Photo by Pixabay at Pexels
by BethAnn Pricket
My earliest memories are of my mother being sick. She had her first open heart surgery when I was about six years old. I did not understand what was happening at the time. While she was in the hospital, I stayed with a family that spoiled me. I thought it was great until I saw her in the hospital bed. That image always breaks my heart because it was the first time I thought my mom was going to die.
My mom had lupus, a nasty autoimmune disorder that works hard to attack all the important organs in your body. It attacked my mom’s weak heart the worst. That open heart surgery when I was six was the first of four surgeries she would have to face. She spent most of her life visiting doctors and trying to take the best care of a body that was constantly fighting to be healthy. I can see now that her tenacity was one of the first gifts she gave me.
I come from a family of uneducated people. Many of my family members never finished high school, including my mother. The lack of education did not slow her down, though; she was constantly trying to learn new things. She did not accept that things were too difficult. She would find a project that interested her and just figure it out.
She spent her days learning, making, and creating. She would sew clothes and quilts. She took painting classes and singing lessons. She tried every artistic thing she could think of, and she was good at them all. Almost every time I spoke to her, she would explain that she was making something and who it needed to go to when she died. I think she was trying to fit the most into a life that might not be very long and to collect her love into beautiful objects for her family to hold when holding her hand was no longer possible.
I hated those conversations.
Her favorite thing to do was to have my daddy buy her jewelry. She really liked sparkly things. She would say, “BethAnn, Daddy got me this necklace for my birthday. It is so pretty. Now, this one needs to go to ____ (insert one of eight grandchildren).” It would frustrate me. I would ask her to just write it down. I would tell her that I would not remember it all. The truth is that it was too hard to imagine a time when she wouldn’t be there.
My mom fought through four open heart surgeries. The surgeon did not even charge her for the last one. He said that no one should ever have to endure the pain of that procedure four times. We almost lost her during that last surgery. They came out to tell us everything went well and then we waited another two hours before they came to tell us she was finally in the ICU. The surgery was so taxing on her body that she never fully recovered. She seemed to move slower, would forget things, and had to be on oxygen constantly. The doctor told her she would not survive if she needed another surgery. The only option left would be a heart transplant, and she probably would not be approved because of her lupus. I think that was when she decided she was coming to the end of her story.
I got the call a week before my birthday in July of 2017 that Mom’s heart was giving up, and she wanted me to come see her before she passed. I flew to South Carolina the next day, and the following week will remain etched in my memory like it was yesterday. Mom was alert and lively and spunky as ever. We talked and laughed, and she told me stories about the things she had been working on and wouldn’t get a chance to finish. We even celebrated my birthday with cake and ice cream. She asked for a lot of ice cream and said we could keep the cake. Ice cream was one of her favorite treats.
One afternoon as we sat talking and laughing on her bed, we gathered all her sparkly things around her. One by one she was able to lay out her gifts for her “babies.” We talked about how much they would love that piece and why she picked it. It is such a beautiful memory, and it was such a blessing to have had that time with her.
The last night she was able to communicate with me, she looked over to the corner of the room, looked at me, and said she wanted to go to the party. I asked what party she wanted to go to. She pointed to the corner of the room and said, “That one over there where my Daddy is.” I told her I thought it was a great idea for her to go to the party with Grandpa. I asked if anyone else was there. She spoke the names of loved ones who had already passed on.
Mom faded fast the last few days, and we said our final goodbye on August 2. Was it hard? Yes, it was the hardest thing I have done in my life. Was it beautiful? Yes, it was. My mom peacefully fell asleep for the last time while holding my hand, and the pain she had suffered every day was gone. I am so grateful for her strength and all the gifts she gave us, especially the strong need to leave something behind for those we love by giving them a tangible memory.
I stood at my jewelry box this morning and slipped on my mother’s ring. Like every day before, I told her I loved her and I missed her. The legacy she left behind is more precious than the gold in that band. It was in the love she showed her family, the need to learn everything that caught her interest, the tenacity to fight for what is important, and to always see the things you have as something to give away.
I hope that I am able to leave my own family with a beautiful goodbye someday.
Stark Voices 