Will The circle be unbroken
There are times when we fall in love songs and are unaware that the songs will have unique impacts on your life. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would experience the events the band wails about in this song.
I will always associate this album with the summer of 2012 - letting the bluegrass soak into my and my friends ears, mixing with the dried sweat, Lone Star, and faint wafts of cigarettes.
“I was standing by my window,
On one cold and cloudy day
When I saw that hearse come rolling
For to carry my mother away
Will the circle be unbroken
by and by, Lord, by and by
There’s a better home a-waiting
in the sky, Lord, in the sky
I said to that undertaker
undertaker please drive slow
for this lady you are carrying
Lord, I hate to see her go
Will the circle be unbroken
by and by, Lord, by and by
There’s a better home a-waiting
in the sky, Lord, in the sky”
Today marks one day since my mom moved onto the next realm.
Between 3:50 and 4am, my mom passed away. Phillip rushed in to get me from where I was sleeping - only twenty minutes before, I went to get my dad to switch watching over her. I think it was her way of sparing me the experience of seeing her last moment on earth - I had been through enough…
Phillip came to get me and I rushed out, where Peg was reciting the rosary, the mantra ohms were wailing throughout the room, and the prayer candles of St. Michael, the Virgin of Guadalupe, and St. Joseph were blazing. It was a completely surreal scene. Later I found out that moments before she passed, Peg got a charley horse, stood up and it was gone. She then went out to where my mom was sleeping and began to recite the rosary. At the moment she passed, Phillip snapped awake and looked at my dad who looked at him and told him he couldn’t feel a pulse anymore.
I remember saying something like, “the new chapter now starts.” I kept saying, “I should have just stuck it out and been there!”
4:30ish the hospice nurse came to help disconnect her pain pump, catheter, and help get her ready for the undertaker.
It was around this time that my dad called the Cremation Society of Minnesota to alert them of her passing, and to contact the undertaker in Madison.
Around 5am, the Hospice nurse finished disconnecting everything and gave her a final wash. We decided to send her out looking good in her favorite outfit, because my mom was always impeccably dressed. We put one of her favorite outfits - heavy in purple and orange. I remember putting her scarf on and completely sobbing - the hospice nurse helped me lift her head to put the scarf on. She then helped me put on her warmest socks, because mom liked her feet to be warm.
At around 6:30am, about a year ago to the hour, as I am writing this, I saw hearse round the corner onto North East 4th street. My heart dropped and the reality set in.
He carted in the gurney with a beautiful velvet maroon body bag. He was on of the sweetest men I’ve ever met - all of us were crying - he was gentle and waited for us to have our last moments with her physical body. Everything sped up - time became darker, fast, and everything felt like my heart was wet with black, sticky tar of sorrow. I think the undertaker is used to the fact that his presence brings people slight uneasiness.
He and the hospice nurse helped to get her body onto the gurney - they put a board under her back and turned her onto the gurney. After she was on the gurney, he backed up for us to say our last goodbyes to her earthly body - ***this is immensely hard to write, but I’m going to soldier on***- I squeezed her now cooling hands to say “eternal music” and “I love you so much mom! We will never forget you!”
I honestly don’t remember if Phillip or Peg were in the room. My sight was only on my dad and I.
It was so morbid to see him zip up the body container with my mom in it. He then carted her out of my dad’s apartment, my dad and I followed.
I vividly remember the crisp, cold, clear, sunny morning that was starting. My dad and I held and clutched each other so strongly that I could feel his pain. We were sobbing as the hearse door closed and she left.
We came back inside to the staggeringly empty room - the hospital bed a horrid memory of what had just occurred.
I took these photos after the hearse left.
Almost immediately after, Peg got her things together and we helped her pack her car. Peg, Phillip, my dad and I went to get breakfast. Peg left back to WI to begin the new chapter without SKV.
Phillip gave my dad and I some space to mourn. I went into dad’s apartment — it still smelled slightly clinical. I sat on the couch, grabbed mom’s blanket and hugged it so tightly to smell her - in times like these our innate animal tendencies come back. I sobbed into the blanket screaming, “I don’t have a mom anymore! I don’t have a mom!” The waves of sobs came for about a half an hour. They began again when I heard my dad try to tell his mom that SKV had passed. “Hi Mom… Susan… I’m calling to tell you that… Susan… I’ll call you back because I can’t do this.”
After gaining some composure, I began calling my friends, then my mom’s close friends from Texas, New Mexico, and Minnesota. It was cathartic to talk to her friends, lament about what had happened, and to hear their equal mourning.
“I haven’t heard my mother’s voice in a while
But her words are always falling out my mouth
My mind and spirit are at odds sometimes
And they fight like the north and the south
But I still care enough to bear the weight
Of the heaviness through which my heart is tethered
She taught me how to be strong in saying goodbye
And that love is forever
But most of all
She taught me how to fight
How to move across the line
Between the wrong and the right
And when I’m turned out in the darkness
And the pushing comes to shove
To remember what comes back
When you give away your love
Give away your love
When you give your love away
Give away your love”
The song, Most of All to the right by Brandi Carlile, talks about what she learned from her mom. This directly translates to my experience.
The most important lyric that my Therapist, L, and I discussed, “She taught me how to be strong in saying goodbye, And that love is forever” speaks to so much of the last year, especially to my breakup. In the last cognizant day of her life, my mom and I were talking about life stuff and I asked her what she thought of my relationship. She said, “You and will always be friends, I know it”
In the same conversation, I asked her what the future might hold for my sisters. She said in a very firm and confident voice, “forgive and go forward with love.” No words will impact me more.
I hear her voice when I am at the gym each morning, telling me to get my “sweet butt up and at’em,” “can’t stop don’t stop,” and “shape up!” When I am getting tired from tire flipping, I hear her say, “push yourself!”
Teaching was one of my mom’s biggest passions - she was a teacher for probably 60 years — I can imagine a ten year old SKV teaching younger kids or guiding kids on what they “should be doing.” (laughter)
She sent this email when she learned of her diagnosis and what it would mean for her piano teaching career.
“Dear Parents,
I am writing the most difficult parent letter of my life today. In the past week, I have been diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer. After reviewing the options of chemotherapy to prolong my days in considerable discomfort, I have decided to take a natural course of action and allow myself to pass without chemotherapy. The cancer is aggressive.
My faith is strong, and my appreciation for a wonderful life is immense. I see this as a natural part of the life cycle with years enjoying a wonderful loving husband and family; a talented, compassionate son; and a rich career that makes this reflection quite easy-with a smile.
I will teach your children until they perform in one of the final recitals at my home on either Thursday, June 8 at 6:00 pm; Saturday, June 10 at 7:00 pm, or Monday, June 12 at 6:45 pm. You may adjust your checks for June based on this change. Please let me know which recital date you prefer to participate in, and this event will be welcomed for immediate family members.
As you know, piano teaching and my love of children in the development of their cultural lives is central to my life. Thank you for blessing me with your children and with your families. I have nothing but appreciation and many smiles of gratitude.
At the next lesson, please pick up the links to the Johnson project. I’ll send you the biography of Merritt Johnson as well if that interests you. It has been a fabulous collaborative project at UNT and NSU. Hopefully, all of your children will one day play some of Merritt Johnson’s music, available in open access, free of charge.
With gratitude and love,
Susan K. Vaughan, Ph.D., M.B.A.”
These are some of my favorite pictures of my mom with her cousins, Octavius, my cub scout pack, on a ski lift, and with my dog Zina.
December 27 - January 4, my mom and I went to Rome! We had a stellar time, as you see.
This morning, I woke up at 4am to begin writing this piece. I began with the following reflection about my then partner. It’s interesting what we notice in retrospect.
I never asked you what your experience was like, when you saw my mom die.
I never asked you how it impacted you to see her body be carted away.
I never asked you if you were sad about her loss, because I was blinded by my own grief.
I wish we had talked about this.
I wish we would have discussed, if your presence at my mom’s death, helped you parse not being present for you dad’s death…
That day, when I was full of sobs, you stayed strong and let me cry while your face stayed dry… but I don’t know if you were crying when you went upstairs to put Bebop away.
As I reflect about the actions of a year ago, to the hour, I can’t remember where you are. I can see Peg and my dad, but not you… I’m sorry I wasn’t there to comfort you. To stand with you. To hold your hand… but I know you were there… but again, I was blinded by grief.
Did you cry for the loss of my mom? Was it hard on you? We never discussed these things, and for that I am eternally sorry - I was so wrapped up in my own sadness, that it never crossed my mind what was happening in your life.
When you left back for IL, was it a hard drive? When you got back to your apartment, was it hard knowing you would never see SKV again?
From here, I go forward, push forward with her strength, spark, and passion for life. #OnAndEverUpward
It is fitting, that my mom, one of the strongest women I’ve ever met, chose to exit the world on International Women’s Day. Here’s to you mom!