How I Didn’t Lose My Parents but I Lost My Parents

Grappling with the grief of time lost, life not going as we hoped as well as gratitude for what remains and returns

My mom told me that she didn’t see herself as a grandmother. She didn’t start saying this until I was around the age of 30. It isn’t in her nature to be passive aggressive so I knew she wasn’t just saying it to guilt me into having children. She was very matter of fact. She didn’t see it in her future and thought maybe she wouldn’t be around long enough for it to happen. I found this deeply upsetting. 

My mom is and always has had a covertly mystical, “from another planet” vibe. On the surface, she has mostly looked like a beautiful, possibly conservative, sophisticated but modestly stylish mother and military wife. She has never dressed eccentrically or decorated in a way to show off her “otherness”. She has always put first what she considers her duties, her responsibilities as a mother, as the wife of a military officer and carried on the influence of growing up in the Catholic church.

But if you really know her, her stories, her experiences, if you get to witness the unexplainable supernatural things that have happened to her and how many times her intuition is correct, you would also be convinced she might be possibly be an alien or at the very least a mystical sage or witch.

So when she told me she didn’t see herself as a grandmother, I believed her. I would even start crying with a visceral response upon hearing her say this. She would gently brush me off and remind me,

“Chaela, we are spiritual beings having physical experiences. We leave this earth when it is our time. You know that. You will be absolutely fine without me whenever that time comes.”

When my dad called me, that cold February afternoon, to urgently tell me she was in an ambulance and he thought she was having a stroke, her disturbing prediction was one of the first things I thought of.

God dammit Mom. You can not be right about this!

When I got off the phone with my dad, I quickly called a few family members but the last person I called before getting in the car to drive to Michigan was our family energy worker. Yes, we have one. I told her about my mother’s premonition. I repeated, “But she can’t be right. This is not her time, this is not her time. Right?” Our energy worker softly replied, “No. I don’t think so.” I chose to trust her. 

It wasn’t her time. She did survive. But her life and her ability to be a mother, wife, friend, grandmother, in the way in which she had been and would want to be in these roles, has dramatically changed and become greatly prohibited.

I’ve struggled with how to grapple with this grief and how to explain it to others. Especially in the early days when my mom wasn’t speaking or when she was slowly starting to talk but it was clear she wasn’t retaining information or had the cognitive ability to care in the way she used to. I remember how much I longed for her to ask me to text her, no matter what time it was, to tell her I had returned home. A request I used to roll my eyes at. It was hard to explain to people, I didn’t lose my mom, she didn’t die, but I did lose my mom. And in a way, for a time, I lost my dad too. Their presence, their care, their attention, their help. It was gone. At one of the times in my life I wanted it most. 

Whenever I’ve tried to explain this, I’ve felt selfish or spoiled. I would try to say things like I miss my old mom, I just want my old mom back. Extremely kind, loving, well-intentioned friends would try to reassure me, offer me a different perspective, “There’s only one mom. She’s still your mom.” But they had no idea what they were talking about. I knew they were trying their best and I knew I would not have known what to say either had I not witnessed first hand what it is for someone to have a severe brain trauma, what it does to their personality, their capacity to process emotions, social cues, retain memories. And for my dad, he had a different kind of trauma. An overwhelm of fear, loss, grief, a complete upheaval of his life as he knew it as well as adjusting to a long new list of physically, mentally and emotionally draining and taxing burdens and responsibilities. 

It has been remarkable to watch over the past 3 and a half years how much both my mother and father have continued to heal, progress, acclimate to, accept and make the most of their new realities. But the confusing in between grief, remains.

A few weeks ago, while on FaceTime, out of the blue my mom asked if I could explain to her and my dad what my experience was like giving birth to Georgia.

I was chopping onions and cooking dinner while chatting with them on my iPad as Georgia played in the living room. She’d run back and forth, interrupting us to excitedly show Mama mama and Papa some toy she was playing with. It took me a beat to understand what my mom was asking. Though I of course know our history, it felt odd to hear my mother ask me what it was like to give birth to my daughter who is now 3 years old. It’s something that, in my body, I would assume my mother would know. But she doesn’t.

“Oh, like her birth story?” 

“Yes, what was it like?” 

I took myself back to that day, I remembered how I  called my mom on the drive home from the midwife appointment when they informed me my amniotic fluid was low, I needed to go home, grab my bags and get to the hospital to start the induction. My mom’s speech at the time was still slow and labored, like a forced whisper. I could tell she was doing her best to offer comfort and advice but it was challenging to converse with her. I called her again throughout the multi-day stay at the hospital, Aaron kept them abreast of the updates and how labor was progressing. We FaceTimed first thing in the morning after Georgia had finally arrived around midnight. But I remember the distinct feeling of their absence. I remember even while talking to them, this feeling like my mom wasn’t there. She wasn’t there, there. They were responding and seemed concerned, but they weren’t there as I knew them to be. 

The months leading up to giving birth, I was mostly in Michigan, away from my home, giving my full energy and attention to helping my dad transition to figuring out how to caretake my mother, at their home navigating a small mid-century ranch with now a wheelchair and severe disabilities, after a 3 month hospital stay. I was determined to do everything I could to help them up until the last possible minute before I could no longer be there. I was desperate to try and implement routines, force my mom to do her exercises when all she wanted to do was sleep, and somehow influence her to heal and recover as quickly as possible. But I also remember having moments where I wanted to scream, “Does anyone notice I’m pregnant!? Does anyone realize I’m about to give birth for the first time, I still don’t have my mom and I am terrified?!”

I didn’t include this part as I recounted the story to my mom and dad. I quickly told them about the induction, how long it took for the pitocin to finally kick in and then dilating from 3 to 10 cms in a matter of 40 minutes. I truly thought I was dying from the intense relentlessness of the pain. There was no relief or pause between the contractions that were convulsing my entire body. I was shaking uncontrollably, teeth chattering from the shock, vomiting countless times. I recounted the relief that came when I finally got an epidural until I started pushing for 3 hours. I told them of Georgia finally coming out, immediately being taken to the warming table and suctioned as they thought she had inhaled the meconium she was covered in, while I lie in the hospital bed, starting to vomit again as a new team of nurses rushed into the room to stop what they thought was hemorrhaging. I shared with them how my doula later confirmed that was not “normal” labor. That there’s a line between labor and true suffering and I had entered true suffering.

 

My mom took it all in and said, “Wow. I’m glad I don’t remember that.” Giving us the comic relief she’s so good at delivering. Her face turned serious though when she said, “I would have been there.”

I sighed and replied with, “Well remember mom, you told me you didn’t want to be here for the birth. So that was never the plan. You said that was sacred for just me and Aaron.”

My dad chimed in, “Yea, but we would have been in the car driving down the moment you told us you were being induced.” 

I sighed again. “I know guys. It’s okay though.”

I felt a wave of different emotions coming over me. I tried to disguise my tears blaming the onions I was chopping. It’s another shift that has happened for me post stroke. I never used to hesitate to cry in front of my parents. I never used to think twice about “dumping” my emotional load on my mom. But now, I try to conceal the pain and hurt I’ve experienced from the last few years. The last thing I want to do is dump more on them and add to the pain and hurt they already are grappling with every day. But that familiar grief washed over me. The grief for what I didn’t get to experience, not having my parents there for the birth of my first child. Not having my mom there to care for me in those early days. I felt that familiar grief and loss for what they didn’t get to experience of their first grandchild’s life. How they didn’t get to feel only the joy of meeting her for the first time, cooking us meals, staying in our home, taking part in bath time and feeding. I felt that familiar grief for what we still don’t get to experience as a second grand baby is coming in a matter of months. 

But I also felt validated and affirmed. Even though they were alive, I called them, I saw them weeks after when we drove up to Michigan, they really weren’t there.

I didn’t lose my parents, but I lost my parents.

That absence that I felt and so desperately tried to explain to people was real. My mom confirmed it by asking me this question and the way they heard the story like it was the first time. They didn’t really know what that time was like. 

I also then felt a growing sense of confidence. My mom was right about one thing, I was okay without her. I did survive without her. I did show up and show strength and capability and do the hardest things I’ve ever done in life, all without her. I would still have preferred she had been there, but she was right, I will be okay.

And then I felt this mix of relief, joy and gratitude. Because even though we still have a world of limitations, restrictions, challenges in my mom’s condition and my parents' situation, their ability to be who they want to be in their roles in life as parents and grandparents, they are coming back. They’re no longer completely lost to us. It all looks different from what any of us imagined or would have hoped for, but I know now, they’re coming back. 

Some time over the last few years I’ve reminded my mom of her premonition and asked if she recalled telling me that she didn’t see herself as getting to be a  grandmother in this life.

She nodded. “I think this is what I was seeing.”

“Well mom,” I will often say to her, “I’m so glad, in a way, that this is a rare time you were wrong.”

“Even if this version is the version we get, unlike anything we hoped for, you were still wrong. You’re a grandmother.”

---

As always, these essays are written quickly, from the heart and without an editor. Please excuse any typos or confusing grammatical errors! I can’t thank you enough for reading and subscribing. Your paid subscriptions are deeply appreciated as it helps me continue to work on this craft. Your readership and responses bouy my heart with connection. Thank you!

---

NEW SECTIONS

Part of this newsletter is to share what is going on in my professional/creative world as well as places/ways we can connect more. So from now on, I’ll be including in every newsletter, what’s coming up and what teaching opportunities I will be offering if you are interested in that. I’m also working on some offerings for my cherished paid subscribers! If you are a paid subscriber and have a wishlist of something you’d like to see, please message me or comment!

Performances coming up…..

• It’s home time! Most likely until the spring unless something exciting comes up. And very busy prepping new music to release! (More on that soon!)

Music coaching (Online)….

• 1:1 Songwriting Mentorship program: I am currently all booked up for the fall BUT You can still apply here to be at the top of my list for winter/spring enrollment or if anything changes before then! I would love to have my spring schedule ready and waiting once I return to work after having a new baby in January!

• Private vocal technique, piano and beginner guitar lessons: I am classically trained in piano and have a degree in Vocal Performance as well as three published instructional books on Voice. I have a holistic approach to vocal coaching, working on the physical anatomical technique as well as the mind/body connection. I am always potentially accepting one off lessons or packages as my schedule allows. You can apply here. 

Currently reading….

• I read an entire Elin Hilderbrand book sitting by the pool over 2 days in Miami this past weekend. It was heavenly.

• I just got The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store by James McBride on my Libby app and am excited to dig in!

Currently watching…

• Just finished Starting Five - I have a thing for sports documentaries, especially basketball and tennis