 |
|
I would like to share with you all today two very important lessons that I have learned from my mother in recent weeks.
The first lesson I learned was the importance of reaching out to those close to you. My mom and I did not have a close relationship while I was growing up. As a sinlge mother trying to support two children while earning a master’s degree, she didn’t have much time to spend with me during my pre-teen years. By the time her life settled back down with a new degree, a new husband, and a new house in a nicer neighborhood, Teenage Angst had already entered into my life, and I stayed locked in my bedroom, convincing myself that Mom would never understand me. (Seeing photographs of her adolescence has proved otherwise.) Even after her terminal diagnosis three years ago, I still maintained that distance, probably because I was a college freshman wanting to prove my independence. It wasn’t until earlier this past summer that I realized this first lesson: I should not expect my mom to do all of the work: my years of silence had left her with no idea of how to communicate with me. If I wanted our relationship to improve, I had to take responsibility and reach out to her. I told her everything I had been feeling over three years, and in doing so, I proved to my mom that I was no longer the shy little Libby who hid behind mother’s skirt; I had grown up and earned her respect. She has inspired me to cease being shy and withdrawn from those close to me, and to open up and try to build relationships.
The second lesson I’ve learned is what it means to die with dignity. Up until a few months ago, I had always envisioned the manner of my mother’s death as a picturesque hallmark moment where my dying mother said her final words to her children and then slid peacefully into eternal sleep. Most of us would like to be so lucky in our final hours. In reality, death seems to happen in pieces; parts of us slip away slowly. I don’t remember my mother’s last words to me, and I’ll never know whether or not her final hours were peaceful and pain-free. The lesson I’ve learned is that dignity does not exclusively mean dying in defense of one’s family or country. Nor is it a measure of a person’s physical ability or cognitive coherence. It is a reflection of a person’s character. My mother’s dignity was reflected in all of us who surrounded her in those final hours: the husband, son, and daughter who sat by her side, held her hands, and did their best to make sure she was comfortable; the grandmother who spent months in our home, caring for her child and the rest of the family; the sister who never stopped talking to my mom, even when she didn’t respond, making sure she knew how much she was cared for; family members who called all week to express their condolences; the hundreds of responses to the Caring Bridge website; and all the people here today to celebrate my mom’s life. Looking at all of the people who have rallied around this family over the last three years, there is no question what kind of person my mom was. It is evident in all of us here today, and I can think of no greater testament to her character than this.
|
|
 |
