One, or both, of your parents have passed away…and you are wondering, “What next? How do I live without them in my life?”
Keep a physical reminder of your mother or father near you—a talisman, or comfort.
Think about what to keep and what to give away of your parent’s beliefs, personality traits, habits, skills, aims, loves. Which of those will continue to reside in you? Which ones will you nurture? Which bring you less peace and comfort and can be let go?
And since my mother died recently, I’ll focus more on a daughter’s death of a mother. Whatever your relationship with your mother, her death provides an opportunity to honor her life and live your own remaining years with authenticity, being open to new possibilities. And regardless of your age, size, occupation or gender, when your mother dies, you are still that mother’s child.
Immediately after your parent dies, you are plunged into the sharp, painful nostalgia that accompanies the recollections of childhood–everything your parent represented in terms of security, familiarity, and protection seems to be gone. You’re now forced to cope with the loss of parental love and attention that was given, uniquely, to you, and that you depended on, possibly even took for granted. To one degree or another, you grapple with the realization that no one knows you in the exact same way as your mother–indeed, will ever know you as your parent did.
But remember, just as there is a sense of a loss of family history there is also the birth of a mother’s legacy.
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
When your mother dies, it can be a life-changing time.
And when you grieve, you honor the deep, mysterious bond of child to mother.
And if you are a daughter, it can lead to personal change in many areas your life because of the emotions that death triggers, and the complexity of the mother/daughter bond…no matter how old you are!
Yes, after the death of a mother, bereaved daughters can break free from their past and move into a new phase of their own life. But, depending on your life history, with it you can experience a gamut of feelings…guilt, depression, yearning, confusion, relief, disappointment, fear, abandonment, release, anger, remorse, isolation, frustration, compassion, admiration …
Allow your feelings to come to the surface…without apology. Express yourself (and in doing so you will understand what issues you may need to work with…what you are missing…what emotions are all encompassing).
Yes, express yourself…either to a trusted someone…or write. Write about your mother’s perception of you. Express your fears, your yearnings, and your anxieties to a photograph of her…especially if you never had the opportunity to tell your parent directly before she died—You can say those things you wish you had said before the death.
And if you had a difficult relationship, explain your actions or views, affirm your love, confide your less than positive thoughts. There is nothing wrong in “talking” to the dead.
Tell your mother how glad you are to have learned so much from her.
Tell her you will carry that with you into the rest of your life.
In another Blog I’ll share more ideas of healing through grief, in the death of a parent.
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
Here is a heartfelt thank you to those who reached out, expressing thoughts of condolence regarding my mother’s death.
My time with her, during those ten days leading up to her death, was an absolutely incredible experience…sprinkled with cherished moments (some of which I will share with you in upcoming Blog posts)…although an exhausting time…and stressful…yet so very natural and so peaceful for Mom.
I’m sooooooo glad I was able to be there for her. She was such a strong lady! And looked to me like such an angel!
I will love you always, Mom!
Rest in peace!
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
Thank you Ann and Steve for this precious poem:
She is just away,
In a land of light and peace,
Where warmth and love abound
And worldly difficulties cease…
She is just away,
But her memory remains
And the love she left within your heart
Will help ease your pain.
May her memory live on and on
As your sorrow fades away.
~Author Unknown
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
I listened to the waters moan
And watched the gull and flightly cloud
Above Pacific sky, and knew the strength
Of nature’s breath and shouted loud
A message “I love you” to the winds
To bring to you.
I stood alone upon the shore
In pensive mood with embedded memory
Of Mother, Father. A closeness came
For I recalled a time gone by where
Our joys were one, a kindness, smile past
And then my tears were gone
What was then will last.
~M. Hack
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
Melanie and her Mom, “Tillie”
March 14, 1922 – January 13, 2012
Born in Grahamdale, Manitoba. Daughter of Henry and Caroline Munk.
Tillie passed away peacefully in Vernon B.C. in the loving presence of her daughters.
Predeceased by her husband of 68 years, Otto (June 25, 2010), daughter Cynthia, son-in-law Larry Schaufele and many siblings.
Survived by her sister, Emma (Vernon), children; Doug (Starr), Marlene (Peter) Weintrager, Roger (Marsha), Ken (Amber) and Melanie (Wayne) Klenk; 16 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren.
A devoted longtime Armed Forces wife, she enjoyed many travels abroad. Her hobbies included acting, art, sewing, cooking and ceramics.
Viewing and cremation was held at Bowers Funeral Home, Salmon Arm, B.C. on Monday January 16, 2012.
If so desired, memorial contributions may be made to the Alzheimer’s Society, Suite 300, 828 west 8th Ave, Vancouver, B.C. V5Z 1E2.
Interment will take place in early July, 2012. Details will be available on Bowers Funeral Home website as and when service details have been confirmed.
Online condolences can be sent through Tillie’s obituary at www.bowersfuneralservice.com
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
“Christmas is most truly Christmas when we celebrate it by giving the light of love to those who need it most.”
~Ruth Carter Stapleton
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
Thanks for sending this story to me, Dwight:
We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, “Hi there.” He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with merriment.
I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man whose pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed.
His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists.
“Hi three, baby; Hi there, big boy. I see yaw, buster,” the man said to Erik.
My husband and I exchanged looks of, “What do we do?”
Erik continued to laugh and answer, “Hi. Hi there.”
Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby.
Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, “Do ya patty cake?” Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo.”
Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence; all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments.
We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door.
“Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,” I prayed.
As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby’s pick-me-up position.
Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man’s. Suddenly a very old smelly man a very young baby consummated their love relationship. Erik, in an act of total trust, love and submission, laid his tiny head upon the man’s ragged shoulder. The man’s eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain and hard labor, cradled my baby’s bottom and stroked his back.
No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms and his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, “You take care of this baby.”
Somehow I managed, “I will,” from a throat that contained a stone.
He pried Erik from his chest unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, “God bless you, ma’am, you’ve given me my Christmas gift.”
I said nothing more than a muttered thanks.
With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, “My God, my God, forgive me.”
I had just witnessed Christ’s love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin; who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes.
I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not. I felt it was God asking, “Are you willing to share your son for a moment?” when He shared His for all eternity. The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, “To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children.”
This is to remind us that Christmas isn’t about material things. It’s about LOVE.
~Author Unknown
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
“The only real blind person at Christmas-time is he who has not Christmas in his heart.”
~Helen Keller
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
Thanks for passing on this story, Ken:
Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish wolfhound named Belker.
The dog’s owners, Ron, his wife Lisa, and their little boy Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.
I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer.
I told the family we couldn’t do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.
As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.
The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker’s family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away. The little boy seemed to accept Belker’s transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker’s death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, ”I know why.”
Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me.
I’d never heard a more comforting explanation. It has changed the way I try and live.
He said, ‘People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life — like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?” The six-year-old continued, ”Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don’t have to stay as long.”
Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Remember, if a dog was the teacher you would learn things like:
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.
Take naps.
Stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
When you’re happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk. Be loyal.
Never pretend to be something you’re not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.
There comes a time in life, when you walk away from all the drama and people who create it.
You surround yourself with people who make you laugh, forget the bad, and focus on the good.
So, love the people who treat you right. Think good thoughts for the ones who don’t.
Life is too short to be anything but happy. Falling down is part of LIFE…Getting back up is LIVING…
Have a great life.
~Author Unknown
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James