grief – Workplace Navigator

My mother passed away at the age of 90 in October of this year. It’s been difficult to come to terms with her being gone mostly because we had a complicated relationship. As I have met other women recently who are the “only” daughter of an exacting mother, there is comfort in knowing that it’s not just me. I carried a burden of my mother’s expectations for decades and it’s ironic that when I arrived in Sequim, WA this summer for her 90th birthday, it was one of the few times that she was actually proud of me. I had driven my RV, Abeona, on a 4,000-mile solo trip across the United States and I was finally living the life she wanted me to live.

My mom was born in New York City in the middle of the depression. Her parents and her older brother, Dave, moved to Wilmington, DE by the time she was four years old. My mother’s perspective on life was shaped by growing up during the depression and a meticulous, regimented father (10th of 11 children) who was an accountant for DuPont. She started elementary school a year early (a nun decided that she was tall enough to start school) and ended up being a valedictorian for her Catholic High School. She had a perfect SAT score; she was the first in her family to obtain a Bachelor’s of Science at the University of Delaware. That is someone who either had a lot of expectations for herself or was held to a high standard, or both. I don’t know which it is but leading up to her meeting my father and having three children within the next six years, she had achieved a lot for a woman in the 1950’s.

My mother, brother Rick, myself and my brother Dave circa 1966

My mom always claimed that the happiest day of her life was meeting my dad but the second happiest was giving birth to a daughter (I don’t know how my two older brothers feel about this). She had a lot riding on having a daughter and she was going to make sure I fulfilled her dreams, it took me over 50 years to figure this out. My brothers and I all took piano lessons, we all played instruments through elementary and middle school. I assume this was important to my mother since she played the piano and my grandfather was an accomplished pianist. My parents rarely (like twice a year rarely) took us out to restaurants or bought us new clothes or the latest bike. I look back at photos and I realize we all have funky haircuts because my mother always cut our hair. I think I got my first proper haircut in junior high when I started earning money by babysitting. Frugality was paramount in my house growing up. This frugality led to my parents paying for any college we could get into, which now I see how generous that was but as a teenager in a penny-pinching home where my friends would get cars for their 16th birthday or pearl necklaces for Christmas seemed tremendously unfair.

My mother ruled the family room in my house. I can see her after working a long day in a medical lab at the local hospital, making a dinner with hamburger helper and finally retreating to the family room and her recliner, glass of sherry and a cigarette. My father would be grading papers or reading in the living room with Joan Baez or Beethoven on the hifi. My brothers and I would be around the television in the family room with my mother watching The Waltons, M.A.S.H. and All in the Family. She cried at all the sad parts of shows and cheered loudly for the Eagles to get a touchdown. She was much more demonstrative than my more stoic father. Any time I had to call home from when I was sick at school even up until college, I would choke up when I heard my mother’s voice. She was safety and would, make it all better. She also did not suffer fools. There were plenty of times when I was sent to school because I didn’t have a fever. I remember getting very nauseous before a solo at a choral performance in elementary school. I said I was too sick to perform, she wouldn’t have it. I ended up performing.

My mother was there for probably the most critical diagnosis of my life when a I was told I had to terminate a pregnancy at 20 weeks. She was by my bedside after maxillofacial surgery when my face looked like a bowling ball. She sat with me as I labored for over 24 hours with my first child. She took charge of caring for my 7-month-old daughter while I worked 60 hours a week and my husband was cross country selling our home. She was there when I gave birth to my second child. She and my dad were there every Christmas morning waiting for my children to open presents. No one made a better cinnamon toast in the world and her chicken and dumplings were delectable.

I was on my way to Mount Washington, NH in my RV when my mother called to tell me to come to Sequim WA after breaking her femur. She wanted me. I can’t remember a time in my life when my mother truly asked for and needed me. I was there within 48 hours. In those two weeks, the roles reversed. I was the patient, doting mother addressing all her fears, she was vulnerable, fragile and scared. I held her hand and tried to make things right. My daughter came with her husband as well to help relieve my brother who had cared for her for over ten years. My mother rarely spoke about her mother who had passed away from cancer when she was 28 and I was one. In her delirium she called out for her “Mommy” in the weeks leading up to her death. Behind her bed were the pictures of her mother, Mary, and her grandmother, Gertrude Mary. It all felt full circle. Her mother was taking the baton and pulling her through to the other side. We all carried the name Mary. My mother was born Mary Ann, my name is Catharine Mary and my daughter Natalie Mary. The Madonna that sat in the room that was originally my grandmothers. All of us Marys. Joined by name and blood and love. My mother passed away ten days later with my brother holding her hand. I’m fortunate to have had my mother so long and now she can spend eternity with her mother.

I was talking to a friend who had a similar relationship with her mother. She said that since her mother passed that she has a much better relationship with her. It is about how I frame it now. I’m glad I was there to hold her hand; to reminisce and tell her I love her. I told her as I left her for the last time that I would be back in 3 weeks but that it’s OK if she can’t wait for me. She pointed to the sky and said that she would see me there. In the end, my mother needed me and was proud of me and that has given me the closure that I needed.

My beloved dog, Baci, passed away on August 8th, 2023 at the age of 14 just shy of 15 years. She was the center of my family for the first eight years of her life while we lived in a lake front home that was her oyster. For the last six years, she has been my constant companion as I moved from house to apartment to town home. In each successive move, the place got smaller and her ability to roam was hampered. I began working from home in 2020, and she became essentially an appendage. Typically, being within 3 feet of me or, at the very least, within her field of vision as she perched on her beloved spot on the love seat.

Here are all the things I will miss about my beloved Baci:

A morning scratch. When Baci was much more agile, she would hop up on the coach where I was sitting (or any other possible scratcher) and put her paw on my arm to get my attention to give her a scratch. The minute I backed off scratches, she would put her paw on me again to continue.

Punctual. She always knew what time it was especially if it was time for a walk or a meal or a kid needed to get to the school bus. She was always a step ahead, anticipating each upcoming event and would happily remind you in case you had forgotten.

Alert. She definitely lost her vision and hearing in recent years but I can remember her starting to bark when a garbage truck was a half mile away. I couldn’t hear it but she could. She knew the rumble of the truck and knew a stranger would be in the driveway pulling out the garbage cans. She always had a perch by the front window to bark at walkers, runners and, most especially, dogs. And if she was outside, she ran along the perimeter of her area to ward off “the enemy”.

Her sworn enemy was the lake. She grew up next to the lake since she was a puppy. She ran up and down the lake bank especially on summer weekends as jet skiers and boats made waves for her to try to attack from the bank. She fell in rarely, she was able to swim but for some reason she saw the lake as a huge wet monster.

Compliant. Baci would always go along with whatever was asked of her like being put in a motor boat and watching her family get on an inner tube on the dreaded wet monster (see above). There were her Halloween costumes, a pink jacket, ugly Christmas sweaters and, probably worst of all, the dreaded bell collar on Christmas Day that hampered her ability to catch a squirrel. Near the end, I had started putting her in diapers at night and she never baulked. The obligatory picture of each kid holding her before heading off to college. If Mom wanted it, she complied.

Squirrels. Baci had an incredible prey drive. There was one tree in the front yard that Baci chased many a squirrel up. She would race around the base of the tree and would charge the trunk trying to get up it, to no avail. In the last two years while walking the trails of Woodcroft, she would tug on the leash trying to chase them.

Rabbits. Baci would stop and “point” especially at a rabbit. She could stand still for 15 minutes waiting to stomp on top of the rabbit. She was never successful and, in fact, frequently would overshoot the rabbit giving it an escape route. In all of her hunting, she never brought anything home expect a bird and a vol and that was over ten years ago.

Flies. Baci could catch a fly. She could sit by a window sill and focus on the fly and then hit it with her tongue.

Steps. At the lake house my children’s bedrooms were on the second floor up a carpet covered staircase. There were many times when she would sneak upstairs to snuggle with one of my kids in their room. Unfortunately, we updated the house to get rid of the carpet not thinking about Baci’s ability to navigate hardwood steps. After the carpet was removed we would often have to coax her back down the stairs.

Her spot. Baci always had her “spot” in the house or apartment. For many years until Hurricane Matthew, it was a burgundy lounge chair we started calling the Princess Chair since she always held court in the chair. Later it was the brown love seat that she always occupied until she was less agile and then it became her gray bed.

Toys. Baci stopped destroying toys after the first few years. She had a beloved bunny or tug toy she would grab onto and pull and growl. She really loved a lacrosse ball for a while and many tennis balls. She could chase and return a ball but really loved to pull on a tug.

Hikes. She went on countless hikes with me and would be overwhelmed by all the smells that surrounded her. So much so that she rarely paid attention to other hikers and their dogs. It’s so strange that she would bark at dogs crossing her home space but didn’t pay attention to them out in the world and really wanted to forage in the forest to chase down smells. Some of my best memories of her will be hiking down a tree lined trail looking for what was around the next bend.

And now there is silence. My days are aimless without my companion to remind me of what is coming up next. Her absolute joy at each and every meal and snack. Her waiting for me expectantly to return home. The anticipation of the leash and a walk outside in a wonderful exploration of world. The happy, unconditional symbiosis broken with only memories to sustain me and knowing she had and was the best.