Saying Goodbye to Mom

“Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.”

― J.M. Barrie

It’s hard saying goodbye

Especially when it’s your beloved Mother.

A Mother who guided her five children (Ellyn, Patricia, Liz, Katie, and myself) through some tumultuous storms, heartbreaking setbacks, new challenges; a Mother who was an anchor of courage--losing her best friend, my Dad, Jerry (Jeremiah) in 1994 and her daughter (Patricia) in 1997 from lung cancer.

My Mom embraced calamity and disappointment with a renewed burst of courage and optimism. Guided mostly by her deep love of God and strong devotion to her family, always looking for the sun through the dark, foreboding skies; her belief brighter days were just around the corner.

“Things happen for a reason,” was her guiding principle through our family’s most difficult times.

No one embraced the happy times more than Mom. Birthday’s, anniversary’s, Thanksgiving and especially Christmas, Mom’s home was always filled with joy, laughter, family, friends, and an abundance of love. No one was happier than Mom, when her grandchildren (Michael, Christopher, Dawn, and Brittany) were around her; and later, her great grandchildren (Dustin, Justin, Brandon, Savannah, and Sophia).

If you understand where Mom came from, you will better understand why family was so critically important to her.

Helene Elizabeth Knox was born March 14, 1921 in Peace River, a small town in northwestern Alberta, Canada, just below the Smoky River confluence. Though she lived in the United States since marrying in 1947 (New York City), she proudly remained a Canadian her entire life.

Her mother, Sarah, died young. Her father, James, not knowing how best to raise Helene, along with her sister, Agnes, and brother, James, were dispatched to a convent in Peace River. So, Mom’s childhood was filled, more or less, with not so happy memories of strict French nuns, who rarely showered their inhabitants with much affection; they were prone, rather, to meting out harsh discipline with an iron hand.

Mom was on her own at the tender age of 16, enrolling in a business secretarial college, landing a job in Toronto; and then working for the government as a secretary in Prince Rupert, British Columbia, where she met her future husband, my Dad, Jeremiah Joseph Lucey, during World War II.

So, when Mom and Dad raised their family, birthday’s, Sunday breakfast with the entire family (after mass, of course), summer vacations at cottages, graduations and anniversary dinners at Miller’s Restaurant in Lakewood, and the joy of the Christmas season with a fully decked-out Christmas tree (with bright decorative lights adorning the outside of the house) became of utmost importance to our parents. At birthdays, Mom knew each of our favorite dinners and desserts from spaghetti and meatballs to German chocolate cake.

Mom began each morning right up until she recently broke her hip, sharply at 6:00 a.m. While waiting for the coffee to brew, she never missed a day of reciting the rosary, usually in the dark, before flipping on the lights.

Not until much later in our lives, did our family come to realize it was Mom’s devout religious faith that nourished her and became a source of sustenance during turbulent times.

One major disappointment in Mom’s life was when she became afflicted with macular degeneration (blurred or no vision in the center of her eyes, AMD or ARMD), leaving her only with weak peripheral vision. Mom was an avid reader, she devoured books like most of us devour McDonald’s French Fries. It was a mighty big challenge for her to train herself to listen to books on tape. She accepted the setback, as always, with patience and grateful that at least she can listen to tapes. Large heaps of books on tape were regularly deposited in Mom’s mailbox.

Mom was many things, but one thing she wasn’t was sugar and spice and everything nice if you got her dander up.

She could be a real firecracker, to be sure.

If something she bought from the store wasn’t working or was defective, or she was overcharged, she often could be heard, bellowing out: “Wait until I give them a piece of my mind!”

When I was a kid, there many times, I pretended I didn’t know my Mom when she was arguing with store clerks while shopping.

One time, when I was about seven or eight, I came back from the corner barber shop with a nasty looking haircut, at least by my Mom’s standards. I cringed when she dragged me through the Parma neighborhood (Gerald Ave.) past all the neighbors, back to the barber shop and screamed at the startled barber: “Do you consider this a haircut!”?

But that was Mom.

And we loved her for it. Her strong spirit and verbal lashings still live on through a couple of my sisters, namely Ellyn and Kathleen (Katie).

Physically, the last five or six years have been difficult for my Mom. She has gone through a series of operations for multiple fractures to the spine; her vision was getting progressively worse. Always so fiercely independent, she refused a nursing home or assisted living facilities. Mom, somehow, managed to get through the day by touch and feeling things around her.  For the times she was in the hospital, she was a terrible patient. She always wanted to be home in her own bed.

Though always fully alert and aware of her surroundings, this past year, Mom’s memory wasn’t what it once was. She was forgetting more and more things, names of long-distance relatives, what day it was, etc.

After her operation a week ago on her broken hip, at 97 years old, Mom showed her age for the first time in her life. She looked frail, slightly disconnected from those around her. Her spirit was noticeably diminished.

When she was transferred to Mount Alverna (across from St. Anthony’s) on Thursday afternoon, it suddenly struck me (like a bolt of lightning) looking at her so frail in the bed, her bones so brittle, unable to eat, that this was to be her last stop.

I knew the end was near.

Still, when I left her at 7 p.m. that evening, she was joking, her spirits seemed up.

Then the call came from my sister Ellyn (at around 11:30 p.m.) that they were having trouble resuscitating her.

By the time I arrived at Alverna, we were informed our Mom passed away.

The good Lord, at long last, had called her home to reunite with her best friend, my Dad, and my Sister, Patricia.

By far, the most difficult thing I have ever experienced is watching my Mom in bed, motionless with her breathing stopped, knowing she’ll never speak to me again.

The words of Victor Hugo, in Les Misérables came to mind: “Promise to give me a kiss on my brow when I am dead. --I shall feel it."

We’ll miss you Mom.

Life will never be the same.

 

—Bill Lucey

October 1, 2018

 

 

Comments

[anne sebba]

what a beautiful piece of writing about an indomitable spirit. Reading this gives me hope as i start out on my own journey of widowhood. Thanks so much for posting this, Bill, clearly an inspiration. Anne

[Sabrina Bennett]

How beautiful your words are that caused my eyes to tear.

[Libby Wilder]

Your tribute is beautiful and fitting. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if every son, thought so highly of their mother. You have been blessed indeed.

[Bob zimmer]

Very sorry for your loss

[John Fisher Burns]

Cambridge, England
October 3rd 2018

Bill

Your tribute to your beloved Mama was elegiac, and struck a deep chord with others like myself who are mourning the loss of a beloved and irreplaceable companion. Reading your words offered an insight into the resilient, resourceful son she raised in you.

With Affection
John Fisher Burns

[Judith Sousa]

Hello Bill, this beautiful tribute to your mother (my 2nd cousin) brought tears to my eyes and took my breath away. I wish I had had the privilege of knowing her. Very sorry for your loss.

Kind regards,
Judy (3rd cousin)

[William Lucey]

Thanks Judy for taking the time to reply, and for your kind words; it means a great deal. My heart is still aching.
Bill

[hAROLD eVANS]

Bill
Your words never more expressive