When you lose your Mom

This was on my birthday at the end of March. Mom was still Mom. Her body was wearing out but she was still her. We visited and we sang Happy Birthday, enjoyed the sun and ate cupcakes.

And then my daughters and I left the nursing home for last time. Mom was no longer here.

and I am not sure what my role is now. Is that too dramatic? I am ok.. really. But my role for too many years to count, has been taking care of Mom. My father died young and Mom needed us and so my husband and my 1 year old and my pregnant self sold our home and moved back to the house I grew up in. That is where we raised our 5 children and shared our life with Mom. Every day, she was there. Mom was a part of all the silly, sad and serious adventures of raising 5 children. As they went off to college, she moved into a sweet retirement community and as she tells it, had a wonderful life. Years later when that community was flooded out in a hurricane, she moved back with us. We helped her find other "homes" It was kind of like Goldilocks and none of them were quite right. Eventually, my now grown children, handy to have a carpenter, converted my RN daughter's garage into an apartment for Mom. Mom's site was going and her mobilty was not the best so all those future needs were part of the design and Mom aka Nana soon had 3 more littles to share life with. I was the driver, organizer, meal planner, daily visitor, pill counter, doctor translator and of course friend. I was the one she called using her Alexa when she had something to share, something needed, was scared or happy. When it came time to realize Mom needed more care than my daughters Kate and Sara and I could give her she said it was time to move to the long term care facility. It was hard. Hard to accept that I couldn't do this til "the end" for her and hard that she wanted to "protect" us from the physical taking care of her. But true to form, she thrived there for over 3 years and was the queen of Bingo and golf cart rides!

But now she is gone.

For most of my adult life, I knew my role. I was my mom's daughter, but I was also her helper, her advocate, her organizer, her companion.

Now, for the first time in decades, no one is waiting for my morning call. No one needs me to explain what the doctor said or pick up another prescription.

I'm not falling apart. I'm simply learning who I am without that responsibility.

I'll find my footing. I know I will. But after a lifetime of caring for someone else, it's understandable that the ground feels unfamiliar.