Tag: pandemic

When It Rains

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

“Every storm runs out of rain.” –Maya Angelou

Rainy days will always remind me of red galoshes, soggy socks, and Mom.

When I was an undergrad my Mother gifted me with a red raincoat and matching red boots. (Did I mention that red is my favorite color?) It was my third year of college and I had just entered the School of Journalism which meant I now had broadcasting classes and needed to be “camera-ready” at all times. (You can laugh at me! I’m laughing at myself, too.)

She ordered the set from a catalog and presented it to me before I returned for the spring semester. I’m definitely not a rain person. In fact, I basically hate the rain but I have to admit I was a little excited to wear this get-up when the first drops started to fall. I parked my car, pulled on the hood of my new raincoat, and began walking to class feeling fully protected from the weather. All was right in the world until I noticed that my socks were getting cold and wet. Not in the toes, but right around the back of my ankle. That’s odd I thought, but kept walking.

Before long, my socks were completely wet. Soaked really. I made a beeline for the restroom before class and realized that the rain was dripping off the back of my coat and right into my galoshes! The perfect trajectory. What were the chances? I had no choice but to take the boots off and empty the rainwater into the sink. I stuffed paper towels into them to absorb any excess water. Next, I rung out my socks and held them under the hand dryer. Finally, I hurried off to class.

I remember telling my Mom this story and how heartily she laughed at me and with me.

“But did your hair and make-up hold up?” she asked.

“Yes, Mom, they held up perfectly. Camera-ready,” I replied.

On my next visit home, she gifted me with an extra large red umbrella.

No one will ever love you as much as your Mother.

I will send down showers in season, there will be showers of blessings.

Ezekiel 34:26

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Love Full Circle

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

If you love someone put their name in a circle not a heart, because a heart can be broken, a circle goes on forever. — Brian Littrell

As the holidays approach I think of my Mom in her kitchen, busy making delicious dishes while simultaneously watching Christmas movies on the Hallmark Channel. I would tease her about this.

Mom, these shows all have the same plot.

Mom, these movies are farcical.

Mom, this show was just on. Why are you watching it again?

She took it all in stride. Mom loved the Hallmark Channel. In typical monkey-see, monkey-do fashion, I also became a fan of the Hallmark Channel. Who can resist the predictable storylines, the far-fetched romance, and my favorite part — the happy endings!

This year there is a new Christmas movie that I happened to stumble across. It’s the second part, a follow-up if you will, to a movie that aired in 2014. I remember watching the first movie with my Mom. I can’t even tell you how silly this movie is! Still, I can so clearly remember her, my sister and I, all busy in the kitchen and watching the original movie together. So when the new movie aired a few weeks ago, I just had to watch it.

Part of the new storyline includes grieving over the mother of the main character, who has passed away. The two sisters were doing their best to move on, yet there they were together on Christmas…reminiscing over an Advent calendar created by their mother. I don’t want to give away the plot, but there was a line that stood out to me. Love, full circle. No beginning. No end. Just love. The sisters talked about their mother making wreaths and how they symbolize love, full circle. This was a trademark characteristic of their mother. Mine, too.

I’m not going to lie. Part of the reason I continue watching Hallmark movies is the same reason I started in the first place, it’s because of my Mom. I’m grateful that they remind me so much of her and honestly, it makes me feel close to her still.

She would have liked this new movie, she would have watched it a million plus times, and I would have teased her about it.

Love, full circle.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

In Case of Rain

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“…my God, I thought, my whole life I’ve been under her raincoat thinking it was a marvel that I never got wet.” — The Raincoat, Ada Limon

Anyone who knows me knows that I am no fan of the rain. That steadfast pitter-patter on the window is sheer annoyance to me. I don’t mind cloudy days or thunderstorms, but slow steady rain drains my energy and tests my patience.

Rain=Melancholy

I’m in a rainy season now and when I came across Ada Limon’s poem, The Raincoat, it struck me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Her account of a mother’s love for her child resonates with me as both a mother and a daughter. I know how much I love my own children and it’s overwhelming to think that I was once that child—the recipient of a mother’s unconditional love.

These days I feel more vulnerable. Exposed. No umbrella. No raincoat.

Without my mother, I feel the rain. I miss the shelter of a mother’s unconditional love. I miss the assurance that comes from her covering and protection.

Mostly, I miss her.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Marking Time

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“The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart: The secret anniversaries of the heart.”

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I received a notification the other day alerting me that I’ve been writing this grief diary for one year. It’s hard to believe, not just the passing of time, but everything—all of it. Still.

I genuinely think that once you hit adulthood time accelerates tenfold. When you lose someone you love, time takes on a new trajectory — one where the minutes move mind-numbingly fast and painfully slow simultaneously (on top of everything else). This is the ferocity of grief.

During the past year, I’ve written twenty mini-blog posts here and a million more in my head. My motivation to write this grief diary has always been about healing and gaining clarity. I’m sorry to report that I have achieved neither, however writing is what I do. It’s my coping mechanism, how I process my emotions, and a way to remember her.

Mom would expect nothing less.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

How to Hug an Angel

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A Mom’s hug lasts long after she lets go. -Author Unknown

Sometimes I’m lucky enough to see my Mom in my dreams. This happened the night she died and it has happened a handful of times since. Often times I see her in family settings, with us (her children) and almost always in her home. This time was different.

We were gathering for a big celebration…the whole family…not just us kids but also the grandchildren, her siblings, Dad’s family and friends as well. Whatever the event, it was cause for great joy! Everyone was excited and I was waiting for my sister so we could get things started. As usual, we found ourselves in the kitchen preparing food. There was much laughter and an easiness to the day. It was exceptionally sunny outside which was ideal because the occasion was so huge that we were preparing to have people indoors and out.

As the event wound down, we were enjoying the mild temperatures outside. In between storytelling and laughter, I saw my Mom. She was right there in the mix. I was both surprised to see her and felt an assurance that she should definitely be there with us. I went to sit next to her. The afternoon carried on and soon everyone was picking up glasses and plates…cleaning up to mark the end of this happy occasion.

I turned to her and asked her for a hug. Almost as if she was aware of the circumstances, she said, “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to hug…you know….” It was as if she knew she was no longer with us and wondered if Heaven had a rule about angels hugging the living. I smile thinking about this because my Mom (like myself) is a rule FOLLOWER. She didn’t want to make a mistake or do anything that would cause trouble. I said, “I think we should do it anyway.” This makes me laugh out loud because I (like my Mom) am also a little bit of a rule BREAKER. I quickly grabbed her and hugged her tightly.

I’m sharing this because I could actually feel the hug. It was her hug…all of the things that I remember but there were differences, too. She seemed smaller than I remember. Frail, too. It was like hugging my grandmothers. I was immediately concerned about hugging her too tightly, but that fear quickly subsided. I was hugging my Mom! I was hugging an angel and I wasn’t about to let go!

All good things come to an end, and unfortunately, so did that hug. She looked at me with a smirk…almost as if to say that we got away with something special.

Yes, Mom. We certainly did.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Is There Birthday Cake in Heaven?

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“Count your life by smiles, not tears. Count your age by friends, not years.”

Is there birthday cake in heaven? I really want to know.

It’s been two years since you died, and I’m trying to resist the urge to phone or text to see how you’ll spend your day. It still doesn’t feel right, you not being here.

You would have been 65 this year. In some ways, it’s a milestone and maybe even the last one short of turning 100. As much as you loved working with kids, the idea of retirement was very much on the horizon. We talked about what it would be like to have more of the day to yourself and to have time to do the things you wanted. We talked about visits and taking in more of the grandchildren’s activities. Collectively, our family was about to enter a busy season of high school and college graduations…and after that new jobs, weddings, etc.

Instead, on your birthday weekend, we were together…as part of the second annual March to Remember to honor loved ones lost to COVID-19, those dealing with long COVID symptoms, and the medical community who continue to work hard as we go through this pandemic. Your granddaughter organized the Garden City portion of this national event. You would have been so proud! There were hugs, tears, memories, sorrow, laughter, joy —and eventually pizza, but no cake. We miss you, Mom. Happy Birthday. You are loved and so dearly missed.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

The Candy Aisle

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Never underestimate the power of chocolate. — Author Unknown

I’ve been baking again. I love to try new recipes…especially the ones that combine my favorite sweet treats. That’s how I stumbled upon my family’s current favorite — S’mores Rice Krispy Treats.

As a consequence, this spring/summer we have been buying a lot of Hershey bars. While I am more of a savory snacker, I do remember eating my fair share of candy bars back in the day. All of this reminded me of my Mom, not because she had much of a sweet tooth, but because she always let us pick out candy at the grocery store. I can still hear her saying, “Get four,” for the four kids in the family. These sweet treats would get rung up by the clerk and then handed back to us. I can only imagine how we beamed coming out of the store…all smiles.

My Mother was always generous with us. She shared everything. Candy, soda, tea, ice cream, gum…you name it. Even in adulthood, if I said I liked something you can bet on my next visit there’d be a little surprise for me. When she stumbled upon the cool salad tongs, they showed up as gifts at Christmas. The Rachel Ray pot holder, Yeti cups, cabin socks, cutting boards, etc…if she came across a great find you were also going to be blessed with it. She shared recipes, parenting tips, laundry hacks, and wisdom on a variety of topics. Looking back I see this as more than a sweet personality trait, it was love and she shared it well. I am grateful for the way she modeled generosity not only in my upbringing but to everyone who knew her. I miss this.

I see you in the candy aisle, Mom. Thank you.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

When the Losses are Winning

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Losing feels worse than winning feels good. — Vin Scully, sportscaster

This has been a hard month…for a lot of reasons. Missing my Mom on Mother’s Day and knowing that the two-year anniversary of her death is just days away. It sucks. I’m trying to brace myself, but preparing for sadness isn’t easy. Mostly it involves trying to steel your emotions, hold back the tears, and tiptoeing around difficult topics. Notice I said trying because that’s all you can do…try. The reality is that my emotions will get the better of me, tears are inevitable and every topic has now become difficult. Then you add what happened in Texas.

What does that tragedy have to do with losing my Mom? A lot actually. My Mom used to say that one loss builds upon another. I didn’t get it at first. The worst part, she explained, was that the losses seem to pile up so that when you suffer a new loss you quickly relive the past losses as well. Sort of like an ugly, emotional scoreboard in a game you can never win. The school shooting in Texas just added another tally mark.

The daughter of one of the teachers killed shared this Facebook post, both a tribute and a love letter to her mother. My heart breaks for all the senseless loss, for a young woman without her mother and for so many parents without their children. My Mom, too, loved kids and not just her own. Her work life was a testament to that.

These senseless tragedies are adding up, the losses are in fact building upon each other. Everyone has opinions, but solutions feel so out of reach. Unfortunately, in two weeks this will just be another news story…until the next time. I know this firsthand as I was a TV reporter in Jonesboro, Arkansas when the Westside School Shootings took place in 1998. Twenty-four years later and it’s just the same news cycle repeating. Loss building upon loss. Like I said, it sucks.

Memorial Day is coming up. The anniversary of my Mother’s death is this Monday. Funerals are being planned for 19 little angels and their hero teachers. There is so much grief…. Still, I’m ever hopeful that things will get better and be different. I am willing to do my part and I will forever be looking for the win. Mom would want it that way.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

When Mother’s Day is Heavy

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You never get over losing your mother, you miss her for the rest of your days.

There’s a heaviness to Mother’s Day. What is meant to be a day of appreciation often comes with expectations and emotion — both good and bad. For those of us who are without our mothers, Mother’s Day looms larger than ever. I can feel the anchor drop the second I turn over the calendar.

I don’t know how to act…especially when I still feel so numb. I would imagine this doesn’t make me much fun to be around. The holiday used to mean that I didn’t have to cook (silly, but a big deal to me)! Mother’s Day was handmade cards and cookouts. It was flowers at church. It was the exchange of joyous texts. It was a phone call with my Mom where we both celebrated each other.

To make things worse, I feel guilty for feeling like this. It doesn’t honor my Mother’s memory to be sad on what is supposed to be a day of celebration. It’s not fair to my kids to have to try to cheer me up on “my day.”

There’s no shortcut here. It’s been two years and it still feels just as bad. Self-care gurus tell you that it’s ok to have all the feelings. Good advice since I can’t seem to stop them.

It’s been said a million times, so I’ll join the chorus — love your mother while you can.

Hold tightly to what is good. Romans 12:9

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

With Resignation

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

a lilac only blossoms after a harsh winter…

My Mom loved lilacs. Not just the color, but the smell. She really wasn’t a big flower person, but she always pointed out the lilacs. It was fun to see her go in for a big sniff and the smile that would follow.

In each of the homes I have lived in, there have always been lilacs. I don’t know how or why (I certainly didn’t plant them), yet there they were. Late bloomers and always a surprise…at least to me. When we moved into our present home in 2019 a bright green bush burst forth with tiny purple buds one late spring morning. Lilacs.

Of course, I immediately snapped a million photos and sent them to my Mom. What were the chances? Another lilac bush in the backyard! I had to wait a day for a full bloom and then I went in for the sniff. Lilacs.

When my mom was sick with COVID-19 in the hospital in May of 2020, our lilac bush bloomed. I sent her a photo not sure if or when she might see it. I was surprised when she responded almost immediately. She texted back, “They look beautiful. I love lilacs. They smell so good.” I told her that I thought the blooms were a good sign. She ended the text with a heart emoji. It was the last text she ever sent me.

Of course, the lilac bush bloomed in 2021 and it’s preparing to bloom again now in 2022. I can see its familiar bright green hue. I know that I’ll take a deep sniff when the purple buds open, but lilacs don’t bring me the joy they used to. Instead, they only remind me that life goes on. With resignation, I’m trying to accept that.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.