I was dreading Christmas this year and the all too familiar anniversary grief.  I really didn’t want it to ruin Christmas for my husband and kids.  I didn’t want to be the “downer” at every event and yet I know that I need to give myself the freedom to grieve.  It’s a fine balance.

So, having a family get-together yesterday on the anniversary of my Mom’s passing and in Steinbach no less was very daunting.   Could I deal with it?  Would I make a blubbering fool of myself?  Should I even go?  But I was determined to be there for my husband and kids.  So I arranged to have time for myself for several hours during the day and decided to go.  Driving into town was difficult.  I felt like I went back in time.  It was last year all over again, just without the snow.  Drove past the funeral home and then her last apartment and I could feel the anxiety rising.  I had told my husband that if I needed to I might just leave for a bit to have some time alone but I made it through with just a few quiet times downstairs.  My husband’s oldest brother came down and told me that my Mom was on his mind for the last few days and we shared a few tears and a few stories when I confirmed that it was the anniversary.  He had gone to visit my Mom several times in her last few months and my Mom loved it.  He brightened her day, and wore yellow; her favorite color.  My Mother-in-law and I also shared a hug and a few tears.

When we left and drove back through town was when I started to see it.  I was saying to my husband that I was just so happy to be going home with him opposed to last year when I had stayed at my Mom’s apartment with my Aunt.  And I started to think of the days to come this week compared to last year.  I’m not making phone calls and planning for pall bearers, I won’t be at a funeral tomorrow etc.  And I realized that it is all better from here.  Every day this year will be better than last year.  The pain and grief will be less every day.  I have faced the worst of it and survived.  I know that I will still miss her and there will be tough days.  But I also know that I am moving forward.

I see the light at the end of the tunnel.

This is the eulogy that I wrote in the middle of the night and read at my Mom’s funeral on December 20th, 2010.  I have split it into 2 parts:

How does one describe Carole Pearce?  I think everyone here could come up with some pretty good stories.  But, I think in the end we would all agree on some basic truths about Mom.  Faith, Family and Humor.

Mom’s faith led her down many paths, some led to joy and some led to incredible pain.  She trusted that God had a plan, even if he wasn’t willing to share the plan with her.  Mom had a faith-filled upbringing that I believe gave her strength when she needed it.  She didn’t just take the strength, she lived her life in a way that showed where her strength came from.  She never pretended to live without God’s help and intervention.  She even went against her life-long creed, “I will never marry a farmer.”  She trusted that it was the right thing to do.  And the decision to marry my Dad led to new and exciting experiences, like driving a grain truck down a steep hill towards a slough; with my Dad guiding her, and possibly having a few chuckles.  She had an incredible life ahead of her with everything she could have ever hoped for.  She had been faithful and it had come back to her.

Then after just 3 years it all exploded and her life was never to be the same.  I’m sure she questioned why many, many times.  But, she still trusted God to bring her through.  She had insurmountable challenges in the first 6 months with trials, lawyers, farming, an auction sale, a toddler and an infant.  She had unified support from family and the community that she knew was sent by God to help her through.   She also used her experience to help others.  She wrote letters of forgiveness and had open communication with men who were her potential enemies.  Partly due to Mom’s generosity of spirit, both of these men are now Christians.  One is a full time councilor in a halfway house; the other is still working out the kinks but is trying.  Mom went where she felt she was needed to speak and inspire people to face their fears and their enemies.

Since Mom became sick in June of 2009 she began to pray like never before.  She would wake in the night in the hospital and whoever popped into her mind she would pray for them.  She felt she still had purpose as long as she could pray and tell people what God had done for her.  In her last few weeks she was unable to get out of bed or control much of her body.  But she could pray.  We would hear her praying all times of the day and night.  Sometimes it sounded like a conversation and she would tell me, “I’ve been talking to God today.”  And I would say,”And what did He have to say.”  Her answer would vary but it always came down to, “He knows everything so I don’t have to.”  Her last audible word was “Amen” in the middle of last Wednesday night.

Music became her refuge in the hospital and at home this past year.  She loved music.  She grew up surrounded by music and married into a musical family.  One of her favorite memories of my Dad was when he would go to the nursing home with his guitar on a quiet afternoon and he would sing for the residents.  So, we made sure she had music 24 hours a day, if necessary.  It helped give her peace.  And some of her favorites were played during the viewing tonight.

Mom used her gift of sewing to bring clothing and smiles to the needy.  Last year she sent children’s t-shirts to a Northern reserve as well as to Mexico.  She finished the last one right before her first visit to the hospital.  This year she really got into making the little animals that we have on display.  She would give them to babies at church and anyone that she knew that needed a cuddle, even a few adults.  The last batch she made went in the Christmas shoe boxes to Haiti in November.

Continued:

Mom has left an indelible legacy of faith and prayer that will not be forgotten.  She also has left us the importance of family and friends.  She knew what it was to need help and to give help.  And she would tell friends that needed help to not forget what others had done for them because one day they would have a chance to do the same for someone else; and to take that chance.  Mom was completely devoted to her parents, her siblings, extended family and my Dad.  She was happiest with her family.  I have incredible memories of time with family and friends in Warroad, Arborg, Dryden and Moosomin.  We were rarely home on any holiday or school vacation.  This past summer we were able to make a large request come true.  We were able to get a reunion together with family coming from Colorado, Minnesota, North Dakota and Oregon.  She was thrilled and it was one of her best days after 4 1/2 months of being in and out of the hospital.  We were all so happy to give her that time.

She loved her grandchildren.  I remember how she beamed when my daughter, Sidney was born.  I hadn’t seen her that happy in years.  And that happiness did not diminish with the birth of Melissa and Natasha.   They all had Christmas dresses, pajamas and anything else that she could give them.  Then came the news of a grandson.  She wasn’t so sure what she would do with a boy.  She still had lots of pink and purple fabric to be used.  How could this be?  She decided she would just have to get more creative for the boy.  Alex got pajamas, t-shirts, the stuffed taxi in the other room and something to hang on his wall.  Mom adored him.  She had a special place for him.  Her face would light up when he came in no matter how sick or tired she was.  She loved his energy.  Mom’s main concern before she passed was her grandchildren and if they would be okay.  She didn’t want to leave them behind.  She even expressed that concern in one of her conversations with God.

This past year we made sure to give the kids lasting memories of Grandma.  The girls learned to cross-stitch and sew.  Alex had lots of hugs, laughs and tickles.  And speaking of laughs I think we can all agree that my Mom had an amazing sense of humor.  Her Mother was big on laughter and had lived on the philosophy of a belly laugh a day was essential to survival.  So, we all learned to laugh.  Mom was always quick with a joke or a funny comment.  Light sarcasm came easily.  She lifted other’s spirits as well as her own.  She found friends easily almost everywhere she went.  Mom made longstanding relationships with people that sat at the neighboring table in the restaurant, and with people in the neighboring hospital bed.  Humor got her through a lot of dark days past and present.  She went to meet friends at MJ’s last fall after she’d lost most of her hair to chemo and suddenly put her hands on her head and exclaimed, “Oh, I forgot to comb my hair!”  No one at the table was sure how to handle the situation.  It took a few seconds before Mom said, “Oh wait, I have don’t have any hair.”  Everyone at the table was relieved and had a good laugh.

The nurses at St Boniface said that they loved coming in her room because it was so positive and uplifting.  The home care ladies that cared for her over the last year said the same thing, especially over the last few weeks.  No one could believe that even when her body was failing her smile kept working.  She had been concerned that morphine would turn her into someone that she didn’t want to be.  But, it didn’t.  She was still herself.  A few weeks ago the nurse came in and said, “Hi Carole.”  And Mom lifted her arm and said, “Hi, I’m hiiiigh.”  Even when she wasn’t sure what we were all talking about if she heard us laugh she would laugh with us.  And if we whispered when we thought she was sleeping we would get reprimanded and told to speak up.  In the last year we have laughed about everything from hospital food and colostomy bags to death and funerals.  Other than her suffering I wouldn’t trade the last 16 months for anything.

I’d like to list a few of Mom’s final requests:

“I’d like my hair dyed red for the funeral.  Oh and a perm.”

“Don’t make me look like a saint.  I’m not perfect, you know.”

“It doesn’t matter what you dress me in, I won’t be there to see it.  Just pick something.”

As you can see we didn’t honor all of her requests.  But, we will do our best to continue her legacy of faith, family and humor.

At this time I would also like to say an enormous thank you to everyone that cared for Mom, whether at the hospital, at cancer care or at home.  Home care workers are unsung heroes.  In the words of my Mother, “Treat home care workers with respect and kindness.  You may need them one day.”

I was in Steinbach for an appointment last week and it was a lot shorter than I had expected so I decided to surprise my sister at work before heading back to Winnipeg.  My sister is a cook at a popular, and very good, restaurant in town.  So I surprised her and ordered something to eat.  I sat down at a table and I realized that I hadn’t been to this restaurant since the day of my Mom’s funeral almost a year ago when we had an early family dinner.

As I sat there I remembered all the times I had been there with my Mom.  Going out for afternoon coffee – or any time of day – was one of her favorite things.  And I was always up for it as well.  She always knew someone, had a conversation, a laugh, or just a “hi” as she walked by.  I looked around at the people in the restaurant and wondered if there was anyone there that day that she would have known.  After Mom was sick and unable to go out we would pick up food for her.  Mom was friends with the owners and knew all the waitresses so they didn’t mind “bending” the menu for Mom when her tastes changed.  And there were days where Mom would get hungry for pie so we would call the restaurant to see what they had that day so Mom could decide and then go pick it up if it was the right kind for that days craving.  They were always so good to her.  This was also the restaurant where she had fainted and they had taken care of her until my sister got there.

The other day I sipped my coffee and I looked across at the empty chair and I could almost see her sitting in front of me.  Maybe she was in the washroom and would be right back.  Maybe she hadn’t gotten there yet and was on her way.  Every time I heard the door I expected to see her walk around the corner with a big smile on her face.  But she didn’t.  And she wasn’t.  My sister came and sat down.  We had a good chat and a few laughs.  But someone was missing.

Now that was a year after her passing and I was only there once.  My sister went back to work a few days after the funeral and faced that absence every day.  She spoke with Mom’s friends, answered their questions and listened to their memories.  I realize that I have been very sheltered here in Winnipeg without the painful daily memories and I’m not sure how my sister did it, especially in the beginning.  But as painful as these experiences are they are also cleansing and important.  Mom’s illness became so overwhelming it was and still is difficult to remember the times before she was sick.  It was refreshing to go somewhere that holds the “before” memories.

Tuesday, November 16^th, 2010 I cooked Mom her last meal of sweet and sour meatballs, rice and sliced carrots.  That night I sat with her, listened and talked with her as she came into reality after 18 months of denial.  Friday, December 17^th, 2010 Mom passed away at 6am.  The small steps towards death that we witnessed every day dragging us to a finish line that we craved and dreaded all at once are what I am now reliving.

The sadness in my Mom’s eyes as she realized that she would not watch her grandchildren grow up.  Her realizing that her death would cause her grandchildren pain and grief.  Small joy at who was waiting for her on the other side.

Taking our last wheelchair walk.  Walking down the hall to the mail for the last time.  Walking across

her apartment for the last time with her walker.  Discussing funeral arrangements as if planning a family gathering.  Moving her hospital bed into the living room and setting up what would be her final living space.  Her taking the one step and turning to sit in her recliner for the last time. She would never eat a meal at the dining table again.

Only being able to wear hospital gowns.  Never getting out of bed again because it took 3 people to help her to stand.  Seeing the effects of starvation start to take effect.  No longer being able to sit up. Having random conversations about pall bearers over and over.  Stealing moments to go in the back bedroom to take deep breaths.

Not able to turn herself over in her bed.  2 people needed to turn her.  3 people needed to turn her.  Feeling through the gown how much smaller she had become.  Convincing her to take pain medication.  Learning to give morphine.  Needing morphine before she could be turned.  Never knowing when the pain would take over and she would have to be sedated. Her ever constant sense of humor.  No longer able to lift her head.  No longer able to hold a cup to drink.  Giving her sips of juice with a straw.

Thankful that she no longer feels hunger and has stopped asking for food.

The rest of us playing games late into the night to keep her company.  Starting coffee at midnight.  Time no longer exists in apartment 101. The blinds are always closed.  The low level of light is the same no matter what time of day or night it is.  Music playing 24 hours a day.  Having the same conversation over and over for many hours. Her waking up and telling us she was disappointed that she was looking at us and not heaven.

“It’s not fair.  Why do they get to go and I’m still stuck here?”  In response to hearing of family members passing before her; then saying that she must still be here for a reason and to not refuse any visitors in case they need to hear something that she has to say.  Mumblings and ramblings 24 hours a day; doing our best to listen and converse.  Almost constant praying and conversations with God as if he was standing beside her holding her hand.  “He knows everything so I don’t have to.”

She is no longer able to drink.  Wiping out her mouth with a sponge.  She is no longer able to see.  Not recognizing pictures of family.  Her having her eyes closed for hours and suddenly opening them wide as if startled and not knowing where she is.  Knowing that my Mother was starving to death and there was nothing I could do.

Never seeing her cry a single tear.  Visitors coming to say goodbye day after day. Thankful she is no longer thirsty and asking for something to drink.

The following strange and morose checklist that became normal:  Have her feet started to turn blue yet?  How many seconds between breaths?  Have her hands or feet started to swell?  Has her pulse changed?  Has liver failure begun?  And being slightly disappointed when nothing had changed.

Waiting for her relief.

Christmas of 2009 was going to be different, we all knew that.  Mom was nervous but wanted to make the most of the holiday.  She wanted to have Christmas at our new house but she hadn’t left Steinbach except for doctor appointments and tests since May.  I’m not even sure if she had been out to my sister’s house 15 minutes south of town.  So for her to think of going all the way to our house in Winnipeg she was very nervous.  We assured her of how close we are to a hospital just in case.  She was more worried about how to handle her colostomy away from home.  She always made sure that she was home within a few hours where she was more comfortable.  I made sure that we had whatever she needed to take care of herself.  She got a ride with my sister and her family on her 68^th birthday, December 24^th.

We had a big meal, of course.  Mom played piano for what would be the last time.  We had birthday cake with sparklers.  We got a few really good pictures of her.  She was the happiest and healthiest we had seen her in a very long time.  Healthy is relative of course but she didn’t have as many tumors in her so she felt better.  She was tired but she seemed lighter and happier.  She had really good color in her face for the first time in over a year.  She commented that it was one of the best Christmas’s we had had in a long time.  We had tried really hard to lift her spirits and I knew that this could very well be her last one.  We also wanted to be sure that the grandkids had a wonderful last Christmas/birthday with Grandma to remember.

After Christmas Mom was anticipating surgery again on January 14^th.  They were going to reverse her colostomy, do a hysterectomy and remove more tumors.  She was nervous about it but so happy to get rid of the colostomy nothing else really mattered.  I am not a doctor and I don’t fully understand the intricacies of why the colostomy was reversed or how.  There were conflicting stories along the way and it was just glossed over by the fact that she was so happy.  She didn’t care why or what, just that it would be gone.

A week or so before her surgery I got a call from my sister that Mom had fainted again; this time in a restaurant.  My Mom had gone out on her own to the restaurant where my sister works; she went there almost every day so everyone knew her.  My sister wasn’t working but her co-workers had called her in a panic and she had rushed into town.  Mom had a piece of pie and when she got up to leave she felt funny.  One of the waitresses saw her in the camera from the kitchen and noticed that she was staggering so she ran out to check on her.  Mom came around the corner to pay and tried to get to the counter in time to hold on.  The waitress came around the other corner in time to see Mom start to go down so she ran over and was able to help her lay on the floor instead of crashing.  They then called my sister.  When Mom came around she insisted that she did not need an ambulance or to see a doctor.  The waitress agreed they wouldn’t do anything until my sister got there.  Rebecca agreed to not take her to the hospital because Mom had been thoroughly checked out for the fainting spells and there wasn’t really an explanation other than low oxygen but not enough to put her on oxygen.  I called a bunch of times to be sure that she was all right and home care doted on her.  Mom recovered from it that evening and again couldn’t figure out what the big deal was.  The next time we got a chance we asked the doctor if it was safe for her to be driving – what if she fainted while driving.  The doctors reassured us that driving in small amounts around town was still safe because the fainting was related to standing up.  As long as she stayed sitting she was fine.  So she gave us dirty looks, stuck her tongue out at us, said “I told you so.” and drove where she wanted.

We were definitely reminded that even if Mom had the best color in her cheeks we’d seen in months or that she was happier we still had to be on our guard.  Every time we felt like we knew where we stood something would happen to shake us up again.