Mothers Day
What did you do for your mother on Mothers Day?
I know I should try and say something profound, maybe something pithy, but I’m at a loss.
My mom died in 2006 in a car accident. My mother in law gets bombarded with cards made from my children. Kathi doesn’t give a fat jockey about the holiday (she can’t stand most holidays except birthdays)…so I’m not sure there’s much for me to say.
I miss my mom.
You never know when loved ones will be gone for good. Don’t waste a moment if you have the opportunity. Make sure you tell them you love them, especially and most specifically your mother. She gave you life, she cared for you and most likely cleaned up things that would make the Roto-Rooter man puke.
Don’t assume they know you love them. Tell them.
Don’t end up like me, plagued with sorrow because the last time you spoke to your mom, you had a heated disagreement instead of a hug and kind word.
Trust me on this one.
-Jaime Buckley
Read MoreHow I Dealt With Pain (My Mom Died–Part 4)
I’ve received a lot of feedback in emails since my last few posts. BTW, if you wouldn’t mind posting your thoughts here, so they can be shared with others, I think we would all appreciate it. It makes it easier for me to talk to everyone at once, rather than replying to emails, though I understand if the feelings are private or tender.
The repeated question is how I’m doing now, and how did I deal with the pain after my mom died. One friend said she hasn’t cried yet as much as she feels she should after her mom died from cancer. That specifically got me thinking about the week I ran off with my Uncle Bob.
Uncle Bob is my mom’s personality (all the good stuff) in a huge military worn body, with a sprinkle of crazy and a hefty dose of fantastic laughter. I love that man dearly. Spend 3-4 days a week with him, and when my mom died, the two of us didn’t shed a tear. We did all we could to be the anchors for the family, to help others work it out, to be strength to Kathilynn and the kids, but never asking anything of anyone else.
Under the stress, nearly a year later, I started having heart and chest problems. I got dizzy…and my temper was like napalm. However, anything about my mother as a subject caused me to instantly bottle up. Bob was the same way. Well my friends noticed, and they got worried. So the guys from church all chipped in and bought two trips out to Wendover Nevada, for a Lobster dinner and a night out of town.
The night we left, Kathi pulled Uncle Bob aside and made him promise to watch over me. To give me room, but not let me end up in jail. Everything else she knew I was capable of doing was ok by her–just let me do it. He agreed. We didn’t say a word all the way to the casino, and then found the restaurant. The meal was incredible, and as we filled our bellies, we started to talk about mom. The good times, the bad times, things that annoyed us about her, things she was frustrated with us about. This went on through the night.
During the meal, I vented and just let the tears flow. No one here knew me and I’ve likely never see anyone here again anyway, so I balled. I swore. I cursed the Universe for taking my mom and even cursed my mom for falling asleep at the wheel. The little Mexican waitresses came and asked what was wrong and Uncle Bob told them in Spanish a condensed version. I don’t know what he said, but several of the women came out and tenderly hugged me and gave their condolences, the manager looking on. When he heard about our conversation in the booth, he came to our table and offered to let us stay all night, and kept the kitchen open for us an additional 3 hours after they cleaned up after everyone else.
Trust me, there are those who understand the importance of grieving. That night I smoked for the first time in almost 16 years. I also drank until I couldn’t see straight and cried about my mom even more, all the way home on the bus while Uncle Bob took me under wing and delivered me safe to Kathilynn once more.
There was a life turning event for me, and it was the true beginning of my healing process, and the healing for Uncle Bob. We never regretted that night, and I came home to a loving family who allowed me to vent in the only way I knew how, away from those I would have offended, and it worked.
Read MoreThe Truth About Death (My Mom Died–Part 3)
At my mom’s funeral in Riverton, Utah it was storming. Ice cold rain and wind. There were tents and chairs, but I stood in the rain. My wife and kids asked me to come under the canape, but I ignored everyone. I was in shock. The cold water soaking into my suit and rolling over my skin helped my mind to numb.
I remember a lot of people talking, saying things that just didn’t matter. Their opinions, their thoughts on trivial things. Crap, even my grandparents talked about what great missionaries they were, but hardly a word about my own mother, who was sitting there in the casket beside them. The only thing that mattered to me or held my attention was the bringing in of the casket, and my beloved father singing to his sweetheart for one last time.
When it was all over, the crowd rose and started finding members of my family to give their condolences. Kind, heart felt words that didn’t make much sense, but that’s all they knew to give. They would pat me on the shoulder or hug me, with advice like “you’re gonna get through this”, or “It’ll take time, but it’ll get easier”, or “Time will help heal.” The only family that held their tongue was Chad’s, the same family who had lost their little boy. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to.
They knew words would be more for them than for me, so they gave us hugs and moved on with a smile and tear of understanding. I just stood there, silent, my little children wrapped around my soaking legs, hugging me.
The last person there waited until everyone had passed and said their peace, never making a sound or a motion towards me until I was alone. A good friend of mine, Paul, who I hadn’t even noticed was at the funeral in the first place. He walked up slowly and waited for me to look at him. His words were golden to my ears, and they have helped me through the toughest parts of my life after my mom died.
Here’s what he said:
“Jaime, I wanted to wait until we were alone, so we could talk. I know you’re a blunt person, so I want to say something I think you’ll appreciate.
“The closest person to me in this world was my little brother. For the past 8 months, I have cared for him and bathed him and lifted his frail little body into bed each night as cancer ate him away to nothing. My sweet, kind baby brother, who gave no offense to the day I placed his body in the ground.
“People came to the funeral. They gave their condolences and they expressed their sorrows, saying the same things I heard your friends and family tell you today. But I want to give you a sliver of truth here, because you’re my friend and I love you.
“Everything they said to you is complete and total bullshit.
“Your mother was an incredible person. She gave birth to you, she loved you, she cared for you Jaime. The fact is, she owns a part of your heart. It belongs to her,and she’s not here anymore. No one else can fill that hole. It’s not possible. You’ll have that hole for the rest of your life…and it’s not going to be ok. and it’s NOT going to get easier! It hurts. You were robbed of a loved one and it’s perfectly ok to be pissed off, to be angry and to scream and shout.
“It’s going to hurt like hell for some time. Who knows how long. You’ll have good days and you’ll have days that feel like complete shit. But you’ll cope. You’ll find a way to take one day at a time. to breath in and out and put one foot in front of the other. And after a time you’ll manage and move on, not because it doesn’t hurt anymore–but because you understand that the feelings of pain are just a reminder of that hole which can’t be filled.
“It will never get better, Jaime. But you will learn to manage.”
He gave me a strong hug and left me standing there alone, with a truth I have cherished to this day.
Some might not like that type of talk, but Paul knew me and he knew I would fight if I just had a shred of truth to stand my ground. It has never gotten better. I miss my mom every day, and there are times when life gets so hard that I take that ghastly perfume she wore, spray a bit on my pillow and hope I’ll dream of her, walking with me, holding me and having one of the many talks I remember growing up.
But I have learned to manage.
Read MoreMy Mom Died–Part One
On April 25th, 2004, I received a phone call from my father at 4:14 am (time is a bit fuzzy), waking me from sleep. It was a choking, sobbing voice, and I clicked on the light to look at the caller ID on the nightstand. The first words I heard were:
“Mom’s dead.”
I remember my heart breaking and becoming angry at my father for the sick joke. It wasn’t. My mother–one of Gods greatest creations, was dead in a rollover that made national news outside Reno Nevada. She had been traveling all night and flipped the car with her, my sister and my two baby twin nieces (one week from their 1st birthday).
That was the day my family as I knew it ended.
I bring this up, because we are still dealing with family issues that affect everyone around them, and after an argument five minutes ago, there are things I need off my chest. There are things I have learned in the last five years that have helped me to become happier than I have ever been in my life, and though I miss my mom late at night, or on mothers day–and especially at Christmas…I would not change the events of time. Yes my children, even if I were Doctor Who.
Hopefully some of my friends and siblings out there will read this (eventually) and either be able to heal…or pull their heads out of their asses and stop being cruel to one another.
(sorry for the language mom)
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