REMEMBERING MOM
ELIZABETH JANE SWANK BAVARIA
February 6, 1935 - April 9, 2019
The last thing Mom said to me…well it really wasn’t to me…it was to both me and Dad, was “Just leave me alone.” Dad had just hugged her and kissed her and told her he loved her…which he did every half hour or so;). And I leaned in to ask about her pain.
Four words. Four last words. I think of all the significance that is given to last words. I wonder how many books have been written on last words? Last words are a big deal.
JUST
Mom was a reducer. Somehow when I would come to Mom with a problem, which I did frequently because she was such a safe-straight-shooter, she would reduce it to the essentials and then say something…that from anyone else…would have sounded thoughtless. Something like, “Dearheart, what’s done is done now it’s time to move on.” Or reduced further “Get over it!” But it wasn’t at all thoughtless. And the reason it wasn’t was because she would then be with you all the way. She always did the follow-up!
Mom was JUST that way.
LEAVE
Mom was a good ‘leaver’. You’d have to be to live the life she led. She left her native home, her native culture, her rooted family. And she began a life with Dad filled with leavings. Most people can’t do that. Actually, Dad could only do it because Mom was good enough at it to lend him her residual. She wasn’t sentimental. I think that’s a great compliment. There is too much sentimentality and not enough deep caring. Mom’s leaving ability was grounded in deep caring. Where there is deep caring…leaving isn’t really leaving. How else does one account for the staying power of friendships forged in a life with so many short stays?
Taking LEAVE was a temporary condition for Mom.
ME
Oddly, Mom’s use of the word ‘Me’ was not self-referential…yes, I know, that sounds like a contradiction. But…I rarely worried about Mom. I never worried that she couldn’t handle something…or anything. When she used the word me it was to let you off the hook. Now that could get frustrating…because sometimes you didn’t want her to do that. Say for instance…letting the Doctors off the hook. She would simply say “I know my body” even if her own ideas about best therapies contradicted the Doctor’s sound evidenced-based diagnostic expertise…Mom knew her body! Unlike the popular slogan…Mom was sneaky about making it ‘all about you’.
Oddly, Mom’s use of the word ‘Me’ was not self-referential…yes, I know, that sounds like a contradiction. But…I rarely worried about Mom. I never worried that she couldn’t handle something…or anything. When she used the word me it was to let you off the hook. Now that could get frustrating…because sometimes you didn’t want her to do that. Say for instance…letting the Doctors off the hook. She would simply say “I know my body” even if her own ideas about best therapies contradicted the Doctor’s sound evidenced-based diagnostic expertise…Mom knew her body! Unlike the popular slogan…Mom was sneaky about making it ‘all about you’.
For Mom, ME was about ‘you’.
ALONE
This word is tricky. I don’t know Mom’s Myers-Briggs identifier but I’d say Mom was damn near an introvert. Though perfect in crowds, alone time meant a lot to her. I remember…we all do as it has become part of family lore…how on our very first family ski trip, Mom took a bad fall and never put skies on again. Was it a bad fall…really? Or did Mom just figure out…brilliantly…how to secure for herself WHOLE days…even weeks…of alone time? Not to mention freeing herself from the drudgery of standing in endless equipment rental lines, lacing up countless ski-boots, accompanying scared 10-year old’s on their first T-bar! Brilliant! It wasn’t until recently that I thought about this. Dad traveled so much, and Mom was solo parenting quite a bit. Good for you Mom, for securing some alone time!
Being ALONE was a treasure Mom relished.
JUST LEAVE ME ALONE
Coming from anyone else I might have heard harshness. But coming from Mom it was more like “Remember who you are talking to here…I’ve got this!”
And she did.
There are no words to describe a woman's loss of her mother. Especially if the relationship is as profound as yours comes across. Nearly 15 years since Lucy died, and there are days where the ache is so strong it feels like my heart will crack. (I tear up as I write this.)
ReplyDeleteA lovely, inspired reflection. I hope people will forward this reflection for broad distribution.
ReplyDeleteJust when folks think our roles as "parents" or "adult children of our parents" seem to have evolved into a new role, we realize our roles/vocations are forever intertwined with, and being formed by, the other/Other. I often have said a parent's last lesson to their children is how to face the task of leave-taking or passing away: their nature is to teach us how to leave, or in some instances, we learn from their passing how not to make the transition. Either way, their special vocation and relationship to us will continue to teach us like no one else.