Finding comfort at the bottom

Mom’s passing has rocked me harder than I’d imagined possible. Considering all the time I spent holding her hand, crying, and saying goodbye, I guess I thought I was well prepared.

I was wrong!

The actual loss of Mom’s life has opened a chasm of sadness into which I’ve fallen.

I’m laying at the bottom of a deep, dark fissure in the universe, assessing the damage I took in the fall. I’ve heard from people who have been down here that it’s going to take me a couple of years to climb out.

In this moment of crisis, I’m taking stock of the resources I’ve got with me in the pit. To my surprise, there’s quite a lot of Mom down here to comfort me.

I never gave it much thought till now, but I’m so happy Mom knew who she was and had her favorite things.

She wore Chanel perfume, always planted red geraniums, burned orange blossom candles each spring, and collected bright, eclectic art.

The last thing she bought herself were two big mobiles that she hung between the family room and dining room to create a little separation in the space.

Right now, it’s her perfume that is bringing me the most comfort.

I don’t remember what perfume I wore in college, but I remember my roommate wore Tommy.
To this day, if I catch a whiff of that scent, I am immediately transported back to the good ol’ days with Marshall in Mesa.

After last month’s car accident, I had to spend a week in bed recovering. Dad showed up with groceries and a care package from Mom.

I know she would have loved to bring it to me, but her pain was so severe that she wasn’t going anywhere except the hospital.

In the care package were toilet paper, paper towels, mouthwash, Kraft Mac’n Cheese, and a heating blanket she’d been using. It smelled just like her.

I spent that week rolled up in a warm blanket that smelled like Mom. When we talked on the phone, I thanked her for sending me a warm hug. She knew just what I needed.

A few weeks ago, Melissa went out and bought us all a bottle of Mom’s perfume. It’s incredibly comforting to have that little bit of Mom now that she is gone.

I’ve never had a strong opinion on wearing perfume, but I am now firmly in the pro-perfume camp.

I’m so happy that Mom had so many favorite things because it makes it much easier for me to find her in my mind’s eye.

I would encourage everyone to figure out who you are and what you like.
Once you figure that out, don’t be shy about having favorite things.
When you die, little things will have deep meaning to the people who loved you.

I had 15 minutes alone with Mom on the Tuesday afternoon before she passed.
It was the 30th day of hospice; she was in a deep sleep and gasping for every breath.

She’d crossed her hands across her chest, and my sister had done her makeup.
I begged God to let her go.
I prayed that she would be led along the pathway out and into the presence of God.

I sobbed as I thanked Mom and praised her for running such an amazing race.
I told her she made it, and I was so proud of her.
I told her I was going to miss her, but I knew she would never really leave me.

I told her I loved her, but mostly, I begged God to please take her home.
I didn’t feel guilty about it.
It came from a place of deep sadness for Mom’s body’s refusal to give up her ghost.
She was a fighter till the very end.

I cried until there were no more tears and said goodbye.

I went out and climbed into the passenger side of Mom’s ride to wait for Lucky.
Dad came home from walking the dogs and found me sitting in the garage.

“What’s up, Ryan?”

“Just waiting for Lucky. He’s driving us to his birthday happy hour.”

Dad got in the driver’s seat and backed the car out of the garage.
The last nurse had told him it could be a matter of hours or days.
We talked about how hard it was getting and cried together until Lucky showed up.

LJ will be a senior next year, and I wanted a couple of my friends to give him the life advice they wish they’d had going into senior year.

I’m super proud of Luck.
It felt so good to brag about his latest repair project—our clothes dryer.
He tore it down, found the broken belt, ordered a new one, and rebuilt the dryer.

It took him over a week to put it back together because he had schoolwork and real work, flipping burgers at The Habit.

So there was a solid week where I wasn’t sure if I should be proud or pissed off about the torn-down dryer.

I’m so proud that he finished the job!
I love getting started, but finishing projects has never been my strong suit.
I’m just so proud that we’ve raised a son who is confident, secure, able to learn, and willing to take risks.

My buddies were super impressed and commented that he had already surpassed their senior expectations.

In the end, I think the best advice came from Chris: “Well, if you’re surrounded by pussies, then just eat their fucking lunch! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!”

At the end of the meal, I gave Lucky my tearful advice.
I told him to always say yes to spending time with Mom because someday she is going to die, and you will wish you had done everything she’d asked.

This is death’s message to the world:

“Take advantage of this time given you, with the people you love,
or be left with regrets when I come to tell you time is up.”

I don’t know why, but I’d been obsessing about what clothes I would be wearing when Mom died.
I kept thinking, “I’ll have to burn them, whatever it is, I’ll just have to.”

I was drunk driving the porcelain bus at 3:30 Wednesday morning when Dad knocked and said he had something to tell me, but I already knew.

“Did Mom pass?”

“She did.”

I was in my birthday suit.
I know Mom would have frowned on the burning of clothing.

I exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel, emptied out and feeling worse than I ever imagined possible.
I went back to bed to nurse my hangover and cry like a baby for the next 12 hours.

When I finally emerged in the late afternoon, I found Dad visiting with three pastors from my childhood.
As I came into the room, Pastor Angie popped up and ran to me.
She threw her arms around me, and we just cried together.

I spent the next hour or so talking to Pastor Richard, Becky, and Angie about everything I’d been through over the past month.
Them being there, in that moment, made me feel so much better.

I have tried my best to be vulnerable during this time by asking people to come keep me company and bear witness to Mom’s passing.
The people who came have told me they were changed by the experience.

Through this experience I have learned that there is no better way to appreciate life than bearing witness to the inevitability of death.

I haven’t engaged with Facebook very much since Mom passed.
I know lots of people have written nice things, and I appreciate the love.

I am very grateful for the huge outpouring of love for me and my family during this time.
I’m just having a hard time engaging under the weight of everything right now.

Here’s some general advice for everyone:

Stop texting us asking, “How are you doing?”
FUCKING AWFUL!! That’s how we’re doing.

If you want to reach out and let us know you care, be a little more creative.
Send well wishes, thoughts and prayers, Bible verses, thoughtful poems.
Please, just lay off that stupid question. It’s too hard to answer and my poor Dad feels obligated to reply.

I know Mom would want me to reply to everyone who reached out to me.
Give me some time; I probably will.

Mom’s service will be at 1 p.m. on Saturday, May 10th, at:

The Springs Church
6135 W Detroit St.
Chandler, AZ 85226.

We’ve set up a website to collect memories. Please feel free to contribute your favorite Margo story.
It will mean a lot to our family in the years to come.