too, too much

 We all reach times when we suddenly feel that we have more to bear than we can handle. Thank goodness I've lived long enough to know this is fact, because for many years, I thought I was all alone, that I was the only one who ever felt inadequate, or selfish, or so overwhelmed that all I could do was crawl under the covers and pray that morning would be a long time coming.

Tonight is one of those times. I tell myself I am being silly, as I sit here typing away next to our Christmas tree. I remember every single ornament: who gave it to us, or where we bought it and where and why. There were presents under the tree, until Fiona started trying to unwrap them. (They now repose in an undisclosed location until Christmas morning.) Every day more Christmas cards from friends and family arrive in the mail, reminding me that George and I are part of a whole community of friends and family.

Yet all I can do is cry. Last Friday, as we all know, a very sick young man killed 20 children and 7 teachers at an elementary school in Newtown, CT. I've been immersed in discussions/disputes about gun laws, treatment of the seriously mentally ill, grief for the parents and families left behind, as well as for those little darlings who will never graduate, not even from grade school, never travel, go to college, get married.

And for some reason I am having an even harder time than usual dealing with the absence of my own parents this year. My dad was like such a little kid about Christmas; he and I always had so much fun together, decorating the the tree (always the day after Thanksgiving), going downtown to see all of the Christmas lights and the mechanized displays in the department store windows, especially Dayton's. Caroling with mom and other parishioners from Incarnation. And every year, until I was 24, sitting between mom and dad at Midnight Mass, hearing the ancient words "For behold I bring you tidings of great joy..." Going up to the Creche afterwards to see the Baby Jesus lying in the manger, and in later years the Choir always sang the Hallelujah Chorus from Messiah immediately after the conclusion of Mass. Holding hands with mom and dad as we prayed in the "words our Savior taught us, Our Father who art in heaven..." and most of all, singing the old, familiar carols, especially my favorite, Silent Night, Stille Nacht, written in Germany so long ago. Now there is new family, warm, loving, caring family. I have a husband, whom I love very much. But I haven't been able to go to Midnight Mass since I lost my mom.

This is, without a doubt, the hardest time of year to be childless. We keep running into one roadblock after another, until I have to shut myself alone in our bedroom so George doesn't have to listen to me crying in hysteric despair. Yes, I feel selfish bringing up our loneliness for a child when I know parents out in Newtown are grieving their lost babies. But grief is grief, and it deserves to be honored and spoken of, regardless of the circumstances, or who is doing the grieving, or why.

I'm particularly overwhelmed by my upcoming neck surgery. Less than two days to go now. And I feel so alone, I guess everyone does when they are facing surgery or something similar. Because no one can experience it with you. George is spending the day with me; Friday he's taking me over to  my Aunt Jo and cousin Melinda's house, so they can fuss over me, and Sunday my birthmom is coming over to baby me. Plus, I am receiving the Catholic Sacrament of the Sick from one of my favorite priests tomorrow. So I have all of my ducks in a row, so to speak. but I still feel sick to my stomach every time I think about it. Part of my issue here is, yet again (this question has been popping up everywhere the last few days) is WHY. Damn it all, I am sick of being in pain every single blasted day of my life. Why do I have to endure more? Yes, I know other people have it worse. but I have have never understood why that is supposed to make me feel better. I'm supposed to be happy and grateful that at least I'm not suffering the way other people I love are? I don't think so. 

I guess this is one of those times of, maybe not doubt, so much as feeling so desperately alone. This is why I ask for prayers, because right now I've lost the ability to form the words myself. I guess my tears and my writing tonight will have to be my prayers.

I guess a partial answer lies in something I told a friend the night of the tragedy at Sandy Hook, when we were struggling with the question of why, of how, an event so hideously, cosmically wrong could happen:

 You just sound upset, that's all, hon. Don't apologize for that. As to why this happened...can there possibly be a satisfactory answer? We live in a violent society. We can work for peace and justice. But does that help right now, at this very moment? All we know for sure is that God weeps with us, and that in the end God will wipe away all of our tears, and we will all be together again. And I always remember that Jesus wept when Lazarus died. He understands our feelings of grief and loss, because He experienced it too.

Amen.

books: 2009

1. The Eucharist and the Hunger of the World, Monika K. Hellwig
2. Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, Paula Fredriksen
3. The Misunderstood Jew: The Church and the Scandal of the Jewish Jesus, Amy-Jill Levine
4. Fortress Introduction to The Gospels, Mark Allan Powell
5. Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels, Bruce J. Malina and Richard Rohrbach
6. John, the Maverick Gospel, Robert Kysar
7. Written that you May Believe: Encountering Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, Sandra M. Schneiders, IHM
   
8. The Middle Ages, Morris Bishop
9. Models of the Church, Avery Dulles, SJ
10. The Sacred Pipe, Joseph Brown
11. A New Christian Paradigm: The Making of Post-Protestant Christianity, Ben M. Carter
12. Jesus and the Quest for Meaning, Thomas H. West
13. The Church Unfinished: Ecclesiology Through the Centuries, Bernard K. Prusak
14. Salt: A World History, Mark Kurlansky
15. Cod: A Biography of the Fish that Changed the World, Mark Kurlansky
16. Jesus as a Figure in History: How Modern Historians View the Man from Galilee, Mark Kurlansky
17. Paul--A Jew on the Margins, Calvin J. Roetzel
18. The Spirituality of Paul, Thomas H. Tobin
19. Navigating Paul: An Introduction to Key Theological Concepts, Jouette M. Bassler
20. Angela's Ashes, Frank McCourt
21. The Hollow Crown: A History of Britain in the Late Middle Ages, Miri Rubin
22. Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom, John O'Donohue
23. The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Million, Daniel Mendelsohn
24. Whitethorn Woods, Maeve Binchy
25. Saxons, Vikings, and Celts: The Genetic Roots of Britain & Ireland, Bryan Sykes
26. The Shadow of the Wind, Carlos Ruiz Zafon
27. The Rule of Four, Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason
28. The Children of Henry VIII, Alison Weir
29. On Hitler's Mountain: Overcoming the Legacy of a Nazi Childhood, Irmgard A. Hunt
30. My Life with the Saints, James Martin, SJ
31. The Monster of Florence: A True Story, Douglas Preston with Mario Spezi
32. Sailing the Wine-Dark Sea: Why the Greeks Matter, Thomas Cahill
33. How the Irish Saved Civilization, Thomas Cahill
34. Christianity Rediscovered, Vincent J. Donovan
35. Doors to the Sacred: A Historical Introduction to Sacraments in the Catholic Church, Joseph Martos
36. The Catholic Myth: The Behavior and Beliefs of American Catholics, Andrew Greeley
37. The Amber Room: The Fate of the World's Greatest Lost Treasure, Catherine Scott-Clark and Adrian Levy
38. No Place Like Home, Mary Higgins Clark
39. The Great Influenza: The Epic Story of the Deadliest Plague in History, John Barry
    
40. The Last Knight: The Twilight of the Middles Ages and the Birth of the Modern Era, Norman Cantor
41. Soldier from the War Returning: The Greatest Generation's Troubled Homecoming from World War II, Thomas Childers
42. The Basque History of the World, Mark Kurlansky
43. Catherine the Great: Love, Sex, and Power, Virginia Rounding
44. Elizabeth and Mary: Cousins, Rivals, and Queens, Jane Dunn
45. Devil's Brood, Sharon Kay Penman
46. Falls the Shadow: A Novel, Sharon Kay Penman
47. Queen Emma and the Vikings: Power, Love and Greed in 11th Century England, Harriet O'Brien
48. Time and Chance, Sharon Kay Penman
49. Dragon's Lair, Sharon Kay Penman
50. The Queen's Man: A Medieval Mystery, Sharon Kay Penman
51. When Christ and his Saints Slept, Sharon Kay Penman
52. The Reckoning, Sharon Kay Penman
53. The Sunne in Splendor: A Novel of Richard III, Sharon Kay Penman
54. The Year 1000: What Life was Like at the Turn of the First Millennium, Robert Lacey and Danny Danziger
55. Here be Dragons, Sharon Kay Penman
56. Walking on a Rolling Deck: Life on the Ark, Kathy Berken
57. The Civilization of the Middle Ages, Norman Cantor
58. Mistress of the Monarchy: The Life of Katherine Swynford, Duchess of Lancaster, Alison Weir
59. Lucia: A Venetian Life in the Age of Napoleon, Andrea D. Robilant
60. A Venetian Affair: A True Tale of Forbidden Love in the 18th Century, Andrea D. Robilant
61. The Gift of the Jews: How a Tribe of Desert Nomads Changed the Way Everyone Thinks and Feels, Thomas Cahill
62. Restoration London: From Poverty to Pets, from Medicine to Magic, from Slang to Sex, from Wallpaper to Women's Rights, Liza Picard
63. The Seville Communion, Arturo Perez-Oerveto
64. In the Wake of the Plague: The Black Death and the World it Made, Norman Cantor
65. The Lady Elizabeth: A Novel, Alison Weir
66. Faith and Treason: The Story of the Gunpowder Plot, Antonia Fraser
67. Blue Iris: Poems and Essays, Mary Oliver

This year's list is dedicated to some of my favorite fellow bookworms: Aunts Barb and Jo, Emilie, Liz P., Liz H., Roxane S., and Kristine.

But most of all, this list is dedicated to my darling sister-in-law Fran, who shares my intense love of books and often subsidizes my Barnes and Noble habit, and to my mom, who instilled in me a love of the power of words and the magic of language, as well as an intense curiosity about the world around me.

top ten things i learned from my mother

THIS IS FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO KNEW AND LOVED MY MOM:

Top Ten Things I Learned From My Mother
(In No Particular Order)

1. She always told me that love is the only thing that really matters. You can lose your possessions, your job, and your health, but you can always hold on to the love. And in the final analysis, it's the only thing that makes life worth living.
2. Decorate your house with bookcases, because you can never have too many books! Nothing ever seems quite so bad if you can curl up with a good book and a cup of hot cocoa.
3. Class is not determined by money or social position; rather, a truly classy person is one who goes out of her way to make others feel comfortable and special. Classy people are warm and gracious.
4. You'll never get old if you are always interested in other people and continue to learn new things.
5. Life isn't fair. But that doesn't mean it can't still be good, even wonderful, if you retain a sense of gratitude and remember what really matters.
6. God does not send us tragedy and pain. But he does give us the strength to bear them, the courage to face them, and the grace to learn and grow from them.
7. Listen to your heart and follow your star. You never know where they might lead you!
   
8. Yes, you are your brother's--and your sister's--keeper. Always remember that "whatsoever you do unto the least of them, that you do unto me."
9. What others think of you doesn't matter. It's what you think of yourself that counts.
10. It takes more muscles to frown than to smile--and holding a grudge takes too much energy.

Plus Two Extra:

1. Never, ever, take the people you love for granted. And never hesitate to say "I love you."
2. Tough times don't last. But tough people do.

(NB: This is from the eulogy I gave at my mom's funeral on April 19, 2007)

friday five: the fork in the road

This week's Friday Five come courtesy of Singing Owl from RevGalBlogPals. She writes:

Friday, February 27, 2009

Friday Five: The Fork in the Road

"I am at a life-changing juncture. I do not know which way I will go, but I have been thinking about the times, people and events that changed my life (for good or ill) in significant ways. For today's Friday Five, share with us five "fork-in-the-road" events, or persons, or choices. And how did life change after these forks in the road?"

Okay, Singing Owl, here are my five forks in the road:

1. I didn't have a lot of say in this one, being five weeks old at the time, but the first big fork in my road came when I was adopted by Millie and Leonard Resch on October 24, 1968. It turned out to be a 38-year-long love story, lasting until my mom's death in 2007. I could not have been more blessed, both by the mom and dad who loved me and raised me, and the mom who loved me so much she was willing to give me up. I love all three of them, my wonderful parents, more than words can express.

2. At 19 I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and clinical depression. This led to years of therapy and, even more important, much painful soul-searching, trying to figure out where God was speaking to me in my suffering. And I found out that not only was he there, he was holding me, lovingly, and feeling my pain as his own.

3. At 27 I did a unit of C.P.E. (Clinical Pastoral Education), which is, basically, an intensive chaplaincy internship. It's impossible to sum up in only a few sentences what that summer meant for the rest of my life...suffice it to say, I fell in love with the work, am finally back in grad school (after years of struggling with fibromyalgia), and hope to work as a hospice chaplain once I get my degree.

4. When I was 32 I met my husband through mutual friends at the Basilica of St. Mary. Can you say instant lightning? We've been married for five years and he's my rock, the light of my life, and on many days, especially when my depression is bad, the reason I get out of bed. Our marriage tells me a lot about God's love for us--steadfast, constant, always forgiving. We want to adopt so we can share the love with which we've been graced with a special child.

5. Two years ago in April my beloved mom died of emphysema. I am still so lonely for her. But in the midst of her dying, she taught me, by example, what it means to have lived a good life, and what it means, for a person of faith, to go to meet her Creator. (Check out "top ten things I learned from my mother" under "select posts" near the top of the right-hand sidebar.)

Come on ladies, play along with me! Either on your own blogs, or in the comments box. :)

25 random things about me

(I originally posted this on Facebook, but I wanted something semi-fun to post here today, so I thought I'd use this.)
1.I never liked poetry when I studied it in English class, but now I love reading it on my own. In fact, I'm becoming a poetry addict.
2. I closed my mom's eyes after she died. For some reason, this was--and still is--very important to me.
3. I was the last person in my class to learn to read, and 10 years later aced the PSAT verbal section. Perseverance does pay off!
4. I procrastinate terribly--not because I'm lazy, but because I'm afraid I'll screw everything up. Talk about self-fulfilling prophecies!
5. I think it is a disgrace that Pope John XXIII has not yet been canonized.
6. I took French in high school and college, and Spanish in college, and remember absolutely nothing of either. (edit 2012--I'm doing Rosetta Stone to try and relearn it all!)
7. When I was very little, I wanted to be both an astronaut and a ballerina. Simultaneously.
8. Yes, I really am a redhead. I'm partly Irish, after all.
9. I was engaged (to a millionaire's son, yet) before I met George and called it off when I realized I'd rather be alone by myself than alone with somebody else. Oh, am I ever glad I waited!
10. I've always wanted to be a writer, in addition to whatever else I do with my life.
11.I began a search for my birth mother last year. I haven't heard anything yet. (edit 2012--She is found, and we are very close!)
12. I feel a little disloyal to my mom for doing this, even though she always supported the idea and even offered to pay for it.
13. I make a mean homemade marinara sauce, with lots of onion and garlic.
14.I used to do lots of drawing with charcoal and pastels; I'd like to start doing it again, but for some reason I'm scared to. (Maybe I'm afraid I'll, well, suck.)
15.If I could do college over again, I'd major in history or English and philosophy, instead of political science and philosophy. And I'd take four years of Latin, for fun. Yes, fun. (edit 2012--or maybe I'd just do four years of both French and Spanish!)
16. Sometimes I feel as though I am strangely invisible.
17. I never minded being an only child, until both of my parents were gone.
18. I played varsity tennis in high school, and was also in choir and yearbook.
19. I feel very connected to both of my grandmothers, although my maternal grandma died long before I was born, and my paternal grandma died when I was 16--almost 25 years ago.
20. I have ultra-sensitive skin that requires more pampering than a baby's. Hair, too.
21. The only thing that REALLY makes my back feel better is massage and gentle yoga. And certain muscle relaxers, of course.
22. I would love to do freelance writing but have no idea how to begin.
23. One of the very best days of my life was the day I discovered that dark chocolate actually contains more antioxidants than green tea.
24.My biggest regret (aside from infertility) is that I was supposed to spend a college semester studying in London, which fell through when we couldn't come up with the extra cash, and then later I was supposed to spend a whole week over New Year's Eve staying in a friend's flat in Paris, only to wind up in the ER the night before my flight with a bad case of influenza.
25. When I was 30 I had surgery to correct a crooked jaw--my scoliosis made the lower part of my face grow unevenly.(edit 2012--I actually had three surgeries to correct the kyphosis and scoliosis in my back when I was 17 and a senior in high school.)

i'll see you in my dreams

"I never knew grief felt so much like fear."
--C.S. Lewis

Lewis was right on target: grief does feel like fear. The same breathless, sickening sensation of a sharp kick smack in the middle of the gut; the trembly, disoriented, foggy feeling in the brain; the same clenching, harsh pain around the heart.

All summer--strangely, ever since my headaches started easing up--I've been dreaming about my parents, especially my mom. The dreams always follow the same pattern. I'm reunited with either or both of my folks, only to have them die right in front of me. Almost every morning I wake up, crying, to face another day of fresh, raw grief, as though they died only yesterday. It's as though I'm haunted. It's made me depressed and weepy as of late; I'm extra sensitive, so every perceived slight hurts all the more, and my self-esteem is swimming around in the depths of the toilet.

Obviously, I haven't processed my mom's death. As I look back over the past year, I realize I've dealt with my grief, in many instances, by not dealing with it. By focusing on having a baby, partly to fill the void left by her absence. (Yeah, my head knows that won't work, but I suspect my gut feels differently. I should point out that I've desperately wanted a baby for a long time; it's just that losing my mom makes my grief over not conceiving even more intense.) By distracting myself with the TV and books. By telling myself that hey, I'm forty years old now, it's time to grow up and stop yearning for my mommy. The constant migraines, I now think, were in part, my grief coming out sideways.

Oscar Romero once said, "As a Christian, I do not believe in death without Resurrection." And I do, it's the hope I cling to. But I can't bear the thought that I will never again in this life feel my mom's arms around me, or be able to rest my head on her shoulder. That she's not there to soothe my hurt feelings when I feel rejected or like a failure at something. That there's no one left to reminisce with about the things the three of us did as a family together. I want to get past the grief, to get on with my life, to focus on enjoying my wonderful memories of my mom and dad; I just don't know how to, I guess.

still here

Yeah, I'm still alive. I've been having a lot of migraines lately, which is the main reason I haven't been posting. I have one right now, in fact, so I'll just post a brief update:

1. I'm having a rough time coping with my mom's death; I've been really isolating myself and immersing myself in books and TV to avoid dealing with my grief. Not healthy, I know, and of course I'm missing her more desperately than ever now that Christmas is coming.
2. No, I'm not pregnant yet.
3. I'm also having a major identity crisis since filling for disability with my student loan provider. How do I rise above my illness(es)? I refuse to allow my sense of self to be equated with my disabilities--I'm just not sure how I can define myself anymore. And it's painful to accept the loss of so many of my dreams. There are many days (like today) when I feel basically worthless, that life is passing me by and I'm not really living, that because I'm not bringing home a paycheck I'm not an equal partner in my marriage (although George never makes me feel this way), that I'm not contributing anything to the world around me.
4. I am doing one thing, though--George and I are participating in the Basilica's JustFaith program. Actually I'm a co-facilitator. More on this later.
5. Well, two things. I'm singing with the St. Paul Seminary School of Divinity Chorale again this year. When I manage to make it to practice, anyway. Our big holiday concert (Lessons and Carols for the Baptism of the Lord) is on January 6; we're also doing a hymnfest in April and singing at the Archdiocesan diaconate ordination in May.

However, regarding my mom, I came across a quote about grief today that gives me some hope:

Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow. But this same necessity of loving serves to counteract the grief and heals them.
--Tolstoy


If mom's death has taught me anything, it's that broken hearts never completely mend, but at the same time they become infinitely expandable and more capable of love and gratitude than ever.

seven truths

My friend Liz tagged me to reveal seven true things about myself. So here goes!

1. I was adopted 39 years ago yesterday, October 24, at the age of five weeks.

2. I am Irish, English, French, German, Danish and Lithuanian; my adopted parents (although I think of them as my "real" parents!) were German (my dad) and German, English, Scottish and Cherokee (my mom).

3. My favorite comfort food is macaroni and cheese from Noodles.

4. When I was a little girl I wanted to be a priest and was sure that if I could just meet with the Pope I could convince him to let women become priests.

5. In college I worked for Senator Ted Kennedy and attended several parties at the Kennedy Compound in Hyannisport, Mass. I had first applied for an internship with Senator John Kerry because I thought I didn't have a prayer of getting a job in Ted's office. Then when Kerry turned me down, I figured I had nothing to lose so just for the heck of it I applied for the job in Kennedy's office--and got the position, even though they had already finished hiring for the summer and had to create a new position just for me!

Me with other Senate interns at Hyannisport clambake, summer 1989. Check out my huge '80s hair!

6. I am number 41 out of 44 grandchildren on my dad's side. He had ten siblings, all of whom were fruitful and multiplied. We are also a family of baseball freaks. I am the only grandchild and sole remaining descendant on my mom's side.

7. I was a political science and philosophy major at Boston College, with an interdisciplinary minor in Faith, Peace and Justice studies.


I am supposed to tag seven other people, but I think everyone I know has already been hit. If anyone reading this hasn't, consider yourself tagged!

august update

I'm trying to keep busy. Our social life has taken off somewhat (well, compared to before anyway) and recently we've been getting together with friends and family more, and even went to a wedding yesterday (congratulations Meg and Joe!!!!!!!). A couple of weeks ago I took a four-day class at The Loft about writing the short personal essay, and I have two pieces I'm working on: one about my mother's rosary and her legacy, and another about my first trip out to Fort Snelling to visit my mom's grave. It is MUCH harder to write short than to write long! I've been journaling quite a bit too, which helps me deal with my grief, a little, although of course it's not enough.

Last Sunday I finally went to Mass at the Basilica for the first time since mom's funeral. It was as emotionally wrenching as I had expected, although I'm still glad I went, despite the buckets of tears I wept. Ah well. It wasn't the first time I've cried at Mass, and I imagine it won't be the last.

And I need to thank everyone who responded to my post earlier this summer, when I was feeling awfully desperate. Your messages of friendship and caring made me feel that I was not alone and were SO comforting; grief is mighty lonely and such a long hard agonizing slog it's sometimes hard for me to believe I might actually live through it.

There is a poem I can't stop thinking about that I first read not long after my dad died; it's even more poignant now that mom is gone too. It captures all my aching loneliness, my anger over what is gone from me forever, my sense of despair and crushing loss. And my broken heart. By Edna St. Vincent Millay, this particular poem keeps reverberating in my mind, day after day:

Dirge Without Music

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind.
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew.
A formula, a phrase remains.--but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love--
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses.
Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know.
But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave.
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind.
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

--Edna St. Vincent Millay

My parents on their wedding day in 1963

They are now buried together in the same grave at Fort Snelling National Cemetery

you've got the cutest little baby face

My mom would be 79 years old today (Liz, thanks for remembering~!). I discovered this photo in my Grandma Baach's things last January and I still laugh every time I look at it. She looks so cuddly! And the expression on her face--and the dimple in her chin--are totally priceless.

I was planning to go out to the cemetery today for the first time but I don't think I'm quite ready to face the whole visiting the grave thing. And mom would be the last person to push me to do it if it doesn't feel right. "It's okay sweetie," she'd tell me. "You can find another way to remember me today." (Actually, this sounds crazy, but I actually heard her say this this earlier today. It wasn't the first time I've heard her, either. It happens all the time. And she's always right...she did promise me that she'd never leave me...) So George and I are going to see Hot Fuzz or rent Borat tonight.

Mom always did love hearing me laugh.

the fog begins to lift

The presence of that absence is everywhere
--Edna St. Vincent Millay

In a few hours it will be exactly three weeks since my mom died. For some reason, I can't get the memory of reaching over and closing her eyes after she quit breathing out of my head.

The last three weeks I have been mostly numb, stumbling around in some sort of fog. But the last couple of days, the fog has begun to lift, and I have to say that I really, REALLY miss it, now that the realization that she's gone, forever, that I'll never see that warm and beautiful smile, or hear her voice on the telephone, or give her a hug ever again is starting to set in. It's beyond belief, the pain is. My heart hurts, literally, actually hurts, like it is breaking and shattering into a million pieces, my eyes are red and sore and puffy (my whole face is for that matter) because I can't stop crying, and I feel like I can't breathe. I can't concentrate, can't sleep, can't function very much if at all.

I am dreading the next week. She would have been 79 years old on Thursday. And now I have another reason to dread Mother's Day.

I'm sure that someday I will be able to feel grateful that I had the chance to say goodbye, to be with her when she died--I've been haunted for years by the fact that my dad died so suddenly, always wondering if he really knew just how much I loved him. Adored him. That someday I will find pleasure and comfort in my memories, that the pain will recede, and I will be able to feel her presence. I know this, intellectually. But it's the kind of knowledge that hasn't found its way into my heart yet. All I know is that I've not only lost my mother; I've lost my best friend too.

I want to thank all of you who have been so supportive and thoughtful during all of this, and ask you to please be patient with me now. Your friendship means more to me than you'll ever know.

funeral today

I'm too exhausted to write about the funeral today...but I did want to write something in honor of the occasion. So here are the quotes I used in my eulogy:

"Life is eternal, and love is immortal, and death is only a horizon, and a horizon is nothing save the limitation of our sight."
--Rossiter Worthington Raymond

"We do best homage to our dead by living our lives fully even in the shadow of our loss."
--Jewish proverb

And mom's favorite prayer, the Prayer of St. Francis:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love,
Where there is injury, pardon,
Where there is doubt, faith:
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine master, grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
--St. Francis of Assisi

she's gone

Mildred Elaine Resch
Born May 10, 1928
Died April 15, 2007

Mom died at 12:40 am Sunday morning. George and I were both with her, and I held her hand all evening, until she drew her last breath. She suffered tremendously the last few days--I was praying that God would speed things up--but her last few hours were peaceful. I sang to her, kept talking to her and telling her I was there, it wouldn't be much longer until she would be home, with daddy and grandma and everyone she's missed for so long. The last several hours she was nonresponsive, so at one point, probably about 45 minutes before she died, I asked her to squeeze my hand if she knew I was there. And she squeezed.

George and I said the rosary and in her last hour, I prayed the Commendation for the Dying for her:

Go forth, Christian soul, from this world
in the name of God the almighty Father
who created you,
in the name of Jesus Christ, Son of the living God,
who suffered for you,
in the name of the Holy Spirit,
who was poured out upon you,
go forth, faithful Christian.

May you live in peace this day,
may your home be with God in Zion,
with Mary, the virgin Mother of God,
with Joseph, and all the angels and saints.

I commend you to almighty God,
and entrust you to your creator.
May you return to him
who formed you from the dust of the earth.
May holy Mary, the the angels, and all the saints
come to meet you as you go forth from this life.
may Christ who was crucified for you
bring you freedom and peace.
May Christ who died for you,
admit you into his garden of paradise.
May Christ, the true Shepherd,
acknowledge you as one of his flock.
May he forgive all your sins,
and set you among those he has chosen.
May you see your Redeemer face to face,
and enjoy the vision of God forever.

Her obituary is in the StarTribune today.

Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord,
and may perpetual light shine upon her.
May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed
rest in peace.
Amen.

looks like this is it

Mom has been declining rapidly this week and was diagnosed with pneumonia today. She has elected not to treat it with anitbiotics. Her nurse practitioner told me that she will probably die within the week, possibly within the next few days.

mom on the web

Just a quick note: I set up a website for my mom with updates, photos, etc. at caringbridge.org.

I've been having hellish migraines since last week, so I can't stay on any longer, but I have to thank everyone who has sent messages recently for your kindness and compassion. When I can't sleep, I lie in bed and think about all of you, and I feel so blessed. You guys mean the world to me.

mom, 1950's

hospice

Mom has officially been in hospice for over a week now. She got pneumonia (which can be very deadly with emphysema) a couple of weeks ago (that's why she was listed in the intercessions, Emilie) but has apparetnly pulled through okay. The doctors tell me she has multi-systemic organ failure, all related to the emphysema of course, but this includes not only her lungs (pulmonary hypertension)but right-sided heart failure, atrial fibrillation, and her kidneys are starting to shut down a bit.

Now that she's in hospice she's a lot more comfortable because of the new medications they've added. So that is a huge comfort, anyway. I'm so grateful that she's able to still enjoy life. And most of our family has really rallied around her, too.

But I've been having panic attacks and constant nightmares, despite the wonderful support I've been receiving from some people. I'm seeing my doctor tomorrow, so hopefully she'll have some ideas.

Please keep all of us in your prayers.

And Liz, I'm wearing my prayer shawl at this very moment!

There is also the possibility that what they saw on her chest x-ray wasn't pneumonia at all, but a malignancy. it doesn't really matter, because the emphysema would likely kill her before the cancer did.

the last valentine's day

I've finally started to let go and cry when I feel like it instead of holding it in which, I am informed by my doctor, is much healthier and may even help my ulcer. But now my face is blotchy all the time, and sore. My darling friend Liz (of Random Thoughts of a Lutheran Geek) sent me a prayer shawl last month which I keep wrapped around me constantly, and I keep Fiona close by (or I should say she refuses to leave me side). I need to find other ways to take care of myself, though, so I can be there for mom.

At mom's care conference Tuesday, the staff said that her condition is stablilized, mostly, in my opinion, because she's up to her eyeballs in meds--she gets nebulizer treatments every four hours and now has liquid morphine on order for when she needs it, etc. Her doctor, nurse practitioner, and hospice nurse and social worker are meeting later this month to further discuss "end of life" issues, hospice evaluation, etc.

We are moving her things from her apartment this weekend, and I'm really dreading it. I bawled and bawled last night when I realized that it was our last Valentine's Day together. I'm already losing the mom I've always known due to her declining condition, and there are times (i.e. right now) I just feel that...I...can't...bear it.

Sorry my blog has been so depressing lately. I'm sure reading about all of this is a drag, and I'd love to be inspirational and optimistic and seeing the best of everything. But you know, I try to do that everyday with my mom, and most of the time I don't have anything else left in me. I just DREAD mornings because it's time to face another day.

Francie

My mom called to ask me if Francie, the little russet-colored woolly puppy I brought her when she first went in the hospital before Christmas, could be buried with her.

Do broken hearts really mend?

Life is eternal, and love is immortal, and death is a horizon, and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.
--Rossiter Worthington Raymond

down again

Last Friday, mom's new nurse practitioner called with a few questions, and to set up a care conference for Feb. 13. Apparently mom was never evaluated for hospice at the last place despite promises that she would be. So I think they are finally going to begin doing the necessary lung function tests, etc., that Medicare requires for hospice placement. Regardless, the nurse warned me that mom's lung tissues are so damaged she doesn't have much time left.

I'm too tired to write anymore. But Jane and Missy, if you're reading this, thank you so much for your comments. I've read them over and over again. God bless you both--and the same to Liz, Liz, Emilie, and everyone else for your caring comments and prayers. Some days it's the only thing that keeps me going.