It was pouring rain. A complete pathetic fallacy, looking back at the events of January 7th.
My 12-year old was beside herself all morning. On the way to the appointment, she looked at me and smiled so big past those nerves that were wearing her down. I snapped a picture. We realized it was the last time in 2 years she'd be smiling without a mouth full of metal. We were on our way to get braces.
It wasn't just her anxiety that was through the roof. My mother was in home hospice. Her health had deteriorated. Death was imminent. Every time I left her side, I feared it would be the last time I'd see her alive.
Yet life didn't care that death was hovering that day. Children must go to school. Daughters need braces. Appointments made months ago require you to show up. Life carries on.
But when it came to mom, death won the day.
Mom would never see her granddaughter with braces.
After the appointment, I rushed back to my mother's side. Her heart rate dropped. Her breathing was rapid. My aunt (her primary caregiver) and I looked at each other through tears, realizing it was the end.
In a sweep of grace, the three of us lived through something so sacred, so beautiful, yet heart-wrenching, all at once. We held her and prayed, as mom took her last breath.
Everything that followed has not been so beautiful. Yet wise souls in my life remind me constantly: in life, all that doesn't seem so beautiful is truly the "Mother lode," if you choose to search for those gifts buried deep in the mud.
(Mother lode: "a principal vein or zone of gold or silver ore. The term is also used colloquially to refer to the real or imaginary origin of something valuable or in great abundance.")
I'm not sure I've found ANY silver (aside from the silver on my daughter's teeth). But I've found a whole lot of grief and sadness. I certainly haven't found gold. But I have found that my circle of friends and family have hearts of gold, so large and loving, they've lifted and supported me when I couldn't get out of that mud.
I also found coronavirus. Or it found me just a few weeks after mom died. It was a one-two sucker punch, and I took it real personal. Three days in, I found myself as sick as I've ever been in my life. I was beyond exhausted. I slept and slept, and I felt like I was never waking up better. Only waking up wondering if my mom's death and the virus were all just a nightmare. The massive winter storm during illness and grief was yet another pathetic fallacy.
(Pathetic fallacy: the idea that the weather mirrors human emotions)
It was the winter of my life. Yet the snowfall seemed too much. If I were writing a novel about these events, I wouldn't have used snowfall as a back drop, because it would seem just too melodramatic.
After 3 weeks, I recovered from COVID-19. But I don't know what the coming months will bring or if I will have any lasting or "new" symptoms pop up. Whether you've been sick or not, the pandemic stole from all of us. It took the way we lived, worked, traveled and learned, and it forced us to hunker down and avoid death. Yet half a million in our nation so far didn't avoid death. Coronavirus collectively took a year of our life expectancy in the United States.
It feels heavy. Illness and death swirls everywhere.
To carry on without mom makes it worse. Mothers are our pathway to life on earth. Moms get us here.
I know the load will lighten. For now, I'll take over as matriarch to my amazing son and daughter, and when she smiles, I'll at least see silver. A constant reminder to keep searching for the Mother lode. One day, I know sunshine will reveal the gold embedded deep inside this shattered landscape.
