In matters of life and death, there is no pause button

The circle of life is what it’s called.

I just returned to work after being in California with my mom, who was in hospice care. It has been several months of travel back and forth for me to visit her in the nursing home there. I really thought she’d be well enough to be released and was hoping to get her back to her Oregon home. That chance never came. She passed away on April 22.

My managing editor just suffered the loss of her dad as well. We were hit back-to-back with parent losses.

It is so difficult to keep going when you really want to hit pause.

There is something unique about the self-employed, or a small business, and that is that work never stops. We can’t pause. I don’t say this for empathy, but I say this for customers and readers to understand that, even when we were at our parents’ death bed, we did our best to step outside and take care of business that still needed to be done.

When in the midst of all of this, we were passing your message along to fellow staff members so they could follow up for us. There were also times that we did answer calls, even though we were sometimes sorry that we did.

I don’t mean that in an uncaring way. It’s just that our care and time was being spent with our loved one, and that’s where it should have been. So sometimes a news need or subscription change can seem rather insignificant in comparison. This is something that I will try to remember as I visit a small business, because everyone has bad days and our small businesses are made up of just people, trying to cope with life, and possibly death.

For 57 years, my mom was my mom. My dad died 12 years ago, and I thought my heart would ache forever. Eventually over time, that pain became bearable — still present, but not heart-wrenching. To lose my mom reopened that wound and brought back that feeling with full force. I was fortunate enough to be there for both my parents’ last breath. I was present both physically and emotionally. I am thankful that in both deaths, my parents suffered less than if I had intervened with any life sustaining efforts. I believe in death with dignity and did my best to see this through.

I realize they are better off in heaven; they are in a better place. I know, I know. I hear it and, believe me, I have said so too. It’s just difficult here on earth to not have them. I hope I said all that I needed to, and they knew I loved them to the very end.

At birth, life is beautiful and hopeful, but death is so misunderstood and difficult to process — intense and emotional in an unexplainable way. Grief is an emotional roller coaster. I am exhausted after going through two weeks of holding and comforting my mom during her final journey, trying to figure out how to balance her needs with my mind’s understanding of what was happening and my new reality.

I witnessed her transition as she grew weaker. She was not speaking when I arrived at her room days before, but her hand squeezed mine in a meaningful way. She knew I was there and that meant everything.

My mom’s life has ended here, and she has moved to heaven, for those who believe — a transition into a place of beauty and peace, where one meets friends and loved ones who have passed on before.

The circle of life changes the lives of those still living. It will always be misunderstood as we mourn our losses. My grief for my mom will begin to heal, our fond memories will rise above, and I will cherish the relationship we shared.