My Mom died last month. Unexpectedly. She went in for a surgery that we were told had a 97% success rate. She never came home. She lived for eight weeks after her surgery and fought a gallant fight but in the end, the infection was too destructive.

Once again, I have been stunned and devastated by death. But this time my Mom is not here to help me. This time she is not here to hold me as I cry.   She is not here this time to say “Get up Staci, dust yourself off, keep going”, something she always told me when life was unfair.

Watching my Mom go through what she did the final four weeks of her life was horrible. The infection that invaded her body destroyed her organs one by one. For weeks it was one step forward, two steps back. There were days where it looked like she might prevail over the nasty infection but after four weeks, the doctors told us we had to make a difficult decision. We knew what my Mom would choose if she was able. It was time to stop. As my Dad told the Dr what our decision was I looked out her hospital window. There were two hawks circling outside. I knew immediately one of them was Gordie. It took me a few seconds before I realized the other must be my beloved Grandfather, my Mom’s Dad. The timing of their appearance was not lost on me. They were giving me a sign that it was time to let my Mom find peace.   It was time to let her join them.

Two days later, my Mom died at the hospital in the middle of the night. My Dad and I had gone home to get some sleep because we had been there for weeks and we were told death could take days. I was so close to driving back to the hospital that night but I chose not to for two reasons. First, I was concerned about leaving my sons by themselves over night. Second, I was so bone tired that I was afraid I would crash my car on the way to the hospital. I went to bed and cried because I knew that if Gordie were alive, he would have driven me to the hospital and then gone back home to stay with the boys.

The hospital called me shortly after 12am. They could not reach my Dad. When I asked if my Mom was alone when she died, the Nurse told me that she had been in the room. That made me feel about 1% better. I hung up the phone and tried to call my Dad. No answer. I tried my brother. No answer. I tried my boyfriend. No answer. I sat in my dark bedroom with my phone in my hand. I looked at the space next to me. My youngest son was lying there sleeping. He had started sleeping with me after it became clear that my Mom would likely not ever come home. I lied back on my pillows and whispered “Gordie…my Mom died and I am all alone.” Then I cried.

The night my Mom died was a bitter reminder that I am alone. I did not have a husband to take care of our kids so that I could sit with my Mom as she died. I did not have a husband who could drive me to the hospital when I could barely see straight. I did not have a husband to hold me after I got the call from the hospital. I did not have a husband to help tell our kids the next morning that the Grandmother they adored was gone. I have come so far in my grief over my husband but my Mom’s passing has shot me right back to feeling completely alone.   I missed my Mom and Gordie so much at that moment that I felt like my heart would break wide open.

And I am angry again. Angry that I have now been hit with two devastating and unexpected deaths. I am angry that my Mom’s life was taken after a surgery that was supposed to make it better. I am angry that she had to suffer so much in the last weeks of her life. I am angry that my Dad was robbed of more years with her. My parents were best friends, they had an incredible marriage, it deserved to endure longer. I am angry that my children have experienced a second devastating loss. I am angry that my sons are grieving again. I am angry when my sons say “I miss Grandma.” I am angry that I no longer have a Mom on this earth.

I think my Mom knew I would be angry. She was very aware of the anger that I still carry after the loss of my husband over seven years ago. So, I am certain she paid me a visit the night she died.

After the call from the hospital, I was unable to sleep but at around 4am, I finally fell asleep and had a dream. In my dream, my Mom had died but she showed up at my house and walked in. She went to my kitchen and started making pancakes. I followed her and asked, “Mom are you mad you died?”. She looked at me and shook her head “No, Staci, I am not.” Then I asked, “Mom are you mad that you had the surgery?”. She turned from the pancakes, looked at me, smiled and said “yes, I am a little pissed about that.” And then, I woke up.

I believe my Mom visited me that morning on her way to heaven to reassure me that she was OK with going to heaven. I think it was her way of trying to help quiet the anger with which she knew I would be struggling.

Last week, I had our Nanny buy me a new pair of running shoes. As I start my second run through grief, I figured I might need a fresh pair.

“Get up Staci, dust yourself off, keep going,” I can hear my Mom saying.

I am trying Mom. It’s just hard this time because you are not here to help me get up. But I will. I promise.

I love you Mom. I will miss your everyday for the rest of my life. Say hi to Gordie for me.