By Steve Moran
It is funny what triggers thoughts and emotions.
I came across an article at Harvard Business Review titled “What to Say When Someone Cries at Work”. And it has great advice if you have ever struggled with that question. But reading it triggered this intense flood of emotions taking me back to my mother’s last few months on earth and the best advice I ever got; it was about how to deal with the profound sadness.
Three Years Now
It has been three years since my mom died in a small senior living community that did a great job of caring for her. I wrote several articles talking about our senior living adventures in that process. Nearly two years before she died, she had a stroke that left her physically undamaged but took much of her cognitive ability. We lost most of mom two years or so before she died.
She was at home with full-time help during the day and her husband with her at night. Then he had a heart attack. It was mild but left him unable to care for her. She ended up in my home for about three months and then had a precipitous decline landing her in the hospital. She was not eating and not improving, it looked like that was the end.
Wise Words
I was talking to Jack Cumming about how she was doing. And I honestly can’t remember the context, but he suggested to me that at some point tears would hit and hit hard. He told me to just let them go, to embrace them.
I appreciated the advice, but actually didn’t think much of it, until about 10 days later. I went out to the garage for something and I was hit with this wave of overwhelming sadness. It was odd to me because things hadn’t really changed for mom, except maybe even a tiny hint of improvement.
At first, I tried to hold them back, feeling kind of stupid for that wave of emotion that seemed inappropriate for the circumstances.
Jack’s words came back.
I just let it go. I stood in the garage and sobbed for 10 minutes. Real tears, coming down my face, dripping onto the concrete. I hurt so bad for the loss. Yet, even in the midst of the hurt and coming to grip with the reality that mom was going to be gone soon — that in a very real sense she was already mostly gone — gone a new peace and an acceptance of this new reality filled that hurt.
Months Later
Mom decided she didn’t want to die yet (her words), started eating, and spent the last 8 months in assisted living. Her cognition never returned and it was a long slow slide. I was actually in my car driving to go see her when I got the call that she was gone.
I, of course, shed tears that day, along with the rest of the family. I continue to, on occasion, shed tears, but never as many or for as long or as vigorously as that night in the garage. It gave me the strength and perspective to navigate what was coming.
Senior Living Reality
Death is part of our reality in normal times and more so today. And it is so much more difficult because of the necessary isolation. I write this article for two reasons.
You may need to have your own crying session like I did because of what is happening in your community, to those you love, those you care for. If this is you I encourage you to go find a private place (or public if that works better for you) and just let the tears and the sadness flow.
You may have a family member or a team member who needs the same advice I got from Jack. You may need to, even today, offer this wisdom to someone else.
Thank you, Steve. I honestly can’t remember that moment when we spoke. I do, though, remember clearly the moment that may have inspired the advice. It was January 1976 and my Dad was in the hospital in a New Jersey suburb after suffering a heart attack. Spontaneously after work, I drove out from New York to see him. I don’t know what propelled me to visit him that afternoon.
When I got to the hospital, I found my eighth-grade niece, Margaret, there. She had taken the train out alone from New York, where she lived, to visit my Dad. She, too, had had a similar impulse to visit. At 8 PM, a nurse told us that visiting hours were ending. I moved to the door, so my Dad could say Good Night to my Mom in privacy.
Instead, my Dad said, “Wait a moment, Jack.” Then he turned to my Mom and softly sang, “Whispering while you cuddle near me…”, which was their special song. When my Mom left the room, my Dad turned to me and said, “I want you to know where Aunt Bella’s papers are,” and he told me where. Aunt Bella was my grandmother’s sister, born in 1882, who was living at Isabella Geriatric Center in New York. He added, “I’ve also penciled out this year’s income tax return, and it’s in the top drawer of my desk.” His words were a premonition.
On the drive back to the City, I suddenly found myself overwhelmed with grief. I had to pull over to the shoulder and just let the tears flow and flow. It was the last time we saw my father. The next day they found him slumped over in the chair next to his bed with the New York Times in his lap. Dad liked to joke that he always checked the obits in the Times to see if his name were there. Shortly afterward, his obit was in the New York Times.
It’s been over forty years and I miss him still. Once in a while, the tears still overcome me.