying goodbye. None are the same. For me, on that day, September 16, 2011, I remember love, laughter, many tears, the strength and compassion in my brother Chris’s voice, and the tears in my brother David’s eyes; gentle Dave, and the great despair towards my brother Jason, who, for whatever reason, never made it. I looked into the rooms of  her beloved beach house, so full of people we had to open doors so they could pour onto the deck.  I remember the miles some drove to get there, I remember others who failed to show.  I remember the incredible groups of friends, from all phases of my mothers 73 years gathered in one place to share tales of life with my mother.  My mom. I remember on that day, knowing the missing I was feeling was bound to get worse.  And it did.  I remember who left early, who lingered late into the evening-who spoke, who raised a glass, gave a hug, a prayer and marked her memory with recognition of some kind or another.  I remember the anger I felt, still fresh towards those who should have had her best interest at heart, but did not.  I so hoped that anger would fade.  And it has.  I remember seeing all the children playing in the ebb and flow of the outgoing tide long after everyone else had left-hearing their laughter and knowing mom was hearing it too.  I remember thinking this was it-the end.  And as much as my mom believed in casting her bread upon the waters, so too was she-casting out to the sea in a million pieces -all the better for her to have the most benefit to someone else.  Wherever that  may be.  But that day, indeed was not the end.  It was a shift, very subtle and slight but profound all the same.

For if we are to look at the real gifts of life as things that are not things-then I can say, the gifts my mom gave us all revealed themselves more and more as the seasons came and went.  Compassion,loyalty, friendship,love of learning, and the desire to make someone’s life a little bit easier along the way.I have gotten better at slowing down, sitting in the sun( with a hat!) and  here and there, I have taken a few naps.  And I confess, I got better at the things I wish my mom had grabbed hold of a little more while she was living.  Learning when to say no, getting angry, getting mad, not settling, not enabling, not giving away at her loss to someone’s gain, one to many times. I am a better person now.  If five years of allowing someone you love to live how they want while they are dying does not make you a better person-there is no hope.  I am a better parent now. I hear those catch phrases that used to sparkle mom’s conversations come up in mine. I have forgiven those who needed it most and left some others behind-as I wish my mom had.  Would she have lived longer?  I don’t know.  I don’t think she totaled up time that way. Maybe, just maybe all those years as a psyche nurse allowed her the real ability to live and let live-however crazy-never mind how damaged.  I don’t know.

Today, I look back, and know with every inch of the woman I am ,that I am most thankful for the quiet conversations we had, when it was just us two, in the very quiet and late part of the day.  I am most grateful her words echo deep in my heart and soul when I need to hear them most. I would not trade a moment, not a second of being right there through it all-until that one.last.breath.  I miss her so much-for all the reasons we miss our moms, for the one thing that only a mom can do.  We love, we ache, we give, we keep going and just hope we are doing it right.  My mom did all these things.

* the picture at the top is from my mom’s memorial service.  Long after everyone had left and we were all cleaning up, I noticed the shell with the writing.  I asked out loud where it had come from.  Ava, my daughter ,walked over to  me and looked up and said “I found it on the beach when we were scattering GranPat, and I wanted her to have it.”  I cried. We all cried.