The Strongest Woman Died of Weakening Muscles - Eulogy for my Mother
Life is beautiful and grand, and the little ironies have a way of teaching us the most. My mother is the strongest woman I will ever know. The strongest woman I will ever know died because her muscles became too weak. That irony tells me true strength is not physical.
My mother’s faith, out of all she’s given me, is the most wonderful gift a mother could give a child. My mother’s faith was the strongest part of the strongest woman I know.
Shortly after my mother passed, we watched home videos as a family. In one, we are at the Great Salt Lake in Utah. The white sand stretches to the shore of an expansive still lake, and my mother sits with her chin resting on her hand, watching my father hold Dustin and me swimming in the distance. Later, I play king of the hill with my mother as she stands atop a rock and successfully keeps me from getting on with her or pulling her off. In 1998, at age 38, my mother had a very capable body.
If you met my mother since 2002, you do not know her full story. My brother Dustin passed away this day, September 23rd, nine years ago. A mother’s greatest legacy is always in her children. If my mother’s greatest gift to me was her faith, my mother’s greatest gift to the rest of the world was bringing Dustin into it and loving him so much the rest of the world couldn’t help but love him too.
My mother and brother died from the same disease – myotonic dystrophy. My brother was born with severe congenital myotonic dystrophy. His case was so rare that university hospitals paid for sleep studies. Myotonic dystrophy affects about 1 in 8000 people. In my immediate family, it affected 2 of 4. Myotonic dystrophy took my brother’s life, and my mother’s life. The irony is that by having this disease, my mother and my brother taught me such lessons of strength and faith as I will find in no other book save the Bible.
I consider my brother the most innocent individual I have met. I believe he saw angels and giggled as they danced. People loved Dustin on sight; all he had to do was drool and grunt and they were hooked. With Dustin I saw God in normal people and troubling situations. My mother gave me the ‘good’ X chromosone, and I will hopefully live a long healthy life. From my mother my brother inherited myotonic dystrophy, which could be seen as the ‘bad’ X. However, Dustin’s life was beautiful, emphatic, and life changing for so many that met him no more than a day. My mother brought Dustin into the world, and Dustin brought joy, love, and a visible sign of God’s mark upon creation.
My mother was not affected from birth by myotonic dystrophy; instead from age 30 on, my mother’s body gradually weakened. At 18 my mother competed in beauty pageants, by 40 she had one leg that swelled and affected her confidence, by age 50, in New Mexico a few days before her final trip to the ER, the disease had caused her facial muscles to relax so that her jaw was slack and her eyes were drooping. She didn't have the muscle strength to smile for family pictures.
Looking from the outside without knowledge of her history, my mother might appear lazy or weak-willed. Having been raised by her, watching her care for and bury Dustin and still give her everything to me, and witnessing her faith in the hospital, I know my mother is the strongest woman I will ever meet. The irony is we didn’t really know how much the disease was affecting her until the ICU at Hays. In the hospital, my mother’s condition reminded me to give everyone love and support; you never know what they struggle against that you cannot see.
In the hospital we struggled with questions about life support and resuscitation. It is a complicated emotion to see your mother cry and try to push away the needle that will stick when she has been stuck 4 times a day for 6 weeks. It is unfortunate my mother died in a hospital, unfortunate her disease caused her lungs to fail - It is beautiful that I got to spend time with my mother in her final days. In her final week, I realized the great faith of the strongest woman I will ever know.
In the hospital my mother was afflicted with pain, afraid of the unknown, affected by memory loss, bruised on her arms from needle pricks, and lonely when we couldn’t be there. Such a situation may seem tragic; however, my mother made it gorgeous. Jo Lyn told me she loved me every time she saw me, kissed me on the cheek with a tenderness I will always feel in my heart, summoned all her strength to wrap her arms around me in a loving embrace. I’ve always loved and respected my mother, but in the hospital my mother became my hero. My father was constantly at mom’s side. Seeing my father care for my mother, he too is my hero. My parents had a wonderful marriage, and witnessing my mother wrap her arms around my father from her hospital chair and kiss his lips with the tender gentleness of eternal love made me pray that Daniel and I could have a love as strong as my parents when we are 50.
Knowing her condition, knowing she wasn’t getting stronger but instead weaker, my mother consciously chose to face death with her faith and her family. My mother prayed constantly. My mother would ask me to pray. My mother trusted God. My mother trusted God enough to live with the pain, to try to become stronger, and in the end, to wait for her family and show them with firm resolution that God was present in her life and that she was willing to greet Jesus in heaven. My mother requested for my grandmother to sing “I’ll fly away”, telling us that she knew, as the song goes “Just a few more weary days and then, I'll fly away, To a land where joy will never end, I'll fly away.” My mother let us know she was at peace, and would find even greater joy.
The night before the ventilator would be turned off , I feared the pain for my mother, I feared my own weakness in decision, I feared losing the mother I had had all of my life, the best mother, the dearest person and a close friend.
My mother reassured me.
A day before she told me that she had good dreams; she was at peace. I asked her what she dreamed of, and she wrote she ‘dreams of Dustin.’ I asked my mother what Dustin was doing, and she used her strength to make physical imitations of running, jumping, and then with a closed fist, lifted her knuckle up and down repeatedly in rows. I asked her what that motion meant; she said something I couldn’t understand, unable to read the lips of someone whose muscles weaken every day. I handed her paper and a pen, and with scratchy handwriting she wrote “waters the garden”. I read the words back to her and asked: “so Dustin waters the gardens in heaven, huh?” She nodded yes and smiled. The irony is that in my brother being in heaven, and my mother dreaming of him before she joins him, I was reminded of the great solace of life: in heaven there is no pain, no disabilities, we all have value, and in heaven we are wrapped in the warm embrace of God's love.
When the morning came, my heart sat in general numbness as my mother slept. My father and I held hands, watching her rest peacefully. She woke up about an hour before the ventilator would be removed. Dad and I held her hand, kissed her, hugged her, and she smiled. We went through a stack of pictures, reread the notes on the backs, relived memories, thanked her for the good times, and shared a love that will never die.
The nurse came in to ask my mother if she was ready for the ventilator to be turned off. She mouthed yes. The nurse asked if she would like the trach completely removed or capped; my mother responded removed. The machine was turned off, the trach removed, and my mother pulled the strap off her neck. She smiled at us, her burden gone, and drifted gently off to sleep. I watched her breath become more and more shallow, counted the seconds in-between. Daniel held Eli, and Eli started to cry in hunger. I let go of my mother’s hand, held my baby, and nursed my son. I was feeding Eli as my mother stopped breathing. I was holding my son as the nurses checked for a pulse no longer there. Another of life’s ironies, at the moment my mother was dying, my son was growing from my ability to give him a gift as his mother.
My mother had planned to watch Eli in his first year while I worked. She was going to live with us, care for Eli every weekday. My mother and I both looked toward that time with great joy. My mother was going to be able to teach me to be as good of a mother as she was, help me learn what it means to care for your own child. My mother didn’t get that chance.
However, in showing me her faith in her final days, by trusting God resolutely, by wanting to see her own mother so much, by dreaming of her own son in heaven, by holding my hand and telling me to take care of myself and love Eli, my mother showed me the full truth of what a great mother does for her children. My mother is not only the strongest person I will ever meet, she is the best mother I could have. If there is one thing I ask God to give me, it would be the strength to love my child - like my mother does.
song that played next:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUKmuXXkhxE&feature=fvst
My mother’s faith, out of all she’s given me, is the most wonderful gift a mother could give a child. My mother’s faith was the strongest part of the strongest woman I know.
Shortly after my mother passed, we watched home videos as a family. In one, we are at the Great Salt Lake in Utah. The white sand stretches to the shore of an expansive still lake, and my mother sits with her chin resting on her hand, watching my father hold Dustin and me swimming in the distance. Later, I play king of the hill with my mother as she stands atop a rock and successfully keeps me from getting on with her or pulling her off. In 1998, at age 38, my mother had a very capable body.
If you met my mother since 2002, you do not know her full story. My brother Dustin passed away this day, September 23rd, nine years ago. A mother’s greatest legacy is always in her children. If my mother’s greatest gift to me was her faith, my mother’s greatest gift to the rest of the world was bringing Dustin into it and loving him so much the rest of the world couldn’t help but love him too.
My mother and brother died from the same disease – myotonic dystrophy. My brother was born with severe congenital myotonic dystrophy. His case was so rare that university hospitals paid for sleep studies. Myotonic dystrophy affects about 1 in 8000 people. In my immediate family, it affected 2 of 4. Myotonic dystrophy took my brother’s life, and my mother’s life. The irony is that by having this disease, my mother and my brother taught me such lessons of strength and faith as I will find in no other book save the Bible.
I consider my brother the most innocent individual I have met. I believe he saw angels and giggled as they danced. People loved Dustin on sight; all he had to do was drool and grunt and they were hooked. With Dustin I saw God in normal people and troubling situations. My mother gave me the ‘good’ X chromosone, and I will hopefully live a long healthy life. From my mother my brother inherited myotonic dystrophy, which could be seen as the ‘bad’ X. However, Dustin’s life was beautiful, emphatic, and life changing for so many that met him no more than a day. My mother brought Dustin into the world, and Dustin brought joy, love, and a visible sign of God’s mark upon creation.
My mother was not affected from birth by myotonic dystrophy; instead from age 30 on, my mother’s body gradually weakened. At 18 my mother competed in beauty pageants, by 40 she had one leg that swelled and affected her confidence, by age 50, in New Mexico a few days before her final trip to the ER, the disease had caused her facial muscles to relax so that her jaw was slack and her eyes were drooping. She didn't have the muscle strength to smile for family pictures.
Looking from the outside without knowledge of her history, my mother might appear lazy or weak-willed. Having been raised by her, watching her care for and bury Dustin and still give her everything to me, and witnessing her faith in the hospital, I know my mother is the strongest woman I will ever meet. The irony is we didn’t really know how much the disease was affecting her until the ICU at Hays. In the hospital, my mother’s condition reminded me to give everyone love and support; you never know what they struggle against that you cannot see.
In the hospital we struggled with questions about life support and resuscitation. It is a complicated emotion to see your mother cry and try to push away the needle that will stick when she has been stuck 4 times a day for 6 weeks. It is unfortunate my mother died in a hospital, unfortunate her disease caused her lungs to fail - It is beautiful that I got to spend time with my mother in her final days. In her final week, I realized the great faith of the strongest woman I will ever know.
In the hospital my mother was afflicted with pain, afraid of the unknown, affected by memory loss, bruised on her arms from needle pricks, and lonely when we couldn’t be there. Such a situation may seem tragic; however, my mother made it gorgeous. Jo Lyn told me she loved me every time she saw me, kissed me on the cheek with a tenderness I will always feel in my heart, summoned all her strength to wrap her arms around me in a loving embrace. I’ve always loved and respected my mother, but in the hospital my mother became my hero. My father was constantly at mom’s side. Seeing my father care for my mother, he too is my hero. My parents had a wonderful marriage, and witnessing my mother wrap her arms around my father from her hospital chair and kiss his lips with the tender gentleness of eternal love made me pray that Daniel and I could have a love as strong as my parents when we are 50.
Knowing her condition, knowing she wasn’t getting stronger but instead weaker, my mother consciously chose to face death with her faith and her family. My mother prayed constantly. My mother would ask me to pray. My mother trusted God. My mother trusted God enough to live with the pain, to try to become stronger, and in the end, to wait for her family and show them with firm resolution that God was present in her life and that she was willing to greet Jesus in heaven. My mother requested for my grandmother to sing “I’ll fly away”, telling us that she knew, as the song goes “Just a few more weary days and then, I'll fly away, To a land where joy will never end, I'll fly away.” My mother let us know she was at peace, and would find even greater joy.
The night before the ventilator would be turned off , I feared the pain for my mother, I feared my own weakness in decision, I feared losing the mother I had had all of my life, the best mother, the dearest person and a close friend.
My mother reassured me.
A day before she told me that she had good dreams; she was at peace. I asked her what she dreamed of, and she wrote she ‘dreams of Dustin.’ I asked my mother what Dustin was doing, and she used her strength to make physical imitations of running, jumping, and then with a closed fist, lifted her knuckle up and down repeatedly in rows. I asked her what that motion meant; she said something I couldn’t understand, unable to read the lips of someone whose muscles weaken every day. I handed her paper and a pen, and with scratchy handwriting she wrote “waters the garden”. I read the words back to her and asked: “so Dustin waters the gardens in heaven, huh?” She nodded yes and smiled. The irony is that in my brother being in heaven, and my mother dreaming of him before she joins him, I was reminded of the great solace of life: in heaven there is no pain, no disabilities, we all have value, and in heaven we are wrapped in the warm embrace of God's love.
When the morning came, my heart sat in general numbness as my mother slept. My father and I held hands, watching her rest peacefully. She woke up about an hour before the ventilator would be removed. Dad and I held her hand, kissed her, hugged her, and she smiled. We went through a stack of pictures, reread the notes on the backs, relived memories, thanked her for the good times, and shared a love that will never die.
The nurse came in to ask my mother if she was ready for the ventilator to be turned off. She mouthed yes. The nurse asked if she would like the trach completely removed or capped; my mother responded removed. The machine was turned off, the trach removed, and my mother pulled the strap off her neck. She smiled at us, her burden gone, and drifted gently off to sleep. I watched her breath become more and more shallow, counted the seconds in-between. Daniel held Eli, and Eli started to cry in hunger. I let go of my mother’s hand, held my baby, and nursed my son. I was feeding Eli as my mother stopped breathing. I was holding my son as the nurses checked for a pulse no longer there. Another of life’s ironies, at the moment my mother was dying, my son was growing from my ability to give him a gift as his mother.
My mother had planned to watch Eli in his first year while I worked. She was going to live with us, care for Eli every weekday. My mother and I both looked toward that time with great joy. My mother was going to be able to teach me to be as good of a mother as she was, help me learn what it means to care for your own child. My mother didn’t get that chance.
However, in showing me her faith in her final days, by trusting God resolutely, by wanting to see her own mother so much, by dreaming of her own son in heaven, by holding my hand and telling me to take care of myself and love Eli, my mother showed me the full truth of what a great mother does for her children. My mother is not only the strongest person I will ever meet, she is the best mother I could have. If there is one thing I ask God to give me, it would be the strength to love my child - like my mother does.
song that played next:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUKmuXXkhxE&feature=fvst
The strongest woman I will ever know...
Family photo in 1998 Dustin passed away in 2002; mother passed away Sept 20 2011.
Mom in 1982
My parents' love has blessed my life in many ways, but seeing them care and comfort each other so well in this time warms my heart. My parents are good role models of love. :D
getting a hug from my mommy
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