There’s much to be said about the lessons learned in hindsight. Many of you know that my Mom passed a few weeks ago, right after I returned home from my FL road trip. That’s just like my Mom–planning everything out so that it doesn’t inconvenience anyone.

I’ve had time to breathe and reflect now that I’m back in my beloved VT. Freedom and happiness come to mind for both of us. Many people have said they’re sorry for my loss–but it really isn’t a loss. Let me explain. Mom was fit and sound right to the end. She literally went out on her daily walk and never came home. I remember standing outside on that same morning w/my cup of tea and said, “What a beautiful, beautiful day” —  which was around the same time she was passing from this world.

The most difficult part of the whole experience was seeing my Dad fall apart in the Trauma unit. It was as if he became a little boy. My Dad and I have always been in conflict and though the years have softened things a bit, it’s a stretch to say that we’re close. However, he saw me as the strong one and really leaned on my presence. It was odd and I tried to meet it with as much grace as I could muster. It was an extraordinary event and I had to rise to the occasion. I realized that any pain I suffered from his hands wouldn’t touch what he was about to endure–losing his partner of 48 years. Still, that vulnerability wasn’t easy for me but in many respects, I did it in honor of my Mom.

Mom left like a lady–even with the indignities of dying in a hospital bed. It was as if every kind act she had done in her life came to meet her in the end–through the wonderful nurses, the compassionate neurosurgeons (all women, I might add) and her room crowded with waiting angels. Being at her deathbed was a holy and awe-inspiring experience. I also felt very, very human: tired, anxious and hungry. I remember lusting after the trauma surgeon as she told my father there was no hope for recovery. I wanted to flee my family and be alone to process. I didn’t want to be strong. I didn’t want to be anything.

I was there to help her pass. That I know. And right before she took her last breath, I felt…older. Like I had done this before–many, many times. She was eager to go (even while unconscious, she was kicking her legs off the bed). We were there to hold the door as wide open as possible.

I wasn’t close to my Mom. We rarely had outward conflict but I think we really didn’t get each other. She came from a generation that was all about serving their men and I resented it. I wanted more for her–and that was my own projection. I wasn’t a “good” daughter–I didn’t call or visit much and we had more surface-y conversations than I care to remember. Yet I admired her compassionate heart and ability to stay kind in a world that often wasn’t in return. My Mom suffered much loss in her life and kept it close to her chest.

Right before she died, I was able to give her 3 Reiki treatments for a recent bout of arthritis that was really getting her down. It helped ease some of her discomfort and during one session she asked, “Why did you get into this?” I told her it just came naturally for me.

And yes, she did visit me right after the funeral. My Dad and I were watching TV and he fell asleep in his chair, completely spent. We were watching an episode of the god-awful show, Home Improvement. I loathe Tim Allen’s bumbling misogynist character but was too lazy to switch the channels. The story was about a lifetime of misunderstanding between Jill (Tim’s wife) and her mother. Tim wanted her to confront her mother about all of the past hurts but Jill said it just wasn’t their way. They kept it on a surface level. So, the mother came to visit and gave Jill an old tea set–but Jill wanted the antique clock from their family home. They eventually worked it out and finally understood the significance of the clock (stability for Jill) and tea set (Mom’s afternoon tea-times with Jill as a toddler).

All of a sudden, the close-captioning turned on and I’M SORRY, MOM flashed across the screen. My response? I looked twice and said, No way. No. Way. There must be something wrong with the remote. After a few beats, I went deeper and thought, Do I need to apologize to Mom? I had already had a long conversation with her the night before she passed (we kept her alive until my brother arrived from AZ) and then I realized: Oh. This is from Mom. I started to doubt myself and said, What would Mom have to apologize for? She was such a good person (what I always said when I was mad at her while feeling guilty about being mad). As I sat with it, I understood that Mom also wanted to make her absolutions. That it was okay for her to ask forgiveness. That it was part of her being free and letting go of this world. The last words I said before leaving her hospital room were, “Well done. Enjoy that beautiful place. Be free.” And in accepting her apology, I can only hope that it gives her even more peace and joy as she moves on to greater experiences.