The end of 2025 draws near, and with it my realization that, while all years include change, some years hold more transformative changes than others.
Like that wonderful year I discovered my love of theater.
Or that horrible year when Nixon won the election!
Pivotal moments in our shared life for sure, Lily and 9. But this year we experienced a shift even more extreme. This year, we lost Mom.
I don’t want to talk about it.
Please let’s not talk about it.
It’s not exactly that I want to talk about it, you guys, but I think I need to, just a little bit.
Shift: Only a fool would try to claim Mom’s spot at center stage! O’Meara Dance Studio, late 1990s.
Losing a parent is a profound experience. For one thing, someone you’ve known from the very beginning is gone. Likely this person was responsible for your childhood welfare, and had an outsized influence on who you’ve become as a person. You may have embraced their guidance and opinions or rebelled against them, probably some of each. And though parental influence is not always joyfully received I’m sure most people feel a vacancy in their lives when it’s gone.
For another thing, when that first parent dies (Dad, age 69, in 1994) it dawns on you that you are becoming what a friend of mine calls “one of the real guys.” That is, an adult. An old-timer. Someone who is responsible for the generations behind them.
Whether a parent dies suddenly or after a long decline, no matter how prepared you think you are in advance it always comes as a shock. The big shock comes immediately, followed by little shocks that come for years- -dealing with their estate and personal property, hearing stories and reminiscences from their friends (maybe for decades), experiencing hundreds of life’s interesting and/or important moments when you think I can’t wait to tell Mom about this.
Chances are, it will be a long wait.
Fortunately, there are good memories to offset these moments. The better moments of family trips (I’ve learned to laugh about the awful moments now that years lend perspective), shared passions like Ann and Dad had for sailing, or like Mom and I had for tap dancing. Being raised to “defend the underdog” as reiterated by both of them, both verbally and through example.
Dad, doing what he loved best. Sailing, c. 1960s. Ann has definitely followed in his footsteps!
For me, this is the shift: instead of these things being linear like they were when Mom was alive (for 99 years, not too shabby!), now it’s all swimming around in a random pattern. It’s a collection, rather than a progression, something eternal but no longer infinite.
Like a painting.
Interesting analogy, Lily. As it happens, Mom collected a lot of paintings. I think she’d be pleased to know many of them are now in the homes of friends and family. Her reach after life goes just a bit wider.
The physical presence ends, but the life goes on. Strange, but not strange when you consider the physical presence was molecules- -dearly loved molecules, but molecules nonetheless. Molecules get repurposed, but the rest of it- -consciousness, intellect, memory, spirit? I believe those things stay with us in some dimension of existence that we don’t fully sense, something we can glimpse but can’t fully see.
Like ghosts?
That’s one way to look at it, 9. But I’m thinking of something more like unseen guides or mentors. The ideas and insights that come to you that don’t have a clear origin.
The part of humans that shifts to infinity.
Beautiful.
Thank you, Margo!
A hard read for me; but so true. So nicely worded kiddo <3
Also hard to write! Love you, Nanner, and thank you.
(((HUGS)))
And back atcha, Corey!
There’s a beauty in it, a really unexpected beauty, I found when my mother passed in 2020. Suddenly she seemed to be around me all the time, everywhere I looked. Her impact is sprinkled across every nook and cranny of my existence. It surprised me, that I didn’t see this until after she was gone from the physical plane. So, just to say, my heart is with you and I concur about that shift to infinity, discovered nestled right inside the finite. <3
You are so right about the beauty of it, Erin. Thanks so much!
I’m so glad you’re writing and sharing your words with us! Thank you Susan.
My pleasure, Kate! Wishing you and your family good and happy times ahead. It would be wonderful to see you in 2026
!