Remembering Carol Sue

Returning to the essence of the woman who raised me, and the truth of her wholeness.

Below is a gratitude journal entry I wrote in November of 2022, with a few edits because I was fortunate enough to get another year and three months with this woman..

“In the time I’ve spent with my 85 year old mom, I’m realizing how quickly pieces of her are drifting away. She’s tired, and in pain, and even when she has good days, her memory doesn’t allow her to hold on to them. Her mind fills the gaps with her misery–and there seems to be no escape for her. It’s rough, and it gives me such an appreciation for the value of remembering.

I’ve been hesitant to put this out, wanting to preserve mom’s dignity and privacy–but I know so many who feel the pain of losing someone this way. I also know that if we didn’t lose people, we’d never consider how precious the time we had with them was. Today I’m choosing to focus on the gift of memories, because they are the glue that keeps the experiences of a lifetime together. They help me find meaning in the midst of loss.

Although Dad was taken away too soon, he left this world while everyone still knew him–the real him. The memories I have of him are easier to call up with clarity, and are not buried under years of deterioration and the hardship of caring for him. I love that I can still hear his voice, picture his mannerisms, and tell so many stories 22 years after he left us.

I have not stopped to “remember” my mom–because technically she’s still here, but today:

I remember my mom as the person who cultivated my love of nature–took us on so many walks in the forest preserve and trips to national parks. She had a deep connection to all animals, maybe loved her dogs more than her people, and loved to witness any animal in the wild. Cardinals were her favorite, and she would gush over their beauty and the way they worked together, took care of each other. My mom was filled with Spirit–and a faith that literally carried us through some hellish times with dad’s illness, and her own struggle with restlessness, and depression. She believed in miracles–in a God who could do anything–and never hesitated to pray hard for those she loved. She was a writer, and wrote volumes about her spiritual journey and her struggles with the church. She loved to laugh–a shrieking, loud laugh–and she could be so funny in a self-deprecating way. She loved entertaining people in her home, and would put out a huge spread of food—welcoming one and all to just graze all day. She loved a clean house–and would maniacally scrub floors and windows (still tries to do this, by the way). She loved so many people–really loved them and “listened them into being,” as she would say. Friends would become family because of her. And she was my very best friend.

Although there’s no way to sum up anyone’s life in a single post, one paragraph of remembering brings the whole of mom’s life back into focus--and it’s bringing me to tears. So today, I’m especially grateful for memories.”

And now, at 86, in her final days with us, this has been Mom’s mantra: “I love you, precious. I am grateful. I am blessed. You’re a good girl.” One of the most loving people I’ll ever know, one of the most grateful, and she truly understood what it meant to be blessed. But she was not calm, she was ALWAYS antsy, ready to get things done, ready to go somewhere, ready to get the hell outta here, LOL!

As she makes her departure, I’m realizing how much of her lives on— how much I carry the spirit of my mom. I confess it makes me cringe when I really don’t want to embrace the nervous, invasive, restless energy that was obviously passed down. But when I hear the sounds of love and gratitude coming from the center of my being— I come back to the WHOLE story, and I am blessed.

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