The End Of The Journey

Mom passed away on Tuesday, March 16th at 8:15 PM. I know the exact time because my sister and I were there on either side of her holding her hands as she made the transition slowly, one labored breathe at a time, from this world to the next. It was harder than I'd ever imagined. When the end came my sister and I looked across her body at each other and with tears in our eyes celebrated our strength, honor, and commitment to family. We'd made it. We'd done the right thing in being there at the end of a bitter sweet journey.

Mom was never meant to be a mother. We have yet to understand why she gave birth to my sister and I. Through the years her stoic German demeanor taught us to be tough because life was hard and she wanted to be certain that we would survive all it threw at us. Tears were seen as a sign of weakness and strongly discouraged. There were never any kind words or loving embraces, only instructions and corrections. As we began to raise our own family's of daughters, we found that her attitude was not softened by grandchildren. She treated them just as she had us, offering only criticism or indifference. They tried so hard to love her. We tried so hard to love her, but nothing ever changed.

As mom grew older, she began to need us to help her with daily chores like shopping, Dr's visits, complicated insurance forms and an occasional trip to the emergency room. We were not saints. We often harbored resentment during these last years, but we were there and we continued to try to paste a smile on our faces and do the best we could for her often at the sacrifice of family time and our jobs. Connie and I comforted and encouraged each other

during these difficult times. We stood firm in our commitment to do the right thing by our mother.

Now that I've let mom go, made funeral arrangements, cleaned her apartment and hauled a truckload of debris away, I have to find a way to work through my thoughts and emotions. Tears hang just behind my eye lids. My throat aches with unreleased pain but I cannot seem to let it go. She did a good job making me tough, but she could not rob me of love. My daughters were there with me this past week helping me say goodbye to a woman they barely knew. Their pain was in watching me suffer silently. My sister and I have conquered a generation of stoic tight lipped family ties. We have created families bound together not just by obligation but by the deepest love imaginable.

A friend of mine who understands the difficult relationship I've had with my mother wrote me a simple note of condolence and it rings crystal clear as I hold back the flood of emotions within me. She said she hoped that the end was sweeter than the journey. And it was.