Has your mom passed away? Facing a Mother’s Day for the first or eleventh year without Mom? Does the holiday feel daunting? In 2017, I dealt with my mom’s death by writing this book, A Time to Grow Up: A Daughter’s Grief and Growth Memoir.
Mom passed away! Here’s an excerpt from my book:
March 23, 2013
After Mom died, we stayed with her for a while—I just couldn’t leave her. I knew she was gone, that the shell of her worn-out body wasn’t her, but it was all I had to hold on to right now. I cried and cried. I circled the room and received hugs from everyone there, but I returned to Mom as though she drew me to her. I touched her wrinkled arthritic hands, the blue vein that stood out on the side of her face. People tried to console me, but it didn’t help.
I sat across the room from Mom, trying to take it all in, but again I stood up and walked to her side. Again, I had to connect with her. I touched her soft, familiar face, her worn-out hands—a lifeless corpse now. I knew that vivacious, lovely lady was gone.
In a stupor, I called family and friends to let them know—I felt like a robot conveying my sad message. I was in shock and doing what needed to be done. That’s what I always do.
It’s funny how small specific items become the focus at a time like this. I wanted to make sure that I had Mom’s false teeth with me. She had a thing about people seeing her without them. I knew she would be viewed at the funeral home, and she had to have her false teeth.
I queried the nurses about the location of the false teeth; I focused on this driving issue; it was paramount now. I found out they had them and would give them to the ambulance driver who moved Mom’s body to the funeral home in Trinidad, Colorado. I relinquished the strong need to personally have them with me.
We finalized details about her transport to Trinidad, and I kept putting off the inevitable—leaving Mom at the hospital. My dear family understood my need to stay, to touch her and to cry, but it was time.
Leaving Mom there alone was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. I had to walk away and leave her body there. She had been my sole focus for the last three months, a major focus for the last seventeen years since Dad passed away, my dear friend, my first play- mate, and the woman who carried me! How could I walk away now?
I felt hollow walking through the hallway and diverted my eyes to not make eye contact with any of the dear nursing staff that had cared for Mom. Resolutely, I entered the elevator and solemnly rode down- stairs. My feet felt like concrete blocks as I trekked out of the hospital. When we got outside, the sun blinded me—how could it keep shining?
People passed us, laughing and carrying on like nothing had happened. I barely stopped myself from screaming, “Shut up. My mom died. Please be quiet. Please respect my pain.” With Lin on one side of me and Bub on the other, they directed me down the sidewalk to our car.
The three of us drove home in silence, occasionally interrupted by my whimpers. My niece Connie and her three children gathered their belongings at a nearby motel, drove to our house, and spent the night. Our cousin Lisa also joined us for the evening.
It was a tearful, sad evening with my family surrounding me.
Because it was a Saturday night, we watched Mom’s favorite country and western shows on RFD-TV. Bub sat by himself in a rocker near me. I sat next to Lin on our love seat. The rest sat on the sofa or on the floor nearby.
A favorite song came up on the TV show, and Bub jumped up sobbing, grabbed me, and directed me to the kitchen where we danced, each of us leaning into each other, sobbing. What a poignant moment that was—our parents raised us to be dancers. So, what did we do in our pain? Dance and cry in each other’s arms!
I cried myself to sleep that night, with Lin holding me in his arms —a routine that we repeated every night afterwards for months.
Larada Horner-Miller, A Time to Grow Up: A Daughter’s Grief and Growth Memoir, (Horner Publishing Company, 2017), 63-65.
Mom passed away. Here’s a poem from my book:
No Words Now
May 11, 2013
Mom died March 23, 2013
No words
No poems
until May 2.
Lost in the pain
drowning
suffocating
Words frozen
gone
void
All I had was pain!
Loud
screeching
screaming pain.
Normally, poetry is my respite
My sanctuary
I visit to
understand this world
Nothing there!
Only the deep, dark hole
The consuming loss
The utter defeat
Missing Mom
and
trying to live!
Larada Horner-Miller, A Time to Grow Up: A Daughter’s Grief and Growth Memoir, (Horner Publishing Company, 2017), 77-78.
As I mourned, grief led me down unusual paths for healing. My guide for this process was poetry. It gushed out of me after May 11, 2013, about six weeks after Mom passed away. I didn’t publish this book until 2017 though because it took time to process and heal and grow.
If you’re missing your mom this Mother’s Day season, my book might be a healing balm—to walk through my grief with me and arrive at some healing.
I have the e-book available on a special Mother’s Day special for FREE for five days—May 8 – 12 on Amazon.
If you would like an autographed paperback copy, it is on sale for 25% off at my two online stores for a limited time:
- MyEtsy Shop, Larada’s Reading Loft
- My Shopify, Larada’s Book Store
Finally,
I took the time I needed to heal! I hope you will do the same! When our moms pass away, it’s a life-changing event!
~ Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir available in audiobook format at the following places:
Enjoy my interview on the podcast, The Writing Table
