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RE: Hearts and Spades: Burying my sister - Day 1433: 5 Minute Freewrite: Prompt: spade

in Freewriters3 years ago

Hello to you,

I visited owasco's blog and saw your posting there. ... I was thinking if I shall give a comment, for we have not talked to each other yet. I dare doing so.

Please, receive my sincere condolences. I would like to respond to the questions and thoughts you share here. They are questions of importance and I want to give them space. I hope to do this in an appropriate manner and in case I go astray, please forgive me.

My mother died six years ago at the age of 86. I can confirm that it was much closer to me than many years before, in the 90s, when my father died. I was in my early 20s then and I accepted his death much more quickly than my mother's. I think it has to do with the fact that as you get older, death becomes more real to you and confronting it can trigger greater resistance. When you are young, death is far away, not something you really fear. And I think that's all right.

My mother is so much a part of me and I often hear her words when I am in situations where I remember her comments. She didn't leave me, how could she? What made me feel sad was not being embedded in a social community that doesn't see death as an enemy, that doesn't creep around you insecurely and doesn't dare touch the subject with forceps.

I missed the accepting way of dealing with the death of a family member, a self-evidence of what is indispensable. I didn't want to hear how terrible and awful it was that my mother was no longer with us, but rather to feel the acceptance around me and perceive that death is something natural.

Deep grief sought me out, not because I had built up resistance to her passing, but because I suffered from the wordlessness and awkwardness of those from whom I foolishly sought permission to speak about the last moments between my mother and me. To do what? To take the scare out of it, to tell them that there is strength in letting the other go. And warmth, as well as a deep peace not to burden a loved one to strive to stay alive because of me.

That was the reason for my suffering, that I regretted having waited for permission to speak first. Because in this way I had deprived myself of something that I think would have been good not only for me but also for my listeners. I experienced how my mother, in her weakest moments, despite her physical suffering and signs of confusion, radiated a clarity and strength in between that made me simply laugh. When my sister tried to feed her, she pushed the spoon with the food aside with a very decisive gesture and said clearly: "You! Eat!" After a moment of irritation, my sister and I burst out laughing, it was typical my mum. Therein lay her decision as well as her gesture to communicate that she had decided to leave. Stopping eating is something that is reported by many dying people. I was so proud of my mother and I really loved her for that expression of decision. She freed me from my own insecurity, not knowing exactly what to say, how to react.

It is extremely difficult and I suppose a daring thing to put yourself in the perspective of a dying person. For me personally, I want to trust my relatives to cope with it. Trust in each other is evident in many situations where it is not yet a matter of dying but, for example, of saying goodbye to each other over and over again. How could I be happy in life if I had to assume that those close to me would not be able to cope with not having me with them for a while or, conversely, that I would not be able to come along without them?

People say "life goes on" and of course they are right. Letting life go on is what happens anyway, you can't help it. It's just the vibration between people saying things like that to each other where you notice if someone is saying it because they don't really have anything to say or where that statement is sending a confident and trusting message to you. The dead would in no way want the living to stop living, would they? Nor would they see repentance as helpful, because what is done is done.

May I therefore ask you if there were strong moments in being with your sister that gave you that inner strength and peace that is really very very difficult to put into words?

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Thank you so much for this @erh.germany - your name is familiar because anything germanic catches my eye.
Interesting, that at a younger age, the loss of a loved has less impact rather than more: we get older, we should be seasoned professionals at this, but instead, the loss hits so much harder than expected.

My mother died six years ago at the age of 86. I can confirm that it was much closer to me than many years before, in the 90s, when my father died. I was in my early 20s then and I accepted his death much more quickly than my mother's. I think it has to do with the fact that as you get older, death becomes more real to you and confronting it can trigger greater resistance.

And this:

My mother is so much a part of me and I often hear her words when I am in situations where I remember her comments.

Lori is on a soundtrack in the background of my mind, like a radio commentator. I be like "What about Julie? What about our grandma and (et al)?" Why arent they part of the Greek chorus throughout my day, and my dreams at night?

As for "strong moments" that gave me peace and inner strength: I'll keep thinking on that and trying to remember any such moments.

Thanks again!

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