On Saturday, October 6, my beautiful, perfect, angel mother lost her battle against ovarian cancer.
She had been fighting this horrible disease for approximately two years and four months. She fought a good fight. She was, and always will be, the toughest, strongest woman I know. While I am so glad she no longer suffers, I miss her more than I ever thought possible.
Losing my Mom has always been a fear of mine. She and I were very, very close. She was my best friend, my confidant, and my biggest cheerleader. When Dave and I were first married and we would visit my parents or they would come visit us, after we parted I would cry and cry. I would say to Dave, “what if that’s the last time I ever see her?”
He used to ask me, “Do you love your mom more than you love me?” I never gave him a straight answer. It wasn’t that I loved her more, just differently. There is a deep bond between mother and child. My Mom, or Marmie as we sometimes called her, are as bonded as any mother and child can be. My heart feels emptier now, my insides ache and I am more sad than I have ever been.
There is so much that reminds me of her, and always will. My sister and I were talking about how we need to make that a positive thing, instead of allowing it to make us sad. My Mom and I had a lot of inside jokes, and talked often about Downton Abbey, Larkrise to Candleford, the latest version of an adaptation of a Jane Austen book, or any other good movie/miniseries that was current. She taught me to love good and uplifting music. She had the best sense of humor and loved a good practical joke. We all learned to be on guard every year on April 1st.
As I write this, tears stream down my face. I was so privileged to have the best mother for 36 years of my life, and I am so grateful for her good influence. I know that she will always be my guide in how I should live my life. When I think of how good she was, I think of the 13th Article of Faith because that is exactly how she lived her life.
We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul—We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.
One of the hardest things is that she won’t be here to see my girls grow up, to be at their baptisms, weddings, mission farewells & homecomings. I was comforted by knowing I’d have her help along the way. I’m going to need someone’s help because I have NO idea what I’m doing.
I expect our next greeting to be similar to this picture, but so much more glorious.
My Dad used this poem in the printed program from her funeral. It’s perfect.
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength and I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, “There, she’s gone.”
Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and just as able to bear her load of living weight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her; and just at that moment when someone at my side sighs: “There, she’s gone,” there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices to take the glad shout, “There, she’s coming!”
I am comforted by my beliefs and what I know to be true. I know that I will see her and be with her again after this life. That takes some of the sting away, it does. But will I ever not feel sad? I am just so, so sad.