What I learned from losing my mom.
Me with my mom 2.5 months before she died.
My mom died of pancreatic cancer 5 years ago and while I don’t always fall apart when I think about it now, I can still remember that final week like it was yesterday.
The smells, the waiting, and even the sparse moments of laughter.
It was the day after my 35th birthday. I remember that because the last thing she ever said to me was a very soft, very struggled, “Happy Birthday”. And for those of you who know me, my birthday is my favorite day, it was also one of my mom’s favorites. She loved all of our birthday’s. There were 6 of them to celebrate throughout the year. But this one was different. It would be the last that we would spend together in this lifetime.
As the week went on and her health declined rapidly, my 5 siblings and I seemed to form this invisible forcefield of love around her. We surrounded her with love and joy and while her presence wasn’t as vibrant as times past, she was with us. I am sure that while she lay there so still, moving only to breath, she knew we were all there for a special reason. Our own unique contribution to this family of 8.
Sibling one was there for gentle kindness.
Sibling two was there for strength and care.
Sibling three was there to keep my mom physically comfortable and teach the rest of us how to remain emotionally regulated.
Sibling four was there for nourishment of our bodies and soul.
Sibling five was there to provide listening and comfort.
And me. Number 6, who until now, did not know what my unique contribution was.
I was there to make us all whole. To complete the entire armour that kept our family sacred and safe. I created the space to heal and have ALL the emotions. As I gave myself permission to feel deeply and express openly (think ugly snotty tears running from the holes in my face), I unconsciously gave permission for others to do the same. I also brought with me the unwavering trust that the Universe has the ability to hold all of it, lovingly.
Mini Kat and Mom (photo taken 1986)
My mom used to tell me that my fate was stamped on my forehead when my soul was created, and that regardless of what I did, that the Universe already had a plan for me, greater than I could ever envision for myself.
Her passing was not meant to hold me back or pause my life. Yes, it shook me to my core and deconstructed the “organized life” I had pretended to curate. But it also forced me to look at all the scattered pieces one by one, realize that not everything I had chosen was right for me. Actually, a lot of my choices were wrong for me and that I was living as an imposter in my story. The emptiness that her death left was the landscape that I needed to start again. In the nothingness, I was able to take all the right pieces one by one and create a spectacular, messy and outrageously profound life and finally embrace the fate Universe reserved for me.
And as I am finally stepping into the powerful woman she and the Universe created, I can clearly see how her love for me, in all the various ways she showed it, allows me to carry on their work. I am here to help others find wholeness in themselves. To reflect back to them, the greatness that the Universe and others see in them, so they too can live unapologetically.
Her death taught me that time doesn’t stand still after a loved one dies, and while it does feel that way for a while afterwards, the Universe is quietly holding your hand each time you need to stop and catch your breath. The pain of losing her is just a blink in time in comparison to the love I continue to feel because she’s not really gone. She’s in the words that I use to write this blog and the love I embrace my kids with. It was only in her absence that I truly understood the enormity of who I am and what I am meant to do for this world. I get it now, Mom.
“Be Strong, Be Brave, You Can Do It!” – Daisy Fong
