Thinking About My Mom and I'm Beginning To See The Light
My mom developed a love for lighthouses. Right when you walked through my parents’ door from the backyard, there were 3 framed pictures of lighthouses. I think anytime I look at a lighthouse now I’ll immediately think of my mom.
I’m still in the grieving process for my parents. It’s been 7 months that my mom’s been gone, 10 months for my father. I’m also still in the final stages of a clean out of my parents’ home. We had the estate sale in December. Then we went through the process of figuring out what items my brothers and I would keep and what we would donate. All of the rooms are empty now. Some remnants of memories I still have to go through and decide where to store are in the attic, a wedding dress, a wedding cake topper, a girl’s gym uniform from the 1940s, and registry books from funerals for my grandfather, grandmother and mother. It didn’t make sense to get one for my dad because we were limited to 8 people. We even had to go through the process of deciding which grandchildren could attend my father’s funeral because of COVID-19 restrictions that were in place back in May. I couldn’t even provide the funeral director a suit for my father because he died of the coronavirus. I remember I had hung up my dad’s tuxedo and a white shirt on my parents’ bedroom door and had been in the process of picking out a tie when I found out that we couldn’t dress my dad. I still think about that.
In the process of deciding what to keep, I knew that I wanted to keep one of those lighthouse pictures, mostly because of the connection that my mom had with lighthouses. I can see where a fascination may begin with lighthouses because I’ve taken many photos of them. They make an interesting subject. I think my mom’s interest in lighthouses developed after my grandmother passed away because all of the photos I see of my mother with lighthouses were on trips taken after my grandmother’s death. If memory serves me correctly, the first trip my parents took after my grandmother died was to Cape Cod. Cape Cod has some lovely lighthouses.
I remember when my mom lost her mother. The loss of my grandmother was felt deeply by all of our family. But my grandmother’s death for obvious reasons was hardest on my mom. My mom, being an only child, had no siblings to share that grief with because my mom’s only sibling died during infancy. My mom also lived her entire life with her mother. After my parents got married they moved in with my grandparents and then when my parents bought their home in Audubon, my grandparents moved in with my parents. How many people can say they lived with their mom for 70 years? I remember my mom saying, “You only have one mother.” That might seem obvious but boy is it felt once we feel their absence.
I have read that during this time of pandemic that the grieving process is taking longer. Feelings of grief have been extended for those experiencing the loss of a loved one. It is interesting the things that we quantify. It’s even more interesting when we quantify things that can’t truly be measured. How do we measure grief? Roughly 3.1 million Americans have lost a close relative to COVID-19. I make note of this because that means that 3.1 million Americans are mourning the loss of a loved one from the coronavirus. Now add that to everyone experiencing the loss of a loved one from other causes. That’s a lot of grief.
Back in March I had to pick a term paper topic for the yoga therapy program I was enrolled in at Loyola Marymount University. I chose the topic of Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD). My term paper was titled “Yoga Therapy: Anxiety In The Time of COVID-19.” I picked the topic before I received the phone call from the hospital that my father had tested positive for COVID. He contracted the virus in either the hospital or in rehab after a surgery. I didn’t realize at the time how my choice of term paper topic would touch me personally. On July 8th of 2020, I had taken a screen capture of the Johns Hopkins University COVID-19 dashboard. At the time there were 547,931 reported deaths worldwide, one of which was my father. I had asked for an extension on my term paper after the death of my mother and father and began working on it again in January. On January 25, 2021 the reported deaths were now 2,138,299. Today, as of March 18th we are now at 2,682,931 worldwide deaths. Deaths reported like box office numbers. But the figures tell an important story. We are a world that is in mourning.
Whether you are experiencing the loss of a loved one or you are feeling the loss of being able to be around loved ones, we are collectively experiencing the feelings of loss. The loss of life as we once knew it. But now there is a glimmer of hope, a light ahead. I didn’t look at those Johns Hopkins numbers other than when I was using them as a source for my paper. But I do look at a new number on a daily basis because this number provides feelings of optimism. I look at the daily numbers of COVID-19 vaccines being administered in the state of NJ. These numbers provide the hope of being able to get our lives back, to being able to gather as family and friends, to being able to hug again!
I never discussed at any length my mom’s interest in lighthouses with her. She just said during one of our conversations, “I don’t know what it is about them (lighthouses). I just like them.” My mom and I talked about anything and everything. We would often speak first thing in the morning and talk over coffee, sometimes for 2 hours. I still have those moments where something will happen and I’ll immediately think that I have to call my mom and tell her. Then I remember … I do find myself still talking to her, a one-way conversation. But I could probably predict what she would say anyway so in that respect, she’s still here with me. We often turn to our moms during times of crisis and uncertainty. They are our foundation, our source of emotional and mental support. The truth is they never leave us. I’m finding that out now. It’s all right there inside of you, their words, their wisdom. We have what we need within us. We are each made of light. And our home dwells within our heart. We are our own lighthouse. Let the lighthouse of hope be your personal beacon to guide you safely through these times. There is a light ahead, and a light within.
Peace be with you.
Christine Lisa
(Act II: The scene begins at daybreak on a chilly Cape Cod morning in March. The steam rises from the cup of coffee the woman holds in her hand as she gazes at the lighthouse through the windshield of her car. “I’m Beginning To See The Light” by Duke Ellington and Ella Fitzgerald plays softly through the car’s speakers.)
Highland Lighthouse, North Truro, Massachusetts
Chatham Lighthouse, Chatham, Massachusetts
