My mom passed away recently. I've written about Lorna over the years, and some of my readers have met her. She lived a long and happy life. At 99, she was planning to make it to 100. 

She didn't want to leave us. She was a mother. She identified with and valued that role above all the others in her long life, and she worried a lot about her five children. At the end we convinced her, I think, that she had done a wonderful job--raising us, modeling love throughout her life, and teaching us how to love and care for each other. We told her we would do that, and now she could rest. She heard us. 

A New World

I find myself in a new world now. I'm 76, and have known my mother for a very long time--known the world with her in it. Whether growing up by her side or as an adult living far away, my world had Lorna.

It's different now--the world. When I arrived home from Naperville, IL, where she died, I walked into my home and it felt altered. Even though nothing on the outside had changed, it wasn't the same. Mom had never seen our new home, never been here. It didn't matter. I felt something had changed when I walked in the door. She wasn't in the world anymore. Things would not be (never be) the same now. 

It's a bit of a shock. I didn't realize things would be like this, that life would feel so different. 

My family and I were with her at Christmas, an amazing time together, and just over a month later she left us. Of course, we are all grieving. I guess that's some of what I'm experiencing with this world shift.

I imagine I'm different, too. The 7:45 am daily calls to her are gone. My body feels the urge to call her still. The startle reflex when my phone rings (Is Mom okay? Did she fall?) is still there, but the call will not be about her or from her.

Blessings

I know this is a pretty sad post so far. And let's face it--I'm sad. This is a hard life jolt and it will take some time to fit the pieces of the world back together.

So let me finish with some of the blessings of the last couple of months, because there have been many.

I'm the oldest of five, and while we have always been close, Mom's passing has shown us how durable and deep that love is. One example was a sacred moment at Christmas time when we sat with Mom around her hospital bed singing to her, praying together, laying our hands on hers, and telling her how much we loved her. I will never forget that moment.

Another blessing is that she knew we loved her. She was mentally astute until the end, and she knew we were there giving her back some of what she'd given us for so many years.

And the stories--we've been telling each other stories about Mom that are new to some of us. After all, we each knew her differently. Some of the stories that we've all held close for many years were brought to life again by the re-telling. And some were new ones I'd never heard.

I learned from my sister Paula, for example, that when Mom was in her 20's, her favorite song was "Rum and Coca Cola" by the Andrews Sisters -- you’ll want to listen to that song to really appreciate why it surprised me to learn this woman anyone would describe as sweet, kind and reserved, and who I never knew to take chances or do anything other than what was expected of her also had a fun dating life before she met my dad, drinking rum and Coke and hanging out in bars with med students until 2 am!

She and her BFF Coco visited a morgue with these guys one night and when they asked her if she wanted to lie down in one of the drawers, Lorna said, "Sure, why not?"!  When Paula raised her eyebrows at the danger implicit in the undertaking, Mom said to her "Oh, people weren't like that then!" Huh. Perhaps not, but still.... 

So we're still telling stories about Mom and hearing others from friends and relatives who knew her and for whom she was also a loving soul. I imagine (I hope) these will never end. She will go on forever this way.

And the world will go on too, but very differently, without her.

We loved you, Lorna.

Good ki!