The first thing I noticed was the quiet.
The day my mom left in the ambulance, it was quiet. No music, no TV. Just the quiet repetitive *plink* of morning rain hitting the roof and windows as she was wheeled out the front door. Unbeknownst to us, it would be the last time she would be in our home. Within a week, my family and I abruptly lost the vivacious, beautiful mom I had loved so much for almost twenty eight years of my life. The woman who gave me life was now not in it, and it was far too quiet.
Mom was feisty and full of sass, as much of a Scorpio as she consistently explained away her larger-than-life passions for. She played music in the house constantly from her Youtube playlists. And watched plenty of TV. And chatted with her sisters, her family, with me. I would often wake up and hear her liveliness, some sound or song sneaking through the cracks of my bedroom door because Mom was awake. Noise pollution was a regular thing in our household, and it was okay because filling the home with music and sound was just how my mom lived her life, and thus it became our way of life.
A spitfire of a woman, Mom always living life to the extremes and loud in personality. She would run over 40 miles in a week in her hay-day, and running was her passion. In fact, she ran so much (and subsequently broke her ankle so much) that eventually, she had to have her whole ankle and foot put back together. She would never take no for an answer, determined to get her way and to live her life the way she wanted to. And get her way she did (of which I am thankful, because one of those moments spurred the genesis of me). My mom had a way of charming anyone with her innate ability to connect with all walks of life, and those who met her would agree that she was a special soul. So kind and compassionate was she that the positive energy flowed from her in waves, her graciousness in her pursuit to be the perfect host apparent to all who met her, even if briefly. She was effortlessly memorable as a person, because she was sunshine personified.
As my dad has said, she had a smile that could light up any room. And it really did.
When Mom passed, it was quiet. All of the energy was suddenly sucked out of the room, a vacuum hollowing out our hearts. Within minutes of being off life support, she was gone, and with that last breath went my cheerleader, my fashion police, my confidant, my hypewoman, my guide, and my best friend. Her love for me and my family was so immense, so overflowing that her loss from this earthen plane felt unreal. I’m twenty seven. I was not supposed to lose a parent this soon. My heart was never prepared to face this devastating, yet inevitable, life event.
So we came home after, grieving hearts weighed down like an anchor, and it was quiet. No music, no TV, just tears and a hollow feeling in our hearts.
But suddenly, as if my mom knew what we needed, it wasn’t.
Family who had traveled in to be at her bedside with us came by our home, friends stopped by one by one, and the house was full of sound again. At some points, it was even a bit much for me, still awash in my grief and trying to make sense of my own feelings. But it was electric, the air energized by our camaraderie as we collectively made sense of the day. We talked, we reminisced, we played music and turned on some video games and made the best of it. I still cannot begin to express the gratitude I have for those few who moved through our home during the first week after Mom’s loss; it was a buoy to get us through the worst of those first initial waves of mourning.
Lately, the veil of initial shock from this unexpected loss feels like it has been pulled from my eyes; slowly it sets in more and more each day that my mom is no longer with us. Places in the home she spent much of her time in, songs she liked, and reminders of the important life events she won’t be her for continue to invoke tears and great sorrow. There is a bittersweet lesson to be learned of the power of a mother’s hug when you realize you won’t have one again while you’re still alive. Such a constant was she in my life that I now have to navigate a new normal where I don’t have her to lean on for support and encouragement. To be my source of strength. Writing this alone prompted warm, salty tears to run down my cheeks with wild abandon. She called me her mini-me, and I didn’t realize until it was too late just how much I relied on the energy of our mother-daughter duo as part of my own identity.
It is in the moments that it is too quiet when it hurts the most. When my mind has the space to run away with itself and threatens to collapse my psyche with the weight of unbearable grief.
So for Mom’s sake and my own, I will keep that good noise going. I’ll continue to live my life loud and full to honor her legacy and hold her spirit close. I will encourage those around me to keep her memory alive by living a life of love and kindness.
I know I made you proud, Mom. You never faltered in reminding me of that. I promise to continue to make you proud as long as I live.
Ginny Ann 