Jag trodde jag var redo mamma. (Från boken Tack mamma)

Varsågod, här är ännu ett kapitel från boken Tack mamma.  Jag hoppas det rör ditt hjärta.

(For the English version, scroll down to the previous post).

Jag trodde att jag var redo, att jag var beredd.

Du hade ju trots allt varit sjuk en längre period. Ja, egentligen hade du ju varit sjuk till och från hela livet. Inte för att jag tänkte så mycket på det när jag var ung. Vi hade så mycket glädjefylld tid tillsammans, även om du var på sjukhus nu och då. Även om du hade värk här och där.

Nej, det var inte förrän du fick den där kraftiga hjärtinfarkten som det gick upp för oss att du skulle kunna dö. Du, vår fina mamma som var den som hade ordning på allting. Som hade betytt så mycket för så många skolbarn, som var både mormor och farmor. Inte kunde väl du dö?

Det gjorde du inte. Inte då.

Perioden efter hjärtinfarkten fick jag hjärtat i halsgropen så fort pappa ringde. Det var några sekunders ovisshet varje gång. Hade du dött? Var du på sjukhus igen? Ett tag var det som om du hade klippkort på ambulansfärder till Akuten. Sedan blev det bättre igen. Sjuka perioder varvades med friskare. Oron för din hälsa var något som blev “business as usual”. Aldrig riktigt frisk men inte livshotande sjuk heller.

När jag fick möjligheten att flytta till Spanien med min familj för att jobba där fanns din hälsa med i beslutsunderlaget. Vi flyttade och kände ett visst lugn i att vi bara var ett par timmars flygresa ifrån er. Ifall vi skulle behöva åka hem i hast. Under vår tid i Spanien lärde vi känna en annan underbar familj från Sverige. Frun i familjen förlorade båda sina föräldrar under tiden som hon bodde utomlands. Jag är så tacksam att du fanns kvar när vi kom hem igen. Du fanns kvar och vi kunde ha våra mor-dotter luncher varje månad. Du kom nästan alltid på dem, förutom när du inte mådde tillräckligt bra, fysiskt eller mentalt.

Din hälsa var med i beräkningen när jag valde att bli Master of my time 2.0.  Jag lämnade min härliga, givande karriär för att skapa något ännu mer tillfredsställande. Mitt eget företag där jag helt och hållet styrde hur jag använde min tid. Jag bestämde mig för att vara hos dig och pappa varje tisdag. Det finns nog ett mänskligt behov av att ta hand om sina föräldrar, tror du inte det mamma? Så mycket som du tyckte om att prata med och ta hand om mormor. Kanske är det vårt sätt att säga tack för allt som våra föräldrar har gett oss? Det kändes bra att vara med er varje vecka.

Att vi var hos er så ofta gjorde också att vi såg vart det barkade. Vi såg att den där snurrigheten och nästan komiska glömskan bara var början. Början på en förändring som gick långsamt. Kanske långsammare än den hade kunnat, tack vare allt du och pappa gjorde för att sakta ner förloppet. Ni gick till läkare, ni provade alternativmedicin, ni investerade tid och pengar för att få mer tid, mer tid tillsammans. Så en dag sa pappa:

“Nu behöver vi en mirakelmedicin, det går oerhört fort nu. “

Ditt minne som till en början gled undan bit för bit försvann plötsligt i stora sjok.

Jag trodde att jag var redo, att jag var beredd. Jag såg ju att du försvann ifrån oss ett steg i taget. Det var ledsamt att se, att vara med om. Jag påbörjade sorgeprocessen redan då. Den mamma jag hade haft fanns ju inte kvar, inte mer än i glimtar. Som i den glimten när du, utmattad av ångestattacker och vandringar med din värkande kropp vilade i soffan, tittade upp på mig och sa:

“Visst är det skönt att vi får rå om varandra?”

Sedan vilade du en stund för att någon minut senare titta på mig igen och säga samma sak. Det var en skön, lugn stund.

Du var på väg bort, och jag var redan i en sorgeprocess. Jag tänkte att jag skulle börja skriva den här boken. Då tänkte jag ha undertiteln Tankar från ett långsamt farväl. Jag trodde att det skulle bli långsamt. Jag trodde att jag skulle klara av sorgen redan innan du försvann.

När du var fångad av ångest skrek du till världen:

“Kan jag inte få dö någon gång?”

Jag sa att du kunde få det, men att du inte kunde bestämma när. Livet skulle bestämma när det var dags. Fram till dess ville jag att vi skulle göra det bästa av tiden som var kvar. Jag unnade dig att få släppa, att få lämna.

Jag trodde att jag var redo, att jag var beredd. Det var jag inte. Det kanske inte går att vara beredd på att förlora en mamma? Framförallt inte en mamma som du.

Min bror ringde på söndag morgon.

“Nu har mamma dött.”

Just då kände jag att det var skönt att du hade fått lämna i sömnen. Jag var tacksam för att vi hade fått besöka dig på sjukhuset – trots coronarestriktioner – kvällen innan. Men sedan.

Sedan kom tomheten. Sorgen. Saknaden. Pappas bottenlösa förtvivlan. Alla vänners – ni hade så många – medkänsla. Du hade förberett oss mamma, du lämnade oss ett steg i taget. Och ändå. Ändå är saknaden och sorgen så stor.

Du var ju världens finaste mamma.

***

Dela gärna inlägget om du tror det kan hjälpa någon! Du får också gärna lämna en kommentar nedan med dina tankar. 

Detta var ett kapitel ur boken Tack mamma. En bok för dig som saknar.  

Om du vill läsa alla kapitel i boken kan du skriva Tack mamma i sökfältet här på bloggen.

Om du vill ge boken till någon du tror kan hitta tröst i den, eller till dig själv, kan du köpa ett personligt signerat exemplar här.

Om du hellre vill ha en e-bok hittar du den i den vanliga bokhandeln och i tjänster som Storytel, Nextory och liknande.

I thought I was prepared, mum (from the book Thank you, mum)

 Below you can find the first chapter in the book Thank you, mum.  I hope it touches your heart.

(For the Swedish version, scroll up to the next post.)

I thought I was ready. I thought I was prepared.

            You had after all been sick for a long time. Well, in all honesty, you'd been sick on and off throughout your entire life. I didn't give it much thought as a child. We had such great times together, even though you were in and out of the hospital. Even though your body was aching, and sore at times.

It wasn't until you suffered a severe heart attack that we realized you could die. You, our darling Mum, and grandma, who always had everything under control. You, who had meant so much to your students. Surely, you wouldn’t just lie down and die, and leave us behind? And you didn't. Not that time.

            During the days and weeks, which followed the heart attack, every phone call from Dad made my heart hammer away inside my chest. A few anxious seconds every single time. Had you passed away? Were you back in hospital? At one point, you seemed to spend more time in an ambulance than any other person would in a lifetime. Then, things got better. Alternating periods of sickness and health. Worrying about your health became business as usual. Never truly fit and healthy, but then again, your condition wasn't life-threatening either.

            When I got the opportunity to move to Spain for work, we certainly took your health into the equation. My family and I decided to move. Knowing you were only a few hours away by plane made us feel somewhat calmer, just in case we had to rush to get home. During our time in Spain, we got to know another lovely Swedish family. The wife lost both her parents while she lived abroad. I am so grateful that you were still with us when we returned home. You were still around, and we could reintroduce our monthly mother-daughter lunches. You wouldn't miss them for the world, unless you weren't feeling well enough, physically or mentally.  

            Your health was a factor when I decided to become what I called “Master of my time 2.0”. I left my lovely, rewarding career to create something even more meaningful. I started my own company where I made the schedule. I was with you and Dad every Tuesday. I believe it's a basic human need to care for our parents, don't you think, Mum? You loved caring for Grandma. Maybe it's our way of saying thank you for all we've been given. I enjoyed spending time with you both every week.

            These regular visits helped us understand where we were heading. We noticed your flakiness, and realized that the almost comical forgetfulness was just the beginning of what was to come; a slow transformation. In the beginning, it was slower than it might have been had it not been for your and Dad's efforts and actions. You went to doctors, tried alternative medicine, invested time and money to buy yourselves more time, more time together. One day, Dad said,

"We need a miracle medicine; it's escalating so quickly now."

At first, your memory faded little by little, then in big chunks.

            I thought I was ready, I thought I was prepared. I could see how you were slipping away from us, one step at a time. It was tough to stand by and witness all this happen. It was a tragic experience to be a part of. I started grieving at that point. The mum, I once knew and loved, was no longer there; at least not for more than a brief moment or two at a time. Like that moment when you rested on the couch, exhausted from anxiety attacks and wandering about with your aching body. You looked up at me and said, "Isn’t it lovely that we get to care for one another?"

Then you rested for a while and repeated the same sentence just a few minutes later. A lovely, serene moment.

You were already slipping away from me and I had already started mourning. I had plans of starting this book; the working title was Thoughts from a slow farewell. I thought it would be slow. I believed I would grieve and work through all that sadness before you passed away.

            When anxiety got its claws into you, you screamed, "Please, let me die already!"

I told you your time would come eventually, but that you couldn't decide when. Life would make that decision for you. I wanted us to make the most out of the time we had left. I wanted you to know that you were allowed to let go, to leave us all behind.

            I thought I was ready, I thought I was prepared. I wasn't. Perhaps, it isn’t possible to prepare for losing your mum. Especially, not a mum like you. My brother, Hans called on Sunday morning, "Mum’s passed away." Right then and there, it soothed me to know that you had been allowed to depart in your sleep. I was so grateful that, despite Covid-19 restrictions, I had got to visit you in hospital. But then came emptiness, sorrow and grief. Dad's bottomless pit of despair. The compassion shown by all of your friends, and you certainly had a great many friends. You had prepared us, Mum, by leaving us one step at a time. But still, the sorrow is a heavy cross to bear. 

            After all, you were (and still are) the greatest mum in the world.

**

This is a chapter in the book Thank you, mum. A book for those who miss someone.

Please share this blogpost if you think it can help someone! You are also very welcome to share your thoughts in the comments section. 

To read all chapters, type Thank you Mum in the search field on this blog.

If you would like to give the book to someone you think can be soothed by it, or to yourself, you can find it on Amazon.

How to turn the trap into a tool

 “If you are feeling helpless, help someone else. If you are afraid, be brave for someone else. Things feel more doable if they are not about you. “

Shonda Rimes

I can relate to this.

Can you?

When I wrote my latest book Thank you mum, a book for those who miss someone, I wrote it to handle my grief. But mostly I wrote it for my dad. A dad who misses my mum endlessly.

Since I wrote it for him, it was easy to move other things away from my agenda.

Most likely you also prioritize what you do for others.

You might prioritize writing the article in time for the deadline of your newspaper.

You might prioritize preparing a meeting with a client.

You might prioritize an assignment your boss asked you to do.

Doing something for someone else is a great tool to get things done.

It can also turn into a trap.

The trap of only focusing on what others need and ask of you and  ignoring what you need or want to do “just for you”.

How can you get out of the trap and still use the power of the tool?

By thinking about how doing what you want to do will help others.

Want to write?

Think about the readers who will love what you write. Get going. Don’t keep them waiting!

Want to learn to play the piano?

Think about how happy your teacher will be. Thanks to you and other pupils (s)he can make a living doing what (s)he loves. Think about how the people around you will be inspired by you learning something new. Not to mention how lovely it will be for everone around you when you sit down at that piano and let wonderful music come from your fingers.

What if you are thinking:

“Honestly Annika, all I want to do is watch Netflix and eat chocolate. I don’t think that benefits anyone.”

Think again.

First of all, that Netflix watching and chocolate eating will sooner or later bore you and you will choose to do something else.

Secondly, if watching Netflix and eating chocolate makes you feel good, it does benefit people around you.

How?

By turning you into a happier person.

It is not what we do, but who we are that matters.

Who do you want to be around, someone in charge of her life who is happy and calm or a people-pleaser who is stressed out and exhausted?

You know the answer.

Whenever you want to do something, think about who it will benefit.

And most of all, remember that anything that benefits you, benefits those who love you too.

How to find time for a startling life

 

To live is so startling, it leaves but little room for other occupations.

Emily Dickinson

Is your life startling, remarkable?

I hope so.

Is living so remarkable that it is hard to find time for anything else?

The wonderful career mums I help often struggle with the opposite.

“Other occupations” take so much of their time it leaves little room for living a remarkable life.

Many people squeeze the remarkable part of life into a few hours in the weekend or possibly the vacation. If that vacation, burdened by unreasonable expectations to make up for months filled with ”other occupations” feels less than phenomenal, it is easy to become thoroughly unhappy.

If my vacation doesn’t feel fun and wonderful, how can I find joy in the rest of my grey life?

By not waiting until you “have time” for the remarkable life.

Or, to use the terminology I use when I teach Holistic Time Management:

Make sure there is WANT time in every glass of time, make sure you do something you love every week. Something remarkable.

Also make sure that the “other occupations” you do, arent’ boring or energy draining. 

Don’t allow yourself to be forced to do anything. 

That something needs to be done doesn’t mean you need to do it.

Turn your shoulds into coulds, as I state in the Holistic Time Management course.

It’s your life, you get to choose.

Choose to live a startling life.

Every week.

Would you like tailored help?

Send me an email or book a short intro call to see if and how I can help. https://calendly.com/annikaslol/15min-intro-call

info@annikarosendahl.com

You can also read more at www.annikarosendahl.com