Rest in Peace

After over five years in a nursing home with Alzheimer's (dementia), my dear mother passed away on Memorial Day, May 26, 2008. All those M's...Mom, Monday, Memorial, May.

Grief is a strange journey. I was so relieved for her, she was suffering so. In a way, I was grateful to have such a long time to say goodbye, and to lose elements of Mama over the course of all those years. First, it was her extreme anxiety and never being 'at home' in her room where I could call her on the telephone. Then she didn't realize the phone was hers, and she never answered it. Slowly, her physical abilities dwindled, and she was able to receive hospice care. That was such a blessing to me, since I was her one and only care taker. A nursing home only does so much for a person, and every single person in a nursing home needs at least one advocate. There is complete loss of privacy, ownership, and freedom. Hospice helped me gain perspective and peace in Mama's process of dying. I would go into more detail here, but don't want to relive it right now.

On the day after she passed, I poured out my heart on email to all my friends and family, anyone who would hear me. The response was so wonderful, and so comforting. I felt like a hundred hands were lifting me up and helping me walk through the days that followed. If anyone is reading this, and did respond to me, you are my friend for life. Thank you, and I love you for it.

For my own personal indulgence, I will reprint here what I wrote to my friends.

'What an obituary cannot say is this: our mother was our best friend all our lives, and she lived for us. Against all odds, she was able to have children because she wanted us so badly. She waited 13 years for her firstborn (me), even though the doctor said it would be a miracle, and then that it would be a boy. She was always up for fun, games, and all things creative. Finally, I know she fitted us with the ability to do all things, even if we were afraid, because God and she were on our side. She is still with me, as is God, and neither shall depart.

My heart is not heavy, but terribly sentimental as the reality seeps in. Perhaps it is unusual for one to grieve 'publicly' on an email. However, those who know me best know that I am one to share what is on my heart.'

Jean Lucille Danforth Van Slyke (born July 20, 1922; died May 26, 2008)