Losing Parents

On almost any given day, those of us who are “seasoned” get a message that one of our friends, lost a parent. Yesterday, we got word that one of our closest friends in Destin lost her mother. Her mom had been living in an assisted living facility and her daughter and granddaughter visited with her on a regular basis. It didn’t matter that from time to time; there was some confusion or a lack of recognition.

As family members, the quick explanation for visiting with a parent who has dementia or Alzheimer’s is this: “My mom or dad might not recognize me but I STILL recognize them.” Unfortunately, there will be a day when the opportunity to hold their hand is no longer an option.

In a blanket statement: very few over the age to receive Medicare, have a parent still living. All of us have been through those dark days when we lost our parents. When we lose our first parent, we hurt ourselves but even more for the remaining parent who just lost their life partner. When we lose the remaining parent, we hurt more for ourselves after reality sets in that we can no longer pick up the phone and call Momma or Dad.

We miss our parents, but more than anything, we miss the continuity of patterns. We miss the $5 check at Christmas, even though we didn’t need the money and we know she had over $30,000 sitting in a checking account. We miss the Sunday afternoon visit when truthfully, we would have preferred being at the lake or on the golf course.

We miss watching our parents carry on about the grandkid’s painted rock gift like it came from the Louvre in Paris. We realize that we will never be able to sit next to her in church as she recited the Lord’s Prayer as though she was casually having a heart to heart talk with her Lord.

After we lose our dads, sons miss their largest hero and idol. Daughters miss the first man they ever loved. For some daughters, no man could ever live up to the high bar that their dad unintentionally set for them.

Sons miss the man that taught them how to throw a curveball; how to load and shoot a 20 gauge and the trick to driving a stick shift. Daughters miss the broad shoulder they cried on when their first boyfriend dropped her and chose Jolene who wore more makeup than the circus clown. Her dad reassured his baby girl that Mr. Right would come along and she would live happily ever after. Since her daddy died, she never took the time to ask him a simple question: “Daddy, how did you know?”

I am not a grief counselor, but I have lost both parents, just like almost every one of my friends. Every death is different and our reaction to them is different as well.

It appears we go through different emotions when we lose a parent. It often depends on our parent’s age, end of life health prognosis, and more than anything else, their feelings concerning the approaching “end.” The great thing about this game called LIFE is that we never know the exact time or place when we are called Home.

What are those emotions? Do they all come in a set order? Is it wrong to feel a certain way when we lose a parent?

To me, the short answer is each of us reacts in different ways. For some of us, we feel guilty if we experience a sense of relief. When a parent (like my mom) tells us, she was ready to go and couldn’t wait to see her “Big Brad” as well as her parents and two sisters. From a selfish standpoint, we wanted her to still be with us. Daddy’s death was more of a surprise since he died of a massive heart attack at the age of 63. For his death, we never got the chance (or took the chance) to say our goodbyes.

Grief would best describe that emotion. If I could reassure anyone about grief, it would be this: everyone grieves in their own way and on their own timetable. Some finally accept the death after a few weeks while others may take months or years. Often when a parent has dementia, our grieving starts long before they take their final breath. It’s often said that the parent we knew, was gone a long time ago.

When a parent’s death is suddenly, we seem to go through a period of depression. I think depression is actually a feeling of helplessness along with some guilt.

The stage that I have noticed more and more is that of blame, especially toward the medical profession. “Why didn’t they catch it earlier?” “What tests did they run?” “We never could get a clear answer from the doctor. I think he was hiding something all along.” “I firmly believe if we had transferred Mother to a different hospital, she would still be here with us.” “They took him off life support too soon.”

To me, the best approach after losing a parent is the same as for anything else: communication. Yes, we hurt. Tell others how you feel. No one, regardless of their situation, is EVER prepared when the end final comes for a parent. People mean well when they say they know how you feel. Thank them for their condolences and know that friends often feel helpless also, not knowing what to say.

There’s an old bluegrass tune that talks about giving them their roses before they are gone.

For those who still have a parent, hug them and give them their roses now.

Before it’s too late.