THE CALL CAME SHORTLY after 6 pm on a Thursday evening one year ago. In that moment, when my youngest brother’s name flashed on my cellphone screen, I knew. Mom died. Not passed. Not was gone. She was dead.
The news was not unexpected. Yet it was. As much as we think we are prepared for a parent’s death in the light of long-time failing health, we are not. I was not.
A year after that January 13 call, I still have not fully-grieved. Part of that I attribute to the timing of Mom’s death during the height of omicron. For me, there was nothing normal about Mom’s big public funeral (which I did not support) during COVID. No standing in a receiving line beside my siblings. No hand shaking. No hugging. No crying beneath my N95 mask. Just tears locked inside. Feelings held inside. Emotions of feeling disappointed and disrespected in a church packed with unmasked mourners checked.
It is a struggle to let go of such hurt, such pain. But I’m trying. Mom would want me to focus not on her death, funeral and burial, but rather on her earthly life and now her glorious new life in heaven. She taught me well, leaving a strong legacy of faith.
That legacy is not one simply of beliefs and words, but also one of attitudes and action. My mom was one of the kindest, humblest, gentlest souls I’ve ever known. My five siblings and I would occasionally test her spirit, her patience, her fortitude. But seldom did she express her exasperation. Sometimes I think Mom just had too much to do in the day-to-day running of a household and mothering of six kids to get upset. Wash clothes with the Maytag wringer washer. Can a crate of peaches. Weed the garden. Bake bread. Make supper. Scrub the floor. Iron clothes. On and on and on the list of endless chores went inside and outside our rural southwestern Minnesota farmhouse. She never complained, simply pressed on in her own quiet, mothering way.
Even with all that family-centered work, Mom found time for outside activities. She was active in St. John’s Lutheran Church, the Legion Auxiliary, Extension Club, Craft Club, Senior Citizens and helped at Red Cross blood drives. Some of this came many years into motherhood, when her responsibilities lessened. I was already gone from home. I once asked Mom if she missed me when I left for college in the fall of 1974. No, she replied. She was, she said, too busy with the other four kids still at home. While I didn’t necessarily appreciate her answer, I understood, and I knew she loved me. Mom was undeniably honest, a trait I hold dear also.
Honesty. Integrity. Service to others. All were part of Mom’s life story. She lived her faith. These words from the hymn “Beautiful Savior,” sung at her funeral service, fit Arlene Anna Alma Kletscher: Truly I’d love thee, Truly I’d serve thee, Light of my soul, my joy, my crown. The hymn has always been my favorite for its message and its beautiful, poetic imagery.
On the Sunday before the one-year anniversary of my mother’s death, “Beautiful Savior” and “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” were sung during the worship service at my church, Trinity Lutheran in Faribault, some 120 miles from St. John’s in Vesta. The congregation also sang “Precious Lord” at Mom’s funeral. Because of illness, I missed Trinity’s worship service last Sunday. But I listened on the radio, thankful in many ways that I was not in the church pews. Trying to sing the hymns from Mom’s funeral may have proven a breaking point for me, unleashing a year’s worth of grief. Oh, how I miss my mom.
I miss her smile. I miss hugging her. I miss talking to her and remembering with her. I miss calling her every Sunday evening at the same time. I miss sharing photos of my grown children and her great grandchildren. I. Miss. Her. In the hard moments of life—and I’ve had plenty in recent years—I’ve turned to Randy and said, “I just want to be the kid again, to have my mom take care of me.” It is an impossible wish, a longing, a yearning, yet a verbal acknowledgment of my mother’s love.
Now, in my year-old grief, I still feel Mom’s love. I see her love, too, in the memory of her lips curving into a slight smile when I saw her for the last time, when I said goodbye and I love you and exited her room at Parkview. That smile proved her final, loving gift to me, her oldest daughter. I’ve locked that moment in my heart to unlock when grief sneaks in, when the pain of missing my mom rises within my spirit.
I unlock, too, the comforting lyrics of “Beautiful Savior”: He makes our sorr’wing spirit sing.
© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Audrey, sending hugs your way. Your mom sounded so much like my Mother in so many many ways. Mom went to heaven in 1991 at the young age of 61 due to cancer, I miss her so much too. Yes, our church in the small town of Villard, MN in Pope County was St. Johns Lutheran. Mom was a little rough around the edges and never said to me, I love you, but rather, Mom loves you. I knew Mom loved me, in everything she did and said and how she taught me all the things she did to grow up to be a independent woman and know how to do the daily tasks of life, including growing a garden and weeding and canning. 🙂 We will always miss our Mom’s, and one day they will greet us in heaven with open arms once again.
Ida, that is way too young to lose your mom. I’m sorry. My husband also lost his mom, to a sudden heart attack at age 59 in 1993. I was five months pregnant with our son at the time of Betty’s death.
I understand the lack of “I love you” words, yet you knew your mom loved you via her care. That generation held emotions in check mostly. But as Mom aged, and I aged, those love words came easily. Here’s to missing and celebrating our moms with the promise of a heavenly reunion sustaining us in our grief.
So true Audrey!!
Heart-breaking, Audrey. Sending love and prayers. ❤
Thank you, my dear Penny. I know you lost your mom, too, and understand such grief.
The grief can be so raw at times and all of the anniversaries certainly bring it bubbling to the surface. Thinking of you today — aren’t we just so blessed to have had such loving mothers?
Thank you for your love, empathy and kindness. And yes, we were blessed. I think our moms, like you and I, would have been good friends.
Beautiful 🙂 It is that missing and connection with loved ones no longer here with us. The reflecting on their life and the memories we have with them. The leaning and supporting of others to help us through the grieving and missing and needing connection and love. Take care (((((loveandhugs))))))
I know you have experienced a lot of recent loss of loved ones so can really empathize with my feelings today. Here’s to love and connecting and leaning on others.
A lovely tribute to your mom. She left a loving legacy.
Take care – grieve how you can.
She did leave a loving legacy. And, yes, I will grieve when I do.
This is a lovely blog post Audrey. Thank you for sharing your feelings about your mom. I miss mine too. Wish she was here;
So many of us miss our moms, whether they’ve been gone a year or twenty. The pain of losing a mother remains, no matter the passage of time.
Anniversaries of these events are difficult. How wonderful that you can blog about it. Let those tears flow. God bless you, Audrey.
Thank you, dear sister-in-law. I know you understand the importance of anniversary dates given your personal loss and your work as a hospice nurse.
there are certain days, times, and circumstances that remind us of how much we miss those we still love, who have died, but for what remains of them in our hearts. the card to your mother from your childhood is so precious, along with the final picture of the two of you together. may the pain be eased over time, and may the memories remain forever.
Thank you, Beth. My mom saved “everything” and sometimes I wondered why. Now I understand.
Audrey, not much I can add to these wonderful thoughts, advice, appreciation of your Mother’s contribution as she passed through this veil of tears to the great Reward. Grief is so personal. I just know that as I approach Lent and Easter, as well as Christmas, I need to acknowledge I will still be affected in some way. They are busy times, helps a little. Grieving is healthy, our parents would approve. Also helps, knowing parents would approve.
I fully agree. Grieving is healthy.
Hello Audrey. I realize that it’s a little late to respond to this, but I just had to let my feelings out. I always have held myself responsible for my mom. She was living with me after the death of my dad. I had to take her to the doctor on this windy day and as we were crossing the street she fell. She was a very small person and broke her pelvis. I have always felt that had I been holding her, she would not have fallen. She was in the hospital for 6 weeks before she died. That was 40 years ago. I will never forget . I still grieve,
Norma, I am so sorry. I hope that some day you can let go of the guilt you feel over your mom’s fall. It’s not your fault. These things happen, snap, just like that. That you were there, taking your mom to the doctor, was a true act of love. That your mom lived with you also shows selfless love. What a loving and caring daughter you were. Grief never leaves, perhaps only changes or diminishes some. If we had not loved, we would not grieve. God bless you, Norma.
Thank you, Audrey.
🙂