For me, Mother’s Day is about my mom, not about me being a mom (although I adore being a mom!). I haven’t had a mom in 10 years. I haven’t heard her voice on the phone, seen a card with her handwriting, or laughed so hard about something silly that I have to put my head down on the table.
In 2013, Mom came to Minneapolis for a cousin’s wedding. I told her to get a one-way ticket, and I would drive her back up to the farm and we’d have a fun week together. We did. Evidence: we took time to stop in Fargo for lunch instead of driving straight through for 6.5 hours. Decadent.
Every time I was up in North Dakota, I would wonder how long I would get to do this. Come home. Hang out. Be in the family home that was built in 1918. I wondered because Mom was 78 and I figured at some point she would move to town. We would go through the three-story house and sort through three generations of stuff, and we’d make it fun. Mom would tell stories and we’d laugh and I’d write them down. And I’d tease her in the morning about not hearing the coyote parties that kept me awake all night.
That all ended on a bright September Friday when I got a call from a doctor in Grand Forks asking if my mom had a Do Not Resuscitate order. A what? And just like that, everything kicked into high gear. We gathered at the hospital and doctors presented scenarios and things didn’t improve overnight and ultimately, we had to let her go.
We held her hands while the nurses unhooked each system keeping her alive. Her body was ready. My heart was not. Not for that. Not to lose my mom. My daughters’ grandma. The person who always had time for me. Who always listened to me. Who loved me no matter what.
Unexpectedly, it was one of the most peaceful things I have ever experienced. She glided out. Calm. And somehow, we kept going.
Afterwards, we all went out to the farm. On a night filled with stars, I got out of the car in the yard and heard coyotes just beyond the trees, howling and yipping. And this time, I know she heard them too.
