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Goodbye, I love you. I love you, goodbye.

Yesterday was my mother's service. It was lovely. My brothers and I all spoke. My brother's mother-in-law read her obituary. Many people got up to share memories, including a neighbor whose grandsons my mother had befriended while out walking her dogs. She found out the older grandson, who I think is about 12, was on the swim team and went to one of his meets. The entire meet. From 6am-3pm. He was so clearly broken up about my mother's passing it made me cry. There was, too, the co-worker from 20 years ago who saw her obituary in the paper and came because she wanted to share the story of how my mother offered to fly with her to Texas to bring back her father on a Medevac air ambulance because they needed a registered nurse on the flight. Her father died before they could make the trip but the co-worker said my mother had such an impact on her. "She saw me in my darkest moment and offered to help."

Yesterday I saw my mother through so many different people's eyes and it was beautiful but I miss her so much and if I'm being honest lately my grief feels more like rage because I'm so mad that she's gone. It's so fucking unfair.

I made a slideshow of pictures for the service and every picture of her with Nana, her mother, upset me. My mother didn't get to live to be a little old lady. She was 70--which I know is not young--but she looked and acted like a 60-year-old woman and she had so much life in her and so much more to still give the world, especially her grandchildren.

I keep trying to hold on to everything that this has taught me, especially this philosophy, which I shared with those who gathered yesterday:

"If my mom was here today, she would probably share with you a belief she had about relationships and the way we treat one another. Every day is a gift, every tomorrow an unknown. Love the people in your lives and let them know it.

Every time we parted ways she wanted to make sure I knew she loved me.

She never wanted to end a conversation on a bad note or with an argument. Even if she was upset with you, she’d usually still tell you she loved you. She didn’t want her final moment with someone to be one anger.

“I try to let people know what they mean to me,” she told me once. “I want to make sure my last words to them are ones of love: Instead of just ‘goodbye, I tell them ‘Goodbye, I love you. I love you, goodbye.’”

In the weeks since she was first diagnosed and we realized what we were facing my family has tried to do the same. We tell each other we love each other a lot. I try to remember to say it as often as possible.

I would give anything to have my mother back but in the light of her passing, I am so grateful for my family, especially my brothers. This has brought the three of us closer. Because of them I still have her.

Because of all you here—everyone who loved her, everyone whose lives she touched—we all still have her, always."

3:40 pm - 19.05.19

sounds:
words:
i am:

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previously on ... - next time on ...

put the key in the lock and turn .... - 09.07.19 - 8:08 pm

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build a little kindness in your bones - 19.06.19 - 8:40 pm

tiny failures every day, redux - 17.06.19 - 11:14 am

mourning the loss of her house - 30.05.19 - 8:39 pm