MY MOTHER 

What did she feel near the end, when she knew she was leaving?

She tried to prepare us.

Taught each child to make one meal. Minewas london broil - Marinated in viva italian salad dressing 

She was dying - But she couldn’t find the words to say so - We Irish struggle with that— big feelings - We fold them into silence and call it strength.

I asked my father only once,

“Is Mommy going to die?”

He was in the playroom, smoking a cigarette, looking out the window. He didn’t turn to face me. He turned away— so I couldn’t see him cry.

But I knew he was - he took his time - then said

“We hope not roseann - We hope not”

That was my answer -

She was dying.

Life would never be the same.

The last time i saw my mother - She was in the good living room on the green couch 

She had insisted they put old sheets under her So as not to ruin anything -

I was seated on the rug with a kids dictionary in my hands

She was teaching me how to use it -How it wasn't just the first letter that counted - It was all of them - it took a while But i finally caught on 

We looked up the word beautiful She was so proud when i found it  I leaned in to be closer to her

I wanted to crawl into her arms 

But I got too close She winced in pain and whispered, 

“Be careful, Roseann.”

I had hurt her. leaned in the wrong way - I tried to move but I couldn’t. I knew Our time was short

Three days later - she was gone

“Be careful roseann” - her parting words 

You know, when I was ten, I thought I understood grief I thought it was something you got through— like a cold, or a math test

But grief doesn’t end It just changes shape

It latches on to joy,

it lives in your laughter,

it sleeps beside your hope.

I’ve outlived my mother by 25 years. I’ve raised five children. Ive been scared - ive been blessed - ive been impaled - Emotionally and metaphorically

And the truth is, while others were learning how to live, I was learning how to endure

That was the curriculum.

I learned to read people’s moods before i could read books.

I learned to cook for myself before i learned long division

i grew up in emergency mode— ready to pivot - ready to shrink.

And healing is not just letting go of the past - It’s giving yourself permission to become what you were never safe enough to be

That is the work. That is the miracle

Because in the end, it’s not the perfection that connect us - It’s the chaos - It’s the cousins and cap guns in the woods It’s the moment a baby grabs your pinky and ur heart explodes

That’s the pulse of this life

Tiny winks from something greater Maybe even God

So if I’ve learned anything— from my mother, from my kids, from the mess, the heartbreak, and the moments of pure light— it’s this

Endure.

Tell the truth

Make them laugh

And when the chaos comes calling— as it always does— don’t flinch

Just let it sit beside you,

and whisper, “I’m still here.”