Arete Warriors - spirit, mind, body strong |
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What's Left When Everything Else Falls Away
Not sure if you noticed, but I didn't send out my email last weekend.
I've been late before, but before this one, I had sent 109 in a row. This was the first I'd missed all together.
I have a good excuse.
My husband's mom was diagnosed with cancer about five years ago. The doctors gave her about three years.
But Mary fought hard. Again and again she rallied in ways no one expected, so somewhere along the way, we stopped believing the timeline.
Last Friday, she was put on hospice, and we rushed to Fort Collins to be with her.
My kids haven't been around death much. Izak lost a basketball coach, so he's experienced grief, but watching your Nana go would be something different.
I didn't know how they'd handle it.
On the drive up, Ali (my husband) told us he wanted it to be a happy weekend - full of memories and love.
"We can cry when she's gone," he said.
Mary had been eagerly awaiting our arrival, but the 75-minute drive turned into nearly three hours because of traffic. By the time we got there she was barely lucid.
Nadia immediately climbed onto her bed next to her, snuggled into her gently, and told her how much she loves her.
So much for waiting to cry until after she's gone.
Let's Prepare - the warm up
Is there any better way to learn about life than through watching it's passing?
We're Christians, so while death is painful, it is not hopeless. We believe this life is not the end.
Saying goodbye still hurts, immensely. But it's only sad for who's left after the dying.
Every family, every person, handles death differently. In this family, the book is always open. No topics are off-limits.
Over the weekend, we shared memories, talked openly about how much we would miss her, and reminded her what she had waiting for her - naming all the people (including her daughter Nadia) and pets she'd be reunited with.
In her condition, she was stripped of all concern for appearances.
She wasn't worried about being a good host.
She wasn't worried about saying the "right" thing.
There was no space or energy left for caring what others think.
And strangely, it was beautiful.
All that remained was love.
We could sense her physical pain and discomfort, but surrounding that - underneath it - was only love.
At one point she whispered, "I am sooo happy."
Her grandkids were in and out of her room, helping change her ice packs, kissing her forehead, telling her they loved her.
"You're the BEST" they'd call toward her room as they passed out the front door to go play.
At one point, Ali sat beside her while she lay mostly incoherent, occasionally moaning in discomfort.
"You did good, Mom," he told her softly. "You raised three good kids."
Immediately, she came alive.
"Thank you! Thank you," she said emotionally.
Mary was a Nurse Practitioner, but like so many women, her life's greatest work was her family.
We said our goodbyes, fully aware it would likely be the last time we saw her alive.
We raced back to life - tennis, diving, laundry and the final three days of school.
Monday night, while I sat at Nadia's diving practice, my sister-in-law texted that Mary had had a great day.
She'd even eaten something.
😵
My mouth dropped open. I audibly gasped.
The next day, she went outside for a walk. 🤯
A WALK.
So when Nadia's school ended Wednesday at 11:30, the kids and I immediately headed up. They began their summer break with their Nana.
What a gift another afternoon even felt like.
She was eating, talking, walking (gingerly, but walking)... and we had some actual conversations.
It sometimes takes her a minute to find the word she wants, but she brought up a small coin she treasures. It says, "Thank you for your service."
Of all her prized possessions... of all the precious moments... this little token of appreciation was what she brought forth.
I told her about her reaction when Ali had thanked her for being their mom, and her eyes filled with tears.
And I realized something.
My mother-in-law deeply cherished her work.
And maybe, like many mothers before her, she never fully felt the gratitude she so deserved.
She brushed off my observation the way many mothers do - waving her hand dismissively and mumbling something like, "Every mother in the world..."
Let's Work - the exercise
I wonder what I'll care about at the end of my own life. What will feel important when everything unnecessary falls away?
I suspect it will look a lot like this:
The ordinary days.
The rides to practice.
The meals.
Laundry.
Listening.
Comforting.
The showing up over and over again in ways no one applauds.
The quiet, repetitive acts of love that feel so small while we're living them.
So today, I want to thank you moms. Truly.
I want to acknowledge your work, your effort, your devotion - not just to your careers or responsibilities, but to your most important role.
You likely do not hear "thank you" enough.
You maybe have never felt the gratitude you deserve.
Most of your children are still too young to understand what your fierce love and relentless presence truly mean.
One day, they will.
One day they'll look back and realize who held everything together.
Who kept showing up.
Who made home feel safe.
Who loved them in ten thousand ordinary ways... maybe not always perfectly, but in the only way they were able.
And when all the noise of life finally falls away, I think that's the work that will matter most.
