Everything seems off-kilter now. My world has shifted from its familiar, stable and anchoring axis to one of chaos, uncertainty and pain. The balance of energies that kept it rotating, evolving and harmonic has been lost. The central matriarch in our family has removed her physical self, and has left only her spirit and soul behind. An apparition of a new normal continues to peek out from behind and within the shadows of death, only to be forced back in amidst torrents of tears, and the insurmountable anguish of sadness and sorrow.

It was a glorious Sunday morning in August at Steve’s sister’s house in Locust Valley. My husband’s family members had gathered for an end of summer bash. As I sipped my piping hot coffee, and allowed the warmth to sooth me, I was reminded of how lucky we all were to be together. Enveloped in sweet gratitude, my eyes began softly gazing at my surroundings. Beyond the lovely outdoor breakfast nook where we sat, a sprawling, backyard deck overlooked an endless expanse of green grass, flowers and many other varieties of flora. Nestled off to the side, among a few low hanging graceful trees was an unobtrusive little pond sporting a gentle, cascading fountain in the center. It was the perfect adornment to this picturesque, peaceful paradise.

Suddenly, the ping of my cell phone yanked me back, and thrust me into that annoying, necessary, little, technological time consumer. It was a text message from my sister Cyndi, who lived with, and cared for my mom.

“We almost lost Mom last night,” she wrote. “I couldn’t wake her. I sat for hours with her praying the rosary, crying and saying goodbye. Hospice says Mom is “actively” dying now and has about 2 weeks left . . . maybe.”

I winced back tears as I read and reread her words over and over again. We were all expecting this news at any time but the reality then seemed incredulous.

“Actively dying?” I questioned. “What does that even mean? Does it even matter what it means? No, it doesn’t. She’s dying. She’s really dying. Mom is dying; Mom, the one person in the entire world who truly knew me from before I was born and beyond, the person who was always eager to hear everything I had to say. She embraced my quirkiness, eccentric style, my “out of the box” thinking and my deep desire to understand the spiritual meaning of just about everything, is leaving this world, my world, me.”

My thoughts were reeling. My conscious awareness, or my enlightened self, attempted to offer me an esoteric, ultra-wise and preachy speech about the continuation of the soul.

“There is no death,” it crooned. “Death is an illusion. She will never leave you. Your relationship now will just change from physical-physical to physical-spiritual. blah blah, blah.”

I didn’t want to hear any of that, not then anyway. Of course, I knew it all to be true and had talked to many clients and students about the afterlife, heaven and yes, the continuation of the soul through eternity. However, in that moment, I was a five year old child who needed her mom to bandage a boo-boo on a scraped knee. I was a young tween who first noticed boys and looked to her mom for understanding about those new feelings and curiosities. I was a young woman who got herself into more trouble than she could handle and her mom was there to help guide her out of the darkness, and back to her true self. At the same time, I was an aging woman of sixty-five, longing for her mom to help heal her badly broken and sorrowful heart.

I abruptly got up from the table and went out on the deck so I could release the torrents of silent tears that would have it no other way. I held my abdomen with one hand and my heart with the other. Waves of nausea gripped my intestines and twisted them like a pretzel. Sharp, intense pain pierced my heart, as stifled wails of anguish longed to be unleashed but couldn’t be, at least not then.

Immediately, the texts from my seven siblings pinged with abandon as everyone wanted to know what to do.

“Should we come? Is she aware? Cyndi, do you need help or support caring for her right now?”

On and on it went until finally, we all came to the same conclusion independently. We all needed to go and say goodbye. We decided we’d take turns. Stephanie, Mark and Cyndi lived in Florida where Mom was. So, Maripat and Terrisue went first for four days. She was weak, bedridden, and slept most of the time, but was cognizant for the most part. Kate went next for a few days and she was much less aware, with brief moments of consciousness. I went next with an order from my siblings that it was my job to “help get mom home.” I was terrified. I prayed and prayed that I would be guided to say or do whatever was needed to be there for my precious mom in her last moments.

I walked into her bedroom in her home. Her frail, diminished form lay motionless in a hospital bed. The spirited, determined, fashionable, and oh so loving diva of a lady was unrecognizable. I placed my hand over my mouth and gasped as grief-filled tears streamed from my eyes. I sat down in a small chair beside her and held her hand, stroking her hair and crying. She was not conscious and I wasn’t sure exactly what to do, so I decided for the moment to just “be.”

She slowly opened her eyes and looked expressionless at me. I reached for the whiteboard to communicate with her since her physical hearing was gone and her hearing aids were ineffective. “Hi, mom, it’s Dru,” I wrote. She gave me a kind of “don’t be ridiculous” look, and with a barely audible voice said, “I know who you are, Dru.” I laughed though my tears and she closed her eyes again. A short while later she opened them and whispered, “I need more from you, Dru.” Her eyes closed once more and she drifted back into that elusive world between worlds I was not privy to, at least for the most part.

That was my cue. I knew exactly what I needed to do. I had to help her cross over. Observing her semi-lifeless form, she appeared to be either unconscious or in a coma, but a voice urged me to talk to her and assured me she would hear. So I did. Dad’s spirit was in the room hovering above her and I knew he was there to help. I sat for a long time holding her hand and telling her it was ok to let go and go home.

“Mom,” I said quietly, though my softly falling tears, “you did so much more with your life that even God expected. Look at all of your children and how loving and kind we all are. You did that. You shaped us all into who we are with your unconditional love. It’s ok to go home to God and to Dad. Dad is here right now, right above you, and he’s reaching for you. He’s going to help take you home. Reach for his hand, Mom. Reach up and hold it.”

With that, as she lay unconscious with her eyes closed, she began moving her lips in unrecognizable speech and her hands began lifting upward toward the ceiling. I knew her soul could hear me even though her physical ears could not. I was sure she felt Dad’s presence, and hopefully she saw him. She seemed peaceful. I was grateful but devastatingly distraught at the same time. A moment of fear rose as I realized I might be all alone with Mom as she took her last breath. I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted all of my siblings with me. Most were not in Florida at the time, however. I called Stephanie at work, and she came quickly. We both sat with her comforting each other as the reality of our impending loss loomed ever closer.

She did not die at that moment. I think it was because she had yet to hear from her last child, my brother Christopher. Since her soul was able to hear me, Cyndi figured if she heard his voice on the phone her good-byes would be complete. Chris called. Cyndi held the phone close to her ear as her body lay unconscious. She turned her head slowly towards the phone, so we believed her soul heard his voice. Shortly after, my amazing, beautiful mother took her last earthly breath and floated home with Dad holding her hand, and in the accompaniment of a multitude of angels, I’m sure.

Now, the real grieving has begun. “I still need you,” Mom. “Please stay close.”

Drusilla Cyphers October 2019