Today is the one year anniversary of my father’s death. Yesterday Mother and I spent a good part of the day remembering. One year ago Mother and I spent the night at Hospice on either side of my dad’s bed, holding his hands. We were grateful for the constant monitoring by the staff at Hospice, who worked to keep Dad comfortable and explain to Mother and me the changes he was going through.
Mother, who has struggled with depression for years, was amazingly strong. At one point she said that she had no idea that dying was so hard, but for the most part she was determined to be strong. Yesterday she told me that she had a choice of being a “weeping widow” or to tough it out. She toughed it out.
In the year since Dad’s death, mother has learned how to live on her own. The changes to her life, as the result of Dad’s death, were profound. Dad was active up until the day he had a stroke last March. He maintained everything around the house, he did the lawn work, he ran all the errands. Since Mother cannot drive because of occasional dizzy spells, he was her chauffer. He bought her flowers every week—always reaching for the most colorful bouquets. After 62 years of marriage, mother lost all of that one year ago.
Then she got hit with another ton of bricks. She was diagnosed with breast cancer—for the second time. While grieving she found herself fighting for her own life. The cancer was cut out of her body, but it was aggressive, so she knows it could come back in another organ. Yet she is living each day enjoying the simple things she encounters, and enjoying her friends, family, and faith.
It has been a remarkable year. I am grateful everyday that I still can enjoy the company of my mother. I’m sad that my father is no longer with us, but I’m grateful for the lessons I learned from him, even though on more than one occasion we had vehement disagreements. My father and I were both stubborn and opinionated. I got my political combativeness from him and his father.
Rest in Peace, Donald J. Konola. We miss you, but we are handling everything that life dishes out, and making do with what we’ve got.
Mother, who has struggled with depression for years, was amazingly strong. At one point she said that she had no idea that dying was so hard, but for the most part she was determined to be strong. Yesterday she told me that she had a choice of being a “weeping widow” or to tough it out. She toughed it out.
In the year since Dad’s death, mother has learned how to live on her own. The changes to her life, as the result of Dad’s death, were profound. Dad was active up until the day he had a stroke last March. He maintained everything around the house, he did the lawn work, he ran all the errands. Since Mother cannot drive because of occasional dizzy spells, he was her chauffer. He bought her flowers every week—always reaching for the most colorful bouquets. After 62 years of marriage, mother lost all of that one year ago.
Then she got hit with another ton of bricks. She was diagnosed with breast cancer—for the second time. While grieving she found herself fighting for her own life. The cancer was cut out of her body, but it was aggressive, so she knows it could come back in another organ. Yet she is living each day enjoying the simple things she encounters, and enjoying her friends, family, and faith.
It has been a remarkable year. I am grateful everyday that I still can enjoy the company of my mother. I’m sad that my father is no longer with us, but I’m grateful for the lessons I learned from him, even though on more than one occasion we had vehement disagreements. My father and I were both stubborn and opinionated. I got my political combativeness from him and his father.
Rest in Peace, Donald J. Konola. We miss you, but we are handling everything that life dishes out, and making do with what we’ve got.
RSS Feed