Yesterday was the 12th anniversary of my mother’s death. I never fail to think about her on that day and as much as I don’t want to, I always seem to end up reliving that night of her death. I sometimes wonder if her death anniversary will ever get easier. After all, it’s been 12 years! I think with more time, it will. The night my mother died, I was spending the night alone with her in the Alive Hospice Residence where she had spent the last several weeks of her life.
Losing a loved one at Christmas time is particularly hard.
I wrote a ten part series at the end of 2010 and the beginning of 2011 which told the story of my mother’s cancer journey. It was difficult to do in many ways, but I wanted to write about it and I’m convinced that writing about it was tremendously healing for me. In part nine and part ten, I wrote specifically about her death and my feelings after.
I’ve posted about her death previously and how when she was drawing her final breaths, her most favorite Christmas song of all times, O Holy Night, was playing softly on the radio. I could never express in words how that felt. Though I was losing my mother at that very moment and the sadness was overcoming me, at the same time, I felt very privileged and blessed to have experienced such a holy moment. My sisters and I had heard our mother say many, many times, how much she loved that song and how it was her favorite Christmas song. Who could have ever guessed it would be playing at the exact time of her death? I know in my heart, it had to have been a comfort to her. And it was a blessing for all of us. Needless to say, my sisters and I had O Holy Night played at her funeral and our tears flowed.
Since that night, in the still quiet of the Hospice Residence where I witnessed my mother’s soul go into the arms of Jesus, the song O Holy Night, has a whole new meaning for me.