She called me 'Sugar'
Reflections, one week since my sweet momma left us
Sitting beside the creek that runs next to the hospital, with my feet in the cool running water, I sang this song to her.
Lay yourself down on the rocks now
Lay your body down in the river
Listen to the beat from the other side
Lose yourself in the meantime
Listen, listen
Listen, listen
Singing is a new avenue of healing for me. It takes my mind and focuses the racing thoughts, with rhythm and cadence to soothe me. Many times during her days in the hospital I went to the creek to sing.
As I sang, a realization bubbled up through my tingling feet: there were voicemails. When I finished, I opened my phone and went straight to deleted messages, and recovered every message I had from her, some of them I never even listened to because I had called her right back.
I started playing them as I walked back to the intensive care unit, but I didn’t make it very far. My legs gave out on me and I just had to lie there and weep at the sound of her voice, it was like she was right there next to me.
7/28/23 “Hey Sugar, its your Mom. I’m just calling to say hi. Calling to say I love ya! Hope you’re well, hope you’re busy. Call me back when you get a change. I love you. Bye.”
6/27/23 “Hey Sarah, I just wanted to tell you I got my first flower delivery from Charla, she’s such a sweetheart. They’re absolutely gorgeous. Peonies, and some flowers I don’t even know what it is, ha! I just wanted to thank you, what a joy it is to get flowers delivered. Thanks Sugar, bye.”
5/9/23 “Hey Sugar it’s Mom. It’s Tuesday. No particular reason for me to call, I just wanted to say hi, see how you’re doing, hope you’re doing great! I’ll talk to you again. Love you, bye.”
I must have been gone awhile, sobbing there in the grass, because eventually my sister’s husband came and gathered me up in a hug, telling me my sisters needed me for the results of mom’s latest ct scan.
She called me ‘Sugar’. The only person in the world who ever did. The body that birthed me was up there in that hospital, unthinkable things had been done to save her life, and now more unthinkable things were happening despite these efforts, as her sweet body began to fail from a massive heart attack and stroke.
She was my constant cheerleader, a gifted healer and caregiver from whom I learned intuitive gentle touch. Her presence in my life was a safe harbor, especially these last four years as I healed and built my own healing practice. She was an angelic presence at the bedside of so many people over her 25+ years in nursing, sweetly whispering them into their long goodnight. I needed to gather my strength, for her and my sisters, and get myself back into that hospital room.
Later that day she had one lucid moment, the only one over the course of those five horrible days in the hospital. She responded to a nurse’s prompts to squeeze her hand, which my sister and I were holding, and to open her eyes if she could. And she did! And a wave of love and solace passed across her face as we came into focus. When the nurse asked her if she knew who she was looking at, she nodded yes and smiled with her eyes. We both wept, and said “Hey Momma!” And then, just as soon as she came, she left again, never to return to consciousness.
I’ll never hear her call me Sugar again in waking life, but today I heard her whispering it to me in my half sleeping mind, in the early morning hours, which was always her favorite time of day.
I rose from bed with tears in my eyes and went outside to greet the birds and the crisp morning air. Just breathe I told myself. This will take awhile, some have said. For the hospital trauma to work it’s way through my body, for the pain and anger to fade, and for the swells of grief to move from tsunami waves, to ocean ones, to lake ones, eventually to ripples.
Losing your mother in life changes you, in ways that are impossible to prepare for. I was not even preparing, it took us all by surprise. But my sisters and I weathered that storm, and although there are still more challenges ahead, we feel resilient as a triad, and stronger for having gone through this experience together.
I’ve had many hands holding me through this, friends and family, fibers of a community I’ve worked hard to weave since moving back home. I feel forever and eternally grateful for this support. The weaving continues.
I am lightening my work load substantially as I grieve, because as a healer and space holder I cannot serve others with integrity right now. It pains me to admit this, and also, it is time to walk my talk, and receive. With the early morning whispers of my momma’s voice in my mind, I feel strong enough to ask.
I am accepting support and love in any way that folks are moved to offer it. Since I am not working much, I am falling behind on my finances. If you are so inclined, I am graciously and humbly accepting help with that too. A dear friend has started a (private) fundraiser for me, details below. Another way you can support me is to become a paid subscriber here, on my substack. Although I can’t really do much hands on bodywork right now, I can write, and I will be writing my way through this you can be sure.
I love you.
Call your Mother.
Sarah, WolfMother
💙