Losing Mom, finding an anthem

How Dad and I handled one of the toughest days

<Welcome to Sandwich Season, adventures in middle age, sandwiched between aging parents and growing children ... and other duties as assigned.>

Dear friends—

A year ago today my mom passed.

It was her decline and death—the slide into dementia, the move to a retirement community, the clearing out of her and my dad’s home and, most importantly, the unexpected healing she and I experienced in our relationship—that inspired me to start writing Sandwich Season.

I’ve introduced you to her in various Sandwich Season posts, including …

But today it seems fitting to share her obituary.

Before I do, I’d like to share a bit about her passing.

My mom’s last couple of months were challenging. In addition to the dementia, she developed a bone infection, and that is what led to her entering hospice care and was her eventual cause of death. She declined so quickly in late April and early May 2023, that I thought she might not make it to her birthday, May 10.

Then she rallied. So we quickly gathered her friends for a slightly belated birthday party.

She declined again in July. And then she rallied again, not as strong, but well enough to nibble bites of salmon and strawberries from spinach salads I brought up from the café and to share stories from childhood. It almost seemed that as her body declined, her mind cleared. Those visits when I cajoled her into eating and sharing old stories have become some of my favorite memories.

Holding a porcelain budgie, Mom shares memories of the birds she kept as a child, July 25, 2023.

Those months weren’t easy on her or on our family. She experienced pain. And as she ate less and less, she weakened. But she kept forgetting how weak she was. Without constant supervision, she sometimes got out of bed walked a ways but didn’t have the strength to return. Sometimes she fell. Dad had to be on high alert. When I was there, I was on high alert. We tried to make sure someone was always, always watching her.

When she did pass away on August 9, 2023, I was gutted. But I also felt some sense of relief—first for her to be out of her pain, but also knowing that we could stop worrying, Dad and I at close range, and my brother from his home, a state away.

That day, Dad and I kissed her goodbye, saw her down the elevator, out the back door and into the shiny black hearse. We watched it drive away and went back upstairs to continue notifying family and friends that she was gone.

Finally, when we felt we had done enough, we turned to something more mundane: We went to the DQ drive-thru for ice cream.

We ate our sundaes as we drove back to what was now just Dad’s apartment, sharing memories and mulling plans for Mom’s memorial service. When we arrived, he said, “I think I know what song we should request for her recessional.”

I wondered if I could guess. “Amazing Grace”? “Be Thou My Vision”? My mom grew up Canadian—half Scottish, half English—and always had a special fondness for the music of the British Isles.

Searching my Dad’s sad face, I noticed a little twinkle in his eye. He was doing his best to look serious. And then he dropped it on me.

“If You’re Going Through Hell.”

And with that, after a day—plus weeks and months—of tears, the chorus of a country song by Rodney Atkins started rolling through my head:

If you're going through hell, keep on going
Don't slow down—if you're scared don't show it—
You might get out before the devil even knows you're there …

Dad and I laughed through our tears as I searched out the song on my phone and hit play. We had found our anthem.

Inappropriate as it might sound, “If You’re Going Through Hell” got us through the next few weeks of grieving and planning, and it continues to serve as an emotional touchpoint. The song both brings us back to the awfulness of that day when we lost Mom, and it reminds us that we can get through really hard things. Just keep going.

I’ve wondered what Mom’s reaction would have been to Dad and me bobbing our heads to country music—which she disliked—on the very day she died. And what would she have made of our mischievousness when we deadpanned to the funeral director and then the Episcopal priest how we were hoping to incorporate this song into her service at the cathedral. Seeing alarm in their eyes, we quickly let them in on the joke.

I imagine her looking on these moments from above and picture the flash of her green eyes and set of her jaw, her mouth exhaling my dad’s name in warning, “Jiiiiiiiiiiiimmm!”

But maybe, just maybe, she knew that this song contains a whole lot of British Isles inspiration: The first part of the chorus comes from none other than Winston Churchill, who said, “If you're going through hell, keep going.” The next part comes from an Irish toast: “May you be in heaven a full half hour before the devil knows you're dead.”

So if you’re still wondering … No, we did not incorporate that song into Mom’s memorial service.

But if we had, I’m betting she would have smiled down on us anyway.

All my best to you and yours,

Sarah

P.S. You can find my mom’s obituary below.

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Obituary for Mom

We lost a bright light when Eleanor Coomber passed away on Aug. 9, 2023.

Eleanor Ruth McKinnon was born May 10, 1942, in Fort Erie, Ontario, to Audrey Elizabeth (England) and Alexander Allister McKinnon. They soon moved back to their home province of Saskatchewan, where Eleanor spent her early years on the family farm west of Regina.

Their farmhouse was off the grid and lacked running water, but Eleanor enjoyed recalling how her father would pick her up so she could press the button that started the generator and turned on the lights.

Eleanor earned her B.A. from the University of Saskatchewan and did graduate work in guidance and counseling at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. While in Madison, she met James Elwood Coomber. They married on June 11, 1966, and moved to Moorhead, Minnesota. As a caseworker and counselor at Lutheran Social Services of North Dakota, Eleanor placed children with adoptive families.

In 1969 Eleanor became a stay-at-home mom, caring for her daughter Sarah and son Matthew, and volunteering with many community groups. She also studied at North Dakota State University, worked in interior design and assisted with the Concordia College Reading & Writing Conferences, which Jim chaired.

Eleanor was known for her design work, gardening and gourmet cooking, and always had a book close at hand. She enjoyed participating in book, hardanger, gourmet and church groups, and always had room for a stray pet—six beloved cats and a dog over the years.

She loved traveling and fondly recalled trips to Europe, Japan and through much of North America. She and Jim spent many winters in Green Valley, Arizona.

As we adapt to Eleanor's absence, we give thanks for the way she lit up our world and imagine her now pressing a big button in the sky, turning on the stars at night.

Eleanor McKinnon, 1945.