By Lisa S. Tarno

“For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die…A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance” Ecc. 3: 1-22,4 NLT

It’s been a month since my mother passed away and there is so much to process. I’ve written about the circumstances in previous blogs and how my heart ached to see her suffering and in torment with dementia robbing her of all that was dear to her and me of quality time spent with her. The inevitable phone call that came to make me aware of her passing was met with both relief that she was no longer tormented and instant grief knowing the finality of her time here on earth had come.

Grieving a loved one, they say, is evidence of great love shared with them. The last four years had been extremely difficult with her experiencing every nuance of dementia and at times being less than lovely. I prayed often that God would have mercy and sweetly take her home (which is how it happened) and I prayed that he would heal my most recent memories of a less than ideal storybook ending. I am happy to say that God has been honoring that prayer as I have had to sort through boxes of pictures and memories and hear reports from friends and colleagues of the positive impact she had on so many lives. My mother was a beautiful soul that made meaningful connections and memories with so many people. I choose to think about that.

Grief is different with each situation and relationship. I’ve grieved before with a miscarriage years ago. I have grieved losing our family dog which seemed more human than canine. This is a new level of grieving with the loss of my mom…I feel like an orphan. I get the sense that some feel like I should be further along or over it quicker. It’s not like I am wallowing or obsessing and unable to function, though the first week was unquestionably heavy. But I admit I am in the thick of ick!

My husband correctly summed up what he has been seeing. He said people don’t realize what has been put upon me: alone in taking her closet items to a donation center, alone in planning her memorial, alone in sorting through thousands of pictures and memorabilia, alone in writing her obituary, alone in writing and giving her eulogy, alone in putting together her IMovie of music and pictures for the upcoming memorial…alone….doing it all with no help from anyone else. He likened it to a scab being repeatedly ripped off. I love him so much for getting me and seeing what no one else is seeing. 

Other family members got the news and are dealing with it in their own way and can actually move forward but they are not constantly inundated with a barrage of memories and planning that at times becomes overwhelming. My son asked why I am even subjecting myself to this. I said I wanted to honor her life and if I didn’t, no one else was offering to. Her life was worthy of memorializing. I loved her and wanted to do this for her and family and friends.

So for the interim, I am seeming stuck to the onlooker. Some people understand having lost their beloved parent as well. Some seem apathetic like I should be over this…like maybe I am making more of it than is necessary? I give them grace…knowing that many don’t have the emotional bandwidth to handle what at times I wonder if I can handle. We all have different ways of coping. Another sweet friend who recently had gone through this offered me some good advice to answer the very hard question, “How are you doing?” Most people just want to hear, “Fine” and move along. The question is more of a greeting than inquiring of a deeper assessment of my wellbeing. I get it. So the answer as of late is, “I’m taking one day at a time. Thank you for asking.”

My goal after the memorial service concludes at the end of December, is to close this chapter and move forward in my life. I don’t want to linger any longer than necessary at the signposts of time. We have a New Year’s Eve party to go to with friends and I resolve to give a nod to what was and embrace what will be. When the clock strikes twelve, I must move forward but in the meantime, I have to trust that God will give me strength each day to process the grieving.