I'm sorry for any confusion; there really hasn't been an appropriate time to make a special announcement with everything going on the past few months... so we were going to wait a while longer.
But my Mom's writeup in the "Morning Call" sort of made the announcement for us.
My Mom would have wanted it written that way, though. She believed that each life is precious right from the start... even before birth [and so do I]. She was already excited to meet her newest grandbaby in 2021... we talked about different name suggestions and their meanings; she was never bashful about telling me which combinations sounded weird or if the potential initials/monogram would spell out an uncouth acronym.
While I stood next to my Mom's bedside early Thursday morning, I leaned over to whisper the name we chose for our little girl. So, yes... "Norah Jane" is ours... and she is named after the most remarkable woman I've ever known... Patty Jane Terry. ♡
Before I start, I just wanted to mention a few disclaimers:
I’m not a public speaker. I’m also probably going to cry at some point although I’m hoping to get through saying all of this without that happening. We’ll see how it goes.
First of all, thank you for your presence. For listening. For caring. For your patience. For understanding… or at least trying to. This all still feels so surreal. I’ve never lost my Mom before; I don’t really know how I’m meant to behave and since she’s not here to scold me, thank you all for withholding judgment and for bearing with me… well, for bearing with all of us as we process such a gravitational loss.
You know, you don’t really realize how grammatically strange it is to speak about someone in the present who has passed… until it becomes relevant. The tenses get all tangled up… the “was”s and “is”s get mixed together and it’s really difficult to navigate which one to use while still making sense. But then again, not too much makes sense right now.
I know that’s supposed to be her over there. My Mom. I know the doctors said that she ‘passed away’ … and I know that I was there. I saw it. Parts of me even died with her… in the literal sense, too. But it hasn’t really clicked yet.
It’s only been 5 days… Already, I’ve cycled through a spectrum of emotion I hadn’t even realized existed. I honestly don’t know that I’ve ever been so resentful in my life. I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed for her healing. So many of us did. All over the world. For months. For years, even…
But when the answer didn’t come the way I expected, I felt lied to. I felt betrayed. I felt abandoned. Did you? In a span of mere minutes, my thoughts went from, “God, I know You’re here and You’ve got this under control.” to “God, where were You? Did You blink and miss it? What happened back there? Why did You let her go?”
But what I’m starting to realize is that He didn’t let her go… Instead, He held onto her and pulled her closer… to Him—even if that means that she’s farther away from us for a while. Our prayers were answered. She’s not in pain anymore. And the only reason we are is because we were so abundantly blessed to have her presence in our lives that her physical absence leaves such a heart wrenching ache. She is still alive in so many other remarkable ways.
When I look in the casket, I don’t see my Mom. That’s not her likeness at all. My Mom was much louder. [Ask anyone who has ever overheard a phone conversation between her and any one of her siblings… fourteen or so “Okie-dokie”s later…]
When I close my eyes, I see her the way I remember… understated beauty, sometimes with the 90’s poodle-perm hairstyle, sometimes without, but always full of expression—even if more-than-occasionally that expression was the ‘mom glare’ … you all probably know the one…she’d most-likely be giving it to me right now for talking about her like this.
My Mom wasn’t much of a spotlight chaser, but it’s kind of hard to have a funeral without the day being centered around who she was, who she is, and who she has in some way helped shaped each of us to be. Sorry, Mom… but you’re the reason we’re all here, so…*shrug* like it or not, you’re getting some extra attention today. “Deal with it. Cope. Adjust.” (that’s something she’d always say to us… I promise I’m not being rude).
There is so much more to be said, but I don’t want to monopolize the podium. I know that Jenn has something prepared and hopefully we can convince Tris to come up here and share the one about Montgomery Moose…. Plus, I have a feeling that if you’re here—or watching from afar… you have at least a few fond memories of your own. I’d love to hear them.
But first, a quote from a book she would always read to me:
“I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always
As long as I’m living, my Mommy you’ll be.”
Love always,
“Pookie”
“Turn your eyes upon Jesus
Look full in His wonderful face
And the things of Earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.”
Dear Mom,
This is the hardest thing I've ever had to write... go figure, it's about you.
For once, I can't find the words.
P.S. -
On the way driving back to the house from the funeral home today to set up the photos (we made sure you'd have approved of most of them; some were just too funny not to include), we saw a van that said, "P & J" (whatever type of company it was)... I smiled. Patty Jane.
And then, the car in front of it had a license plate that said "BPOSITIVE"... your blood type.
You're even creative with your subtle encouragements.
I miss you.
Love always,
“Pookie”
I just saw that I have a 12-second voicemail from my Mom from August 22nd... the day Nate and I got engaged... and I haven't even listened to it yet. 😞
I don't know the protocol for things like this.
Four of your favorites on the way to see you, Mom (and to see Dad too, of course). We love you so much and are doing our best to cast our cares just like you always say. ♡
It has been 1 month since my Mom's Bone Marrow Transplant. 1 month since the date of her 'rebirth'. ❤
I remember the whole family had to resort to talking to her on a group video chat during the procedure since the visitor lock down/ban had us unable to be physically there with her.
It was a rough few weeks for my parents--not being able to be near each other--having to communicate only over flip-phone and texting (before I taught them how to video chat via laptop)... the misunderstandings in tone... the feeling of long-distance 'not enoughness'... the ache of desperately wanting to be with someone currently unreachable. It took its toll but didn't defeat them.
My Dad called me today because he needed help connecting to the WiFi at the place where they're staying for the week down in Philly (she still needs to be close to her specialists and monitored, etc.)... so they could watch Pastor's live church service together... and as I was trying to walk him through how to access the network, I heard my Mom in the background, "Keith, you have to find the one the says the WiFi network name! You can't just use that password for any of them!" to which my Dad replied, "Patty, if you knew that this whole time, why didn't YOU say anything until just now?"
Hahaha.... I've missed hearing them occupy the same space. It made me smile. They really are so much better together than they are apart.
For a moment, it reminded me that it's been over 3 months since I've been able to hug MY special someone or make goofy faces at him from across the room. What a strange emotion... to feel elation, hope, discouragement, and melancholy all at the same time. We're so much better together than we are apart, too.
I hate that my parents had to be away from each other as long as they did... I know that my Dad wanted nothing more than to be there for my Mom as she was (and still is) going through the trials of the early stages of adaptation and recovery... but through it all, I think that it might have offered a morsel of perspective of the struggles and ache of loving someone from a distance.
Sometimes understanding only comes through experience.
My Mom celebrates 1 month post-transplant today... prayed up and getting stronger every day... she is the bravest and most resilient woman I've ever known and it brings me so much hope that despite the hurdles, obstacles, and trials over the past year+, there's a fresh chapter waiting for me somewhere in the midst of it all too.
Happy 1 Month Rebirthday, Mom.
I love you to the edge of the Universe and back.
I threw an online surprise birthday/transplant party on Facebook while my stem cells were transplanted into my Mom's body...and invited the whole family to it so we could all 'be there' for her. ♡
[Nathan made a guest appearance via my phone during the video chat to say hi to everyone too... as did Spence (pictured above)]
Keep the prayers coming (and thank you for them)!
The doctors/nurses are heavily monitoring her for at least the next 2 hours and then tomorrow she gets the part of her treatment where they encourage/coax the healthy cells to replicate more/faster...(health professional friends, as always, please feel free to correct/elaborate on my explanations)... and they have to suppress her immune system for a bit to make sure her body doesn't naturally try to reject the new cells... then, a week or so later, she goes through another treatment to rebuild her immune system with lots of monitoring and fluid level correction in between/during.
Narration. Sorry about the two random dings somewhere in the middle.
March 16, 2020: Monday – 8:36 a.m.: Thoughts:
I’ve never seen such a beautiful sunrise over superstructure horizon. The view from the 21st floor of the Lyric, overlooking the heart of Philadelphia during the golden hours, takes my breath away. There is a brief moment of magic on the cusp of daybreak before the city's skyline dims when Heaven’s masterpiece melts into a collaboration between the Creator and man’s delusive efforts not to be outshone.
When I look outside, I can see across to the building where my Mom is staying for the procedure and part of her recovery. Her window stands out, 5th trio from the right—the distinct outline of her transplant calendar framed evenly by the middle pane of glass. Sometimes I can even see her silhouette peeking out through the left of the nurses’ schedule (from my perspective, that is). There aren’t any windows above hers—although there is at least one more floor… a helipad appears to float, centered above her room, tethered to steel pillars invisible to the naked eye. I like to watch the helicopters in flight, maneuvering through the sky as they land, and whisper anonymous prayers for everyone inside.
It’s 10:17 a.m., 43 degrees Fahrenheit, and I miss her.
We video chat sometimes—when she remembers to activate the WiFi on her phone; I jotted a reminder on her wall before we left on Friday night when Covid-19 precautions ‘kicked us out’ of the hospital. Dad is low-key driving me crazy, but I love him anyway. He’s just not used to being away from Mom for any extended period of time—they’ve been together over 40 years and I don’t think they’ve ever even been separated this long throughout their entire relationship. It’s sweet, but also sad. He doesn’t seem to know what to do in her absence…and she’s only 3 blocks away.
I’m fairly certain that he’s already tweaked and fixed anything and everything in the mini-suite that needed fixing or tweaking…a squeaky door hinge, wonky shower curtains, a bent mirror shelf, etc…but that’s how it works, isn’t it? When we can’t fix what matters the most, we go around adjusting the things we can so that we don’t feel as helpless as we really are.
People keep telling me I’m brave. They say that what I’m doing for my Mom is a selfless act, when in all reality, it might be the single most selfish thing I’ve ever done. It didn’t take bravery; it took obstinance.
The truth is, I’m just not ready or willing to imagine my life without her in it.
Others have been far more courageous with far less at stake. I’m doing this because I don’t want my children to lose their grandmother, my father to lose his wife, my sisters and I to lose our mother, or for her to lose all of us.
I’m selfish.
I have more memories to collect, more hugs to share, more wisdom to hear, more smiles to see, more laughter to feel, and more adventures to plan with her. My mother plays one of the absolute most important roles in my autobiography—and we’re just about to get to the really good parts—the chapters where perseverance through hellfire and tribulation unfolds into the beginning of “happily ever after”.
I want her to see that the prayers she cried through clenched fists and tear-stained eyes over the years…prayers for my life… weren’t uttered in vain… and for her to be standing next to me when the knot is finally tied in the right place. She’s got more grandchildren to have, more giggles to enjoy, and so many more stories to tell—many of which have yet to be written…including this one.
So no, this isn’t selfless and it doesn’t make me brave—not from where I stand. I look in the mirror and see a little girl who still isn’t ready to let go of her mother’s hand to face a scary world alone…and I am so darn lucky that this is all it takes from me to keep her.
She always confused this band with Hootie and the Blowfish.
Kaleidoscopic Grace 