Accepting the Death of My Mother

Dr. Jon LaPook Shares Memories of His Mother, and How He's Coping with Her Absence Six Months After She Died

(CBS)  Editor's note: This blog post is a departure from Dr. LaPook's normal writing on health and medicine - a personal reflection that he said "came pouring out" yesterday.

For years my friends and patients have told me how surprisingly shocking the death of an elderly parent can be. We know it's inevitable yet the finality is jarring. But knowing and knowing are two different things. So her son the doctor reacted just like so many others when my mother died unexpectedly last March at 86 after falling and striking her head. I found it hard to get my arms around the idea that my mother was no longer alive.

I received an outpouring of beautiful condolence letters and contributions but have only written a handful of thank you notes. My undoubtedly overly simplistic armchair psychiatrist explanation is that if I don't write the notes then maybe she didn't die. And I'm not alone in my behavior. My 90-year-old father, married to my mother for over 66 years, asked me a few months after her death if it was ok that he was pretending she was still alive.

"Absolutely," I replied. "That's why God invented denial."

My mother lived totally in the moment. She'd start to peel an orange and would say "at this moment this orange hasn't seen the light of day." Every morning she would look out the window at our breakfast table and say, "Good morning, dogwood tree." More often than not, whatever she was experiencing was "the best ever." The best ever sunset was the one she was watching. The best ever salad was the one she ordered at our last lunch alone together a few weeks before she died. Her best ever meal was the one she had just finished. She did not want to waste a single second, as was reflected in a hilarious essay she submitted to the New York Times upon turning 75. It was rejected; but it is included, in its world premiere, below.

My wife had the idea to plant a dogwood tree at the top of the beautiful Vermont hill where we had sprinkled my mother's ashes. Yesterday, my family gathered under cloudy skies for the ceremony. One of my two sons sang a beautiful song he had composed using the lyrics of a poem called "Growing" that my mom had written when my three sisters and I were little.

Growing

Goodnight sweet baby and goodbye
I'll see you as you are no more.
For dusk has settled in the sky
And you have wondrous dreams in store.
As you sleep, a magic hand will touch you And you'll grow more wise.
Tomorrow morning you'll awaken
New and different in my eyes.

This morning my father admitted that he still finds it hard to accept she's gone and sometimes imagines that "she's just out shopping." But we're both starting to accept that we'll see her as she was no more. This afternoon I'm going to start writing thank you notes in earnest. Well, maybe tomorrow.

Elsa LaPook's submission to the New York Times:

Dear Editor:

I just celebrated my 75th birthday, and do you know what? I'm better than ever! Well, I guess you could say I'm stronger than ever. No, not in my muscles, which can be developed and maintained during regular workouts in the gym, but in my mind, which gets a daily ongoing on site workout. I now have the strength of my convictions, something I never had when I was young because in those days I always aimed to please, so that everyone would like me. I have now become much more assertive, more determined, more stubborn, and more aware of the passage of time, and as I calculate how much of it I have left, I have made a firm decision not to waste one moment of it.

With that thought in mind, here are some resolutions I've made to myself for the New Year:

1. I will not open unsolicited advertisements in the mail. This includes 10 million dollar lotteries and free trips to the Caribbean. Into the garbage they go!

2. I will not make dinner dates with boring people. This includes people who didn't used to be boring but are now.

3. I will not put off doing things that I want to do.

4. I will not attend meetings out of a feeling of obligation.

5. I will not play singles rather than doubles in tennis or play an extra hour because I'm afraid to say no.

6. I will not ride when I can walk or walk when I can ride, depending on how I feel at the time.

7. I will not take part in long phone conversations with talkative people who are boring.

8. I will not dress up to go out if I feel like wearing a shirt, sneakers and jeans.

9. I will not shop 'til I drop. I never did and I certainly won't start now.

10. I will not agree with someone unless I really do. I won't be afraid to express my opinion.

11. I will hang up instantly on phone solicitors with no apology whatsoever.

12. I will remove the tag from each and every mattress that I own with absolutely no fear of penalty of the law, and when I make the bed I won't always do hospital corners. Sorry, Mom!

13. I won't be afraid to break a date if something better comes along.

14. I plan to make a lot of money selling something on Internet. Don't know what yet.

15. I will not be intimidated by a surly maitre d' or waiter. I won't be afraid to send something back if it's not to my liking, and if the rolls aren't hot, back they'll go.

16. I'll squeeze the toothpaste from the top of the tube - so there!

17. I'll watch every Seinfeld rerun, all Frasier episodes and all Woody Allen movies.

18. I will wear white before Memorial Day and after Labor Day if I want to.

19. I will always remember that health takes priority over everything, and I will guard it carefully.

20. I will keep smelling the roses and seeing, tasting, touching and hearing the world about me for a long, long time.

Happy New Year!

[sotribble]

Thank you for sharing the fact that you and your dad pretend your mom is out shopping. My daughter and I do this regarding my mom who past last summer. Thanks, we just need a little more time to say good bye. She is my best friend too

[annmillerhirani]

Jon,
I just this minute learned of Elsa's passing and I am deeply saddened and wish I could contact you and your family to convey my condolences. I have stupidly been sending her emails, unaware of this sad news. Please tell your family that cousin Ann from France is with them in spirit and send my love.

[KellySalasin]

Wow, what a beautiful light your mom has--inside and out. Writing is a great tool for healing and I too found that my writing "flowed" after my own mother's passing. This week is the ninth anniversary death and I find that the loss still requires my careful and creative attention. I've begun posting pieces on my blog to honor each year, and I welcome readers there: <http://kellysalasin.wordpress.com/category/writing/loss-writing/of-mother/>

[DrLaPook]

Thanks so much to everybody for your thoughtful comments. I really appreciate them.
Jon

[DrLaPook]

Thanks so much to everybody for your thoughtful comments. I really appreciate them.
Jon

[superdem1]

I say the same thing your Mom said - "This is the best turkey EVER !" or "This is the best Christmas EVER !" People say, why ? Why is this Christmas better than last year ? I say "Because it is HERE NOW." No past memory can compete with that.

[jcuadros62]

Thank you for your article. My father died in April 2009. He was the picture of health, but shortly after feeling bad, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He died within 4 weeks of the diagnoses. After hearing all the horror stories of battling pancreatic cancer, I was grateful that the passed away in his sleep and relatively pain free. At the same time, the whole situation happened so quickly that I feel like your father. I still think my father is a phone call away. It took a while for his death to really affect me because of all the responsibilities in dealing with the funeral, family and my mother. I also have not had any dreams about him and it feels weird, especially after other relatives have told me how they have had these wonderful dreams about him. On the other hand, I have had numerous occasions where I'll be doing something and hear his voice reason and advice. It is usually followed by tears and overwhelming feelings of sadness. I want to thank you for your article because it has made me put down my own thoughts about the effect of a parents passing.

[ffrecster]

I lost my 86 yo mother in March. As much as I thought I was prepared for this inevitability, I was not. In her final moments I told her it was okay, she didn't have to fight anymore; we would be okay and take care of dad. I was trying to comfort her not knowing what lie ahead without her. I found myself looking for her, trying to imagine her at the dinner table, sitting in her chair or working her puzzles. I held her bedclothes to my face in hopes her scent was still there. I hugged her bed pillows. For months she was just gone. She never appeared in any dreams. Her total absence was devastating. Finally, one night she came to me in my dreams and we conversed. No earth-shattering news from beyond or anything, just a regular conversation as if she were here. All is well, she is still here with me. I hear her voice in my head all the time now; making any assortment of standard comments on anything from the news, to my dad, the dogs or my siblings. It is comforting but I miss her terribly.

[CaptainBill38]

On this September 13, we will celebrate our Mom's 96th Birthday.(She was born, Friday the 13th, 1913, at exactly 1300 hours)!! She is still very vital, active and each and every waking moment our family tries to treasure those.But the reality of that 3am phone call lurks! How will be handle losing her.I have not a clue in the world.
Dr.LaPook at least you have gone through that loss and are working your way beyond it. For what it is worth, the rest of us face that time of wrenching
loss. God Bless you Sir.

[barbaram99]

I am so sorry ye lost yer Mum. I lost my Dad in April 09. I still nave tears when I think of him..I wrote the hardest letter I ever wrote to my sister I have not lived with since 4. His wife my step Mum died first then 4 days later he died. I talked to him by phone. I will never forget the pitiful tone in his voice as his wife was in hospital.I knen when she died Dad would also pass on. I love my Dad. Dr ye will always love yer Mum. We are Mainers. I live in Sesttle,
My Dad was a simple man with a heart of gold. He was one of few words. I miss his voice as I am legally blind from birth. He was in his 70s. I am 54.
It is okat to cry over the death of a lovwd one as tears help in the cleaning of the soul.There ar times I wush I could talk to Dad but he has moved on to be with them that has died. A good place where he is happy to be,An Angel took him home.

[ChristinaP13]

Thank you for the touching article and the lovely essay by your mother, who sounds like a very special person. After my dad died two years ago, one of my first thoughts was: Now I know what it means to look at a picture of someone you love who has passed away. To see a person who had so much life, personality, vitality, there in a photo but no longer able to be accessed in life. It is a very, very difficult phenomenon that all of us must endure in this life. Immediately, after my dad's death, I would think of him at random moments in the day. I'd be steaming potatoes and I'd think of what he would say about them. Surreal, is the best way I'd describe the death of a parent. For a spouse, it's even that much more because your day to day reality has been completely altered.
Two books that I'd recommend are: Grief and Grieving by Elizabeth Kubler Ross and When Parents Die by Edward Myers.
My deepest condolences to you and many positive thoughts to your mom, who is on her own, new adventure. Based on books of near death experiences, like Closer to the Light and Transformed by the Light, your lovely mother still exists.

Your Mom was a great lady, and apparently had a tremendous amount of
energy in her life, and especially for being 86. My Mom's 87, and I
wish she had that kind of energy. We all want to hang onto our folks
for as long as we can, and no matter how well we think we're prepared
to let them go, we never really are. When they're gone, we kind of see
our lives "flash before our eyes". Thanks for sharing a great essay, that
is true to the core, it reminds you of all the things that try to control
our daily lives, and how we don't necessarily have to "go along" with
expectations. God bless your family and thank you for sharing a well
deserved tribute to a great Mom, one whom we all could appreciate.

[kww47]

I miss my mom even though she died at the age of 93 and lived a long full life. The Monday before she died on Saturday, she paid her monthly bills. In the weeks before she died she had read two or three books each week. At the same time, she was ready to meet her Savior and see her loved ones. It's just hard for us who are left because we miss her. I can understand the outpouring of grief from the Kennedy family over the death of Teddy. Unfortunately the death of our parents and elderly relatives signals our growing older. For the first time I realize what being the older generation is all about.

[democratic_1]

Dr. LaPook, what a gift your beautiful mother gave the world, a son who cherished and loved his mother. Thank you for sharing your anguish and pain and the very lovely poem written by your mother. You, Dr. LaPook, are most certainly a gentleman and a treasure to your family and friends.

[staycalm]

God bless you Dr. LaPook for writing this beautiful piece. My parents are 87 and 92 years old and not really with it anymore but I still want to hold on to them as long as I can because I know that once they go life will be forever changed. I am also sad because my two boys have become teenagers and I feel that the little boys I once new and who loved me so much are also gone forever. For this reason I cried when I read your mother's beautiful poem to you and your sisters. It is true that everything and everyone is always changing and life will never be as it was before so we must treasure each moment and hold it close to our hearts. Your mother knew that and that is why you love and miss her so much.

[Solarrays247]

Dr. LaPook, thank you for sharing such beautiful thoughts. I lost my mother in 1993, age 64, she was way too young to die. She, also, was a vibrant, intelligent woman who loved life, and never took a day or anything within it for granted! I have often daydreamed of the fun that we might have shared throughout all these years if only I might have been blessed with her presence just a little bit longer!

It's tough losing your best friend, isn't it?

[katiegirl81]

I lost my mother in 2007 and I know that I'll never "get over it". She was my best friend and a day does not go by that I don't miss her. She's the first person I think of every morning and the last person I think of every night. She was a beautiful soul that made life more fun. Dr. LaPook, you have might most heart felt sympathy and well as
Solarrays274

[Lindasue80]

I've recently lost both of my parents,and life as I knew it before will never be the same. They were my best friends. I will continue to miss and think of them for the rest of my life.

[jkrako1150]

God Bless Parents!

[mswolfestock]

God bless you for being lucky enough to say this and mean it.