The force is gone. I always wondered what it would feel like, and I hoped that the force would leave us. In fact I bought a Magic 8-Ball just so I could ask it “Will my mom die soon?” But she persisted. As her abilities diminished, her pride in the strengths she still had were obvious. While she could still summon a sentence, she told you how strong she was and maybe even made a fist or a bicep to prove her point. She also hit, bit, spit and used *all* of the words that were banned from my own childhood vocabulary.
She was once an elegant woman who cared what others thought. She both made me take tennis lessons and also chose the color of my skin for those lessons “You will either wear panty hose or let me put tanner on your legs” – *that* lady left the scene ten years ago and in her place was a beast of increasing cantankerousness.
On Thurday, I wrote to a dear friend who coined the phrase “She lives for the hate” about my mom. I said “My mom died. What do I do with the 8 Ball? “Inconceivable!” she replied. ”I will miss that cranky old lady”. So will we all. She was 97.
It took four children, three 24-hour caregivers, a memory care facility and drugs to power the force. The results were tough to experience. I think I felt a certain amount of pride in how well I dealt with the barbs, both physical (poking me in my fat parts and laughing at me) and mental (constant haranguing about whatever she wanted and threats if you didn’t give it to her). In a way there was an artistry to her awfulness,. And although I wish that I’d spent my 50s differently, I am proud of how we cared for her and I have a lifetime of stories, and memories of countless Saturday lunches prepared for her and her beloved caregiver. Those we all enjoyed, at least.
The force is gone. She is at peace, and in these early days the world seems big and scary. I have slipped out of my customary life's orbit and need to choose my own gravity now. I want to be at peace as well.
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