October 19, 2010 I’m remembering a terrible day. Not because I choose to focus on the bad, but because it is such a contrast and reminder of what I’ve felt through this year. I remember the day vividly. It was another rush to the hospital. It was another time to jump into my role, to remember my duties and do all the expected things and handle it. Since Dad had passed, and even before, I was the one who knew what she wanted. I had reminded her to have a “hospital kit” at the ready; a cosmetic bag with all the necessities she needed at the hospital. I had the lotions, makeup, perfume, satin pajamas and slippers. Things she needed to be a patient but not feel like a patient. She couldn’t do the “patient” thing. She still had to be herself, and that meant looking fabulous so she could feel better. I understood. After I found out the reasons, I felt foolish for never “getting it”. When she would go into the hospital, there would always come a time when she would be horrible to me. Angry, upset and so awful that I would emphasize to her that I always knew I would be the one to take care of her, but that didn’t mean I signed up to be treated badly. That like it or not……..I was it. And, then………I finally asked the right question. In order to make her lungs function efficiently enough to let her recover, she had to be overloaded with steroids. I never, ever connected “steroid rage” with anything other than bodybuilders and athletes abusing them. But, in one moment of clarity, her doctor told me about “steroid induced psychosis”. In other words, because of the volume of steroids needed to get her lungs functioning, they had to give her enough steroids to send her into a rage……………this was a huge “Aha” moment. Though it was always tough to take, with this knowledge came understanding. And even for her, it helped. She knew it happened but hadn’t understood it either. So, a year after her death and two years after one of the toughest times, I remember that moment. I remember being in a lounge at the hospital, over-the-top emotional and so full of conflict that I could barely breathe. I had to leave the room to save myself. I had to get away, leave her completely alone and deal with what was happening. I called my sister in law, and for the first time, I let myself say the words that “I just can’t do this”. She reassured me, let me know it was ok to walk away and confirm that I wasn’t an awful daughter. I wondered then, how I would feel when this battle was over. Would I be relieved? Would I be upset? Would I wonder if I had done everything I could, and would I be content with how things played out? And, now; it is a year later. And, now; I have spent a year having validation for the goodness and class of my mother. I always look at life for the lessons that can be learned. From one tiny woman’s passing I have learned volumes. I have learned that leaving the world with no blemishes, a few good secrets and an organized life is honorable to those you leave behind. That loaning money to someone and never, ever advertising it and how, (or if) they paid you back isn’t important. To know you could do that for someone means you cared in a quiet, respectful manner. I have learned that keeping cards people give you means you cared about the thought they had for you. That though I am a person who says possessions and “things’ don’t mean much to me, they mean something to those that see what you felt was important. I have learned that leaving an organized household and life behind makes it easier for those that have to handle the remnants. I have seen the complete, unending love of a young woman for a noble man. I have seen the frailty of someone trying so hard to keep it together, for the sake of pride. My heart breaks at the evidence of the struggles. Quiet struggles and subtle moments when the figures came hard, the writing was weak and the confusion peeking through. I have seen a life lived with authenticity. What she said and what she talked about truly were the things that mattered to her. I have seen a woman capable of unbelievable forgiveness and belief in what lies ahead. I have seen a woman who may have needed those around her to validate her, but in return, provided remarkable support and concern. I have seen the supreme example of “never, never, never give up”. Her grandkids were terrified of the “nana talk”, but knew there was no one who supported them more. I knew she would talk too much about me, but I also knew that there was no one prouder or more confident in my abilities. When I wouldn’t want to bother anyone with the minutiae of my life, I knew she would be the one that would be interested. I have learned so much in the past year. I have had great validation of my mother’s life. I have come full circle from the angst and disruption of the care-giving to know that she was honorable. We can laugh at the humor in some of the moments, make light of the foibles and even tease about the tough times, because more than anything……..she died with integrity, class and a legacy of love and care in her path. In spite of the toughest moments, we all came out better for it and I know that I wouldn’t have done a thing differently. I am proud of how my mother lived and touched at the grace with which she died. A year of milestones has passed. With the best of her around us, we move on.