Last Moments with Ma
Now she can rest and maybe so can we
We interned my Ma this past Friday. The last of the service type things to be checked off the list. And, now it is done. No more of THOSE tasks to be completed.
As I said to a sibling, “Maybe Ma can finally rest.”
She’s been buzzing with anxiety wanting it to be complete. If it was up to her, it would have been done the day after she died with no fuss. She never could relax and let things flow, let go. It always had to be done now, the way she wanted it.
In the end, that may have been what made the suffering so hard to watch, that inability to let go into the dying process, that grasp to hang on to the last shredded pieces of life. It was not a suffering of pain, but a suffering of habit energies that directed the end of her life. The suffering that tightens its grip the more you fight.
A familiar suffering that partially directed her life.
A buzz filling her chest, legs rock back and forth, constantly looking at the clock, thoughts repeatedly cycling, heaviness in the body, darkness in the mind, always saying sorry to the nurses and aids for tending to her deteriorating body, continually asking why God won’t end it and, and, and. All expressions of those habit energies in its most heightened state, unable to be tamped down or hidden anymore.
Ma, you can rest now, you are home.
You may ask, do I have this habit energy?
Yes, yes I do. This is a part of the conditions that created me. Only it’s manifested and expressed through me in different ways. I know that buzz feeling very, very, very well. Many times wanting to rip the skin off my body and tear out my eyes to stop the buzz.
However, I also have conditions that are of the letting go kind. The buzz has not been eliminated. I’ve only discovered how to let go into them…
She pauses for a moment and sighs,
“sometimes.”
She would prefer the buzz go away while knowing, accepting that isn’t how it works. Plus, she knows when those habit energies are harnessed, they hold her strength, unique gifts, compassion, inspiration, love she gives this world.
She relentingly sighs while scrunching her face,
“They are part of what makes me whole.”
I also know that my siblings have their own manifestation and expression of these habit energies. That’s what keeps me from knocking them out when they drive me mad. Yes, yes at times y’all drive me batshit mad. Y’all have your own internal buzzing made of your unique conditions that has nothing to do with me.
We all do.
It was hard to watch my siblings' hearts break as they pleaded with my Ma to let go. Sometimes harder than watching my Ma.
“It’s ok Ma, you can let go now. You can let go.”
More truth in those words than they realize. More truth of the buzz they feel in themselves than they realize. Hard to watch the suffering of another when you feel that buzz within yourself and want to push it away, you want that buzz gone.
I do offer that this understanding of my siblings may be off. I can not speak for them, but only what I felt and observed.
So, you may ask, did I plead with her to let go?
She pauses for a moment and sighs.
Sometimes, yes, in her actions and head when the suffering became too unbearable for her to watch, sit with it as it is. Sometimes, no, when she could let go and trust the process, observe what was happening. Sometimes, yes, in her actions and head when she could feel the weight of the suffering on her Ma. Sometimes, no, when she was tending to what needed to be tended because that’s all she had space for to stay calm, manage the situation, serve her Ma.
“When the crowded Vietnamese refugee boats met with storms or pirates, if everyone panicked all would be lost. But if even one person on the boat remained calm and centered, it was enough. It showed the way for everyone to survive."
Thich Nhat Hanh
But all of that was months ago. Either Ma let go or life itself let go of her.
And now we have a lifetime of letting her go.
Often I think everything is fine and then later I look back saying to myself, “Oh, things were not fine.” I was not fine the week leading up to her internment, especially as the day neared to gather with family and say goodbye once again.
I thought it was a normal week of my normal attempts to manage my life and not succeeding. On the car ride to the cemetery I realized it wasn’t my normal, though, maybe this is the new normal.
The best word I have is heavy. The week before and a few days after felt heavy like I was trudging through thick mud that wouldn’t release me even though I kept lifting a foot and stepping forward. It felt as if I'd only move an inch at a time. Sometimes it felt as if I was dragged backwards 30 feet sucked further down into the mud.
Things get done miraculously, but I don’t know how. Usually not all the things I want to get done. And, they definitely don’t get done as prompt and disciplined as they once did.
I can’t say I want to be so prompt and disciplined anymore.
In a weird way, I’m more aware of my stupid habit energy that wants things done. Aware because the habit energy to be productive, be somebody doesn’t seem so important anymore. Stupid habits because so much time and life has been wasted on things that don’t really matter.
So yeah, shit was heavy leading up to the internment and some days after.
A day I knew was coming. And yet, a day that brought up more emotions than I ever could expect. I couldn’t stop the tears as we followed the van to the wall.
They became heavier and more choked, sobbed as my dad handed over the ashes to be prepared. I walked somberly with my family following the grounds crew to the place my Ma can rest.
In the overwhelm of emotions, a sweet spot touched my heart. A sweetness I smile warmly about as I write, as I edit, as I remember that day, as I feel raw open love. My 7 year old niece seeing my pain instantly came over and hugged my leg walking with me the rest of the way. I held her tight to me allowing more tears to flow, more emotions to rise into the air. It’s magical to watch walls melt when another openly loves you raw and hard without hesitation in a moment of vulnerability.
It’s unfortunate we forget what a 7 year old knows. It’s unfortunate it takes a moment of vulnerability to fully accept it.
Finally we reached the niche with tears marking our path back to the cars. We look at a box in a wall where ashes are placed. A box that is now my Ma’s red pin on Google Maps. A box that will wait for the ashes of another before being complete.
A joke arises from a sibling about the location number.
“You gotta be kidding me. What number is it? See, Ma, we know who’s your favorite.”
It appears the niche location is a favorite number of a particular sibling. When we’d ask, she always said, “I don’t have a favorite.” We always say, “We know she does,” or try to prove that we are the real favorite. A lifelong family joke that carried on right up to her last breath, the celebration of life and this moment.
Our Ma’s sarcastic wit is not lost even in our darkest moments. Something I smile very warmly knowing it has gotten me through many dark moments.
Yes, yes, I have my own manifestation and expression of this sarcastic wit.
We stood circled around my Ma’s resting place as our cemetery host spoke. Then we listened to words cracking through the air on speaker phone by the hospice Chaplain. The man who was with our family the day our Ma died. The man who spent time with my dad and I as we spoke our grief periodically over the past months. The man who celebrated our Ma’s life with us talking to everyone and taking time to see all we created in her honor.
Words that cut through our heart because he saw Ma even though he only met her once as she laid motionless with eyes closed and mouth gaping wide to release gurgling breaths. It was like he could see through our blood shot bleary eyes and know my Ma, know us.
We were held.
Then came our time to say our final words. Each of us taking a turn. I was first kissing my peace fingers and then placing them on her box whispering I love you and quickly walking away. I cried harder, doubling over in grief.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream so loud to the sky, to the earth, to it all. I wanted to freely scream all the pain and anger held in my bones, in all the depths of my being.
I choked my scream down and let the tears fall faster and heavier, let the sobs free my scream bit by bit.
Yes, I expected to be emotional. No, I didn’t expect all that.
I guess that’s what they mean when they say waves of grief will hit you unexpectedly. The waves will come out of the blue even when you know you are in the blue.
Then again how would I know the depths of grief, the fragility of life, the vulnerability of being that existed til this moment.