Contemplation

Mom died a few months ago. I rushed home, and I was able to talk to her, but neither of us knew she had internal bleeding. She was weak and very cold. We'd just assumed it was because she was off oxygen for a little while, and she assumed it as well. I went to the store to pick up some supplies for her, and she lost consciousness as I entered the garage on my return. The paramedics and receiving staff kept her alive for around nine hours, which we found out later was against her wishes. She went fast, and in many ways this was a blessing.

When dad passed away, I was still an adolescent. I was never able to have that post-adolescent bond with him that you're supposed to have when you're in or done with college. In some ways, it was easier to transition after his passing as my field of study was inspired by him. I was also religious at the time, attending Church with him before the ordeal, and I would attend after. I never doubted my faith until many years later. Carrying on in his legacy was relatively easy, because in many ways I am just like him.

I was able to have a friendship with my mom that transcended childhood. There was a “clicking” moment in my last few years of college when I realized I no longer needed anyone's help. The conversations we had changed from things I needed from her to things that I wanted to do with my life. After I was married and had a kid, I visited less and less. Returning home after my moms passing to see all of the toys she saved for her grand-kids nearly killed me. I hadn't been there in about three years.

Unlike my dad, mom never kept a diary She'd send yearly Christmas updates, which was the extent of her reflections. Dad, at least, had a year and a half diary and many 'Good Sabbath' emails. Mom had a lot of genealogy that she left us. It seemed as though she left my dad's line alone as his is regularly maintained by his siblings/others while hers wasn't. No one seemed to want to keep and extend the records after her death, so I volunteered. I'm not a religious person anymore (details may come), so it's not about redeeming the dead for me – but it is about doing what she'd want me to do. Her confirmation blessing involved her participating in genealogical research for her ancestors.

Around Christmas, before she passed, I was talking to her about faith. I asked her if she were to die, if she'd return and tell me the truth about the religion in which I was raised. I had no premonition at the time, and as such – I don't remember her response. It is really painful for me to know that I can't carry on in the legacy of my parents to a certain extent. I respect their firm beliefs, and I wouldn't change the way I was raised, but I can't pretend anymore. I have lost my faith, and as such will not be able to participate in certain religious activities that are culturally, traditionally, and emotionally significant. I have no one to blame but myself.

Cleaning out the house was a grieving process as if I lost both parents at the same time. We dug up some interesting items that had different emotional significance for each sibling. I found the dress my mom wore to my reception. I took some time to reflect before I had to put it in a bag, which we later donated. It was difficult to do. We found my dad's powdered chocolate milk mix which he bought for me when I was 16 or 17. We found three of my dad's shirts, each went to a sibling. My mom had countless books, and supplements. My wife and I took as many as we could. I took my mom's hope chest and will attempt to get it restored so that I can give it to my daughter. Mom had cabbage-patch dolls she wanted to give to her grandchildren, and we found the last one in the chest.

There's usually a “lessons learned” moment with each tragedy, but with this there's just hardship.