A Death in the Family

My mother died at the end of August. She’d been diagnosed with cancer in 2021, and for the next four and a half years she’d poured herself into her family and friendships, as well as fighting the disease. This past winter, we started to notice a significant decline in her health. Treatments weren’t working anymore and we all knew that death wasn’t far away. I drove out in May for a Mother’s Day visit. We spent a week on the ocean this summer, and in August, I drove down to join my dad and siblings at her bedside to say goodbye.

Visitation

On the ground floor of her bright, sunlit suburban home, my mother’s hospital bed sat in front of her huge, picture window. She could look out on her flower-filled front garden, watch the birds they’d spent decades feeding as they fluttered around right in front of the glass. My dad had set up the television so she could watch baseball in the afternoons, and all the couches and chairs were tucked around houseplants, facing the bed. A little circle of companionship.

My youngest brother had flown in from the West, tucking a brief visit in before his teaching job picked up for the school year again. My other brother moved in for the month – working from home to give as much support to our dad as possible. My tender, southern sister did the same – with her husband joining her whenever he could. You could see in her eyes just how much the consistency of their presence meant to my mom.

During my visit, my sister pulled out all the photo albums from the upstairs closet and hauled them down to my mom’s retreat space. She took out photo after photo of family members and friends – we passed them all around, told stories, and showed them to Mom. Flowers and friends arrived daily to spend time with her. We watered all her houseplants, cleaned the bathrooms, cooked sustaining meals, and spent time together. I was inspired by just how service-oriented my siblings were – ready and willing to do anything to support my parents. Hard times really can bring out the best in people, and I was blessed to see my siblings’ love for our mother shine out in August.

Gathering Up Threads

Death comes to us all. It can be a very unifying experience. I know that, not only with my siblings, but also with friends who have lost parents, I’m allowing this shared experience of death to bring us closer. We all lose someone at some point, and losing a parent can be incredibly painful. It can also feel overwhelming – I want to do all the right things. I don’t want to neglect anything. But often, our parents don’t want to burden their adult children with too much information.

During my visit in May, my mom was giving away all sorts of things – art, china, cooking pots, books. We took a few things, but it felt strange to be packing up the belongings of a living woman. Now, we’re all asking, “What about this, Dad?” I drove her car home in August, and it’s in my driveway, with her rosary in the cupholder and her lipstick in the coin slot. “What about this, Dad?” I asked. He’s not sure, neither am I.

My parents did a wonderful job planning in advance for their funerals, planning their post-death financials, and talking through everything else between themselves. But I do wish I knew a little more about those plans. It would make things easier and would help the siblings plan together our new, supportive role in our father’s widowhood. I would like to know where my mom’s houseplants are going – some will stay with my dad, but he doesn’t need to worry about watering 50+ plants.

Clear planning for after death is so helpful to those of us left behind. Clear communication is as well. But sometimes, I think older parents like to keep some things close to the chest. And as challenging as that can be to navigate post-death, it’s definitely within their rights. Our parents lose a lot of their freedoms as they age – being able to decide what to communicate, and to whom shouldn’t be one of them.

Wrapped in Prayer

I love Catholic mourning customs. Full rosaries at the wake, “month’s-mind” Masses for the departed soul, eternal rest prayers, the Feast of All Souls. In the wake of losing my mom, I want to emphasize that it is never “too soon” to call a priest to come for Last Rites. The Anointing of the Sick can be done multiple times, and sometimes, waiting until the last minute is a little too late. I know that the priests I’ve talked to love having the opportunity to visit with dying parishioners in the days and weeks before death. They don’t mind working in a few, non-emergency visits at all – in fact, those opportunities to offer the Sacraments, spend time in conversation, and support the dying person and his loved ones is a joy.

My mom’s parish priest was able to visit during my week in Michigan. It was a gentle, comforting visit, and enabled my mom to greet death confidently, with all the support of the Sacraments within her. After her death, my sister reached out about requesting Masses for my mom’s soul. She spent a lot of her time up in Maine with us, and our parish priest knew her well. So my sister requested Masses here. We have her included in a Christmas Eve Mass, as well as one on my youngest brother’s birthday.

We also prioritize the tradition of “month’s mind” Masses at our parish. On the one month anniversary of death, our beloved soul is included at Mass in a special way. My mom’s month mind Mass will be on a weekday, with only a few of the people who knew her in attendance. But the parish doesn’t need to know each soul well to love and pray for them all.

Grieving Takes Time

I’m learning more than ever that grief doesn’t look the same for everyone. It’s a long, slow process. I grieve my mother differently than I’ve grieved for anyone else – a long, slow, subtle grief that’s full of joy for her as well. Because her death mimicked her life – bright with sunlight, green with growing things, sustained by love.

Grief takes time. It can soften us – help us see the people around us with more love. In the weeks after my mom’s death, I’ve seen aspects of her in so many very different people. Little things that I might never have noticed before. Christ tells us that “blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4) – what I didn’t realize was just how varied that comfort can be. It comes to us in checkout lines, at gas stations, on woodland walks. The faces of Christ are everywhere, and grief can help us see Him, if we let it.