Letting go is never easy, even when it’s anticipated. On March 27th, my beautiful 92-year old mother, Wilma Simon Machover, died peacefully in the morning light while listening to Mozart. While her passing was expected as she had been fading these past few months, none of us thought it would happen on that day. But she was ready. As some of you may know, this has been a long goodbye. Mom was diagnosed with vascular dementia eight years ago, a year after my dad died. Her dementia presented many challenges but also learning opportunities and so much love.

In this time of grief, I am deeply moved by the outpouring of messages, support, and loving gestures from family and friends. Thank you so much for your kindness and the beautiful ways you have helped me and my family honor and celebrate my mom’s life.

It’s impossible to summarize her extraordinary life in a few words because there are so many stories and ways that she touched our lives. Instead, I’m sharing a few stories, and the legacy mom left us. 

Mom’s Legacy

When I think about the legacy mom left us, four words stand out:

• Love – which was visible in all things she touched

• Family – which was her everything

• Music – which was her passion

• Community – which she created wherever she was

Mom Stories

1. Love

Love was part of every conversation, decision, and choice mom made. It was present in her relationships and how she loved my dad, siblings, grandkids, family, friends, and me.

I remember after Allison was born and I was pregnant with baby #2, our beautiful Cassie. I was worried and scared, so I talked with my mom. Would I have enough love for another child? She assured me and said that love is an amazing thing. There is no limit on how much love we have. It keeps growing. And she was right. The more you love, the more love you have to give.

Always the teacher and role model, I watched mom. When each of her seven grandkids was born (Allison, Ryan, Cassie, Allegra, Hana, Halle, and Noa,) I saw mom’s heart expand as she welcomed them into the world with open arms and abundant love.

2. Gratitude

My mom was a grateful person. For years, maybe decades, I spoke with her at least once a day. Our calls were frequently about how grateful we were for the people we loved and the time spent together. She’d say, “That’s the good stuff!”

She always communicated a profound sense of gratitude for her family, friends, music, art, and the preciousness of time. Even as her dementia worsened and talking wasn’t always a viable way to communicate, she continued to express gratitude and appreciation in so many ways.

3. Mindfulness

For a brief period, when I was about 9 years old, I remember my mom told me that her friends, Jack and Erva Zuckerman, joined the Gurdjieff Society. The group encouraged a philosophy about life that fascinated her. One of the things my mom described was their belief in living mindfully, although I’m not sure they called it that. She gave an example- if you are making your bed, focus on just that one thing- smoothing the sheets, feeling the fabric, appreciating, and being in the moment.

Mom used to experiment with that idea and sometimes talked aloud to share it with me as she practiced mindfully washing the dishes, folding the laundry, or making the bed. I realized how in mom’s later years, she became my mindfulness guru in another way. Her dementia journey was long. Eventually, Mom lost her memory of the past and wasn’t aware of the future. With those changes, she modeled mindfulness and presence. She found joy in the present through playing piano, listening to music, singing, dancing, smiling, being with people who cared about her, exploring the garden, holding hands, feeling the sun on her face, or being playful.

When I was with her, I entered her world wherever she was, and we experienced the moments together. She helped me appreciate the now even more and savor the precious time I had with her.

4. Lifelong Bond

Mom loved telling me my birth story, which she shared often. She was fully awake when I was born, and the nurse handed me to her right away. She said, “You wrapped your tiny hand around my finger and squeezed it tightly.” Then she said, “I know we’ll be friends forever.” And she was right. We were always close.

Towards the end of her life, she hummed but barely talked. During one of my last visits with her before she died, I held her hand and sang her songs that she loved and used to sing to me. She swayed our hands gently to the rhythm of the music. Then suddenly, she squeezed my hand tightly and placed our hands together over her heart.

At the beginning of my life and the end of hers, there were no words. We shared touch, connection, and beautiful moments of love.

Letting go is never easy. Yet, in our letting go, the stories about those we love live on. Have you experienced letting go challenges or loss? I’d love to hear your thoughts. I invite you to join the conversation.