Grief and sadness hit whenever they hit. Like a wave, hitting you when your back is to the sea. Not quite knocking you over but making you feel a little unsteady.
Just a week ago I posted the obituary of a long time friend. Of course with Alzheimer' s she has been "lost" for a while. Not ale to participate in our weekly Zoom meetings or our Facebook and email connections. She knew that this was coming and she told us. Even so, it is a hard reality to accept.
Today is Easter Sunday. We don't celebrate it any more. It used to be all about Easter Baskets and egg hunts. My mom gave the kids some cute baskets one year that a friend of her had made. I have lots of memories of Easter and coloring eggs but that it not what this is about. It's about grief.
Two days ago, March 29, 2024 marked the twentieth anniversary of my mother's death. It is so unbelievable she has been gone for so long. I still miss her and I suppose I always will.
Sometimes we joke about how my mom didn't have any filters. She just said whatever she was thinking. Often what she said was not really welcome. Sometimes she made me mad.
My kids all believed that the reason we got caller ID, before it was the norm, was so I would know when my mom was calling and not answer. The truth is, there were times when I saw her name on the phone and think "oh god what does she want now?" And there were times when I got off the phone with her, upset by our conversation.
But one thing I do know. My mother loved me with all her heart. She loved my sister and brother as well. Of that there was never any doubt.
One time, when I was dealing with a sick baby my mom gave me some unwelcome and unhelpful advice. I was so upset that I felt broken. I didn't know what to do. I called her back and told her that we couldn't talk any more if she couldn't support me. She cried and I cried and she told me that the only reason she said what she did was because she was worried and scared.
I hope that my children all know that I love them with all my heart.
West
Lebanon, NH -- Mardrey Fish Swenson passed away at the age of 76 on
Sunday, March 17, 2024, after an episode of Alzheimer's-induced
disorientation led her from her home into the embrace of the Connecticut
River during the night. We will never fully comprehend what compelled
her that night into the woods and waters she loved so much, but we take
some solace that her last moments returned her to her spiritual home.
Mardrey
was born on November 18, 1947, in Bridgeport, CT to Caroline Kusterer
Fish and Chauncey Lauriston Fish, and spent her early childhood in
Fairfield Connecticut with them and her older brother, Bill Fish, whom
she always looked up to and admired. After her parents moved the family
to Long Island for her middle school and high school, she attended Stony
Brook University. Being a free spirit in the 1960s, her postsecondary
academic career meandered (although she ultimately graduated with a
degree in biology). However, her most meaningful experiences were
working in the university computing center with the large mainframes of
the day and being a manager and boat launch pilot for the men’s crew
team (and occasional cox in training, since women were prohibited from
competitions at the time). She also developed and nurtured a lifelong
interest in the ocean and seashore, particularly along the Maine coast
where she has family ties.
In
exploring after college, she took turns working in a lumber yard,
jockeying cars, and building sets for off Broadway plays in New York
City. Around that time, she experienced significant relief from some
persistent back problems via treatment by a chiropractor, and ultimately
decided to attend chiropractic school at the National College of
Chiropractic (now National University of Health Sciences) in Lombard,
IL, where she met her future husband, Rand Swenson. Their romance
blossomed near the end of their degree program in late 1976, and they
were married in early 1977. Mardrey joined a chiropractic clinic near
the school shortly after graduation, although she chose to stay home
upon the arrival of the first of three children. She found motherhood to
be challenging and was very grateful for the support of La Leche
League, through which she found her life’s primary life’s work and
abiding avocation. She became a group leader and applied her biology
training to the study of breastfeeding, and ultimately international
board certification as a lactation consultant.
Her
patience was tested by Rand’s entry into a PhD program in neuroscience,
by a subsequent family move to Tokyo, Japan (where Rand had a research
position), by a move back to Illinois, where Rand completed a medical
degree, and a move to Cooperstown, NY for an internal medicine
residency. Her final move was to the Upper Valley in 1990, for Rand’s
neurology residency. This move was fortuitous because of the outdoor
opportunities it afforded and the chance for her children to flourish.
She was appreciative of all that was offered by the Upper Valley,
including the opportunity to attend the children’s sporting events,
plays, and concerts, and to expand her engagement with the outdoors and
the natural world. Fueled by fun and the companionship of many
geocaching friends, she spent countless hours exploring the great
outdoors and visiting areas barely touched by humans. She found peace
walking in the woods and kayaking with friends to get a different
perspective on the natural world. In her later years, while less mobile,
she nurtured this feeling with friends and her beloved dog Gemma at
Kilowatt Park in Wilder. The move to the Upper Valley also presented new
opportunities to apply her life’s work. First by establishing and
running a new La Leche League group and mentoring new leaders, and later
by applying these skills as lactation consultant at the Alice Peck Day
Memorial Hospital Birthing Center. She retired from APD in 2012, near
the time that the birthing center at APD closed. At APD she had great
joy in organizing courses and helping hundreds of new mothers to succeed
in establishing a successful and rewarding breastfeeding relationship
with their newborns. She continued to do this even after retirement as a
La Leche League leader, and greatly valued creating life-long
friendships with an online group “PowerSurge,” a fellowship of retired
leaders.
Alzheimer’s
disease slowly eroded her independence and capacity to enjoy most of
her pastimes. However, it also lessened her inhibitions. In recent
years, Mardrey could fill a room with her laughter, and when an upbeat
or old, familiar tune played, she couldn’t help but sing along and
dance.
Mardrey
was predeceased by her parents and, very recently, by her beloved older
brother William Fish. She leaves behind her husband, Rand Swenson, and
her cherished children, Krister Swenson (wife Marie-Noelle Wurm) of
Montpellier, France; Ingrid Swenson (husband Sam Tate and children
Cooper and Maya) of Evergreen, CO; and Keith Swenson (wife Jessica
Swenson and children Haley and Alison) of Lakewood, CO. She is also
survived by her sister-in-law, Carolyn Fish; niece Amy Fish (husband Ed
Lott and children, Sarah and Abigail); nephew Dr. David Fish (wife
Elizabeth Feeherry and children Caroline and William) and numerous
cousins and in-laws.
We
invite friends, colleagues, and family to gather for a time of
visitation at Ricker Funeral Home, in Lebanon, NH on April 27th, 2024,
starting at 2pm with a memory-sharing service starting at 3pm.
In
lieu of flowers, memorial contributions can be made to her favorite
charities: La Leche League International; the World Wildlife Fund; the
Sierra Club.
An online guestbook can be found at legacy.com and rickerfuneralhome.com.
In church there is a segment in the service where people in the congregation are called upon to share any joys or sorrows in their life.
The joy: There is great joy in anticipating the birth of our first grandchild. Nick and I are about to become Grandma and Grandpa Sherwood. That's so strange and funny because that's who Nick's parents have always been. And now it is our turn! I wonder if our kids will think anything of it?
My sorrow is losing a friend. A friend I have known for almost 30 years through Power Surge, PS, a group of La Leche Leaders who connected through a LLL email list. In 1995 or 96 I cannot remember, we were all so excited to be able to connect with other LLL Leaders all over the world. But several of us noticed that many of these online conversations revolved around parenting your children. Weaning. Potty training etc.
Norma Ritter, a long time LLL Leader decided to establish a group of us who were concerned about menopause and aging parents. And so PS was born. As people wanted to join, we welcomed them in until there were over 40 of us. And we decided to close the group then.
This group has been through a lot of ups and downs. When my brother died, my PSsisters sent cards to my mother. When the first of our group was dying of breast cancer, a couple of the group went to sit by her and comfort her. I flew out to Illinois to attend her funeral.
We have since lost more members of the group. When I say "lost" I mean that they have died.
Around the beginning of the pandemic, 2020, we started to have regular online Zoom meetings. Mardrey Swenson, one of our group, told us a few years ago on one of our Zoom meetings that she had Alzheimer's disease
And last week a big blow struck us. Mardrey lived in New Hampshire. Another PSer lives there also and saw a news report that said that a woman with dementia had gone missing. It was Mardrey. The next day her body was found in a river near her home.
It is so sad. Losing any of our group is sad. But this is tragic and sad.
As I approach another decade birthday I am again pondering. The meaning of life? Maybe.
Death? Definitely. More and more friends have died and are dying. All of my parents and Nick's parents are dead. My mother's younger sister, my Aunt Geri and her husband are both dead now. They both died in the same calendar year.
My mom's been gone for almost 20 years now. But somehow I never imagined a world without my Aunt Geri. And neither could Uncle John. He was bereft and lost without her and I think he faced death gladly.
So, I have been many different versions of myself. First as a baby. Always near my mother. The youngest of three.
When I turned 10, I remember having a birthday party. My mom made a cake and the candle holders on the cake looked like horses on a carousel. There are pictures somewhere. I remember wearing party hats and having friends there. Donna Gallo would have been there and another girl named Jolene. I don't know who else.
This is me at age 10 with cousins Geri-next to me, then Cheryl, Jane and Vicky
I may be a bit older than 20, but pretty close. On the front porch of a house we lived in briefly, in Chiang Mai, Thailand
I was 30 when Darcy was born in 1984 Here we are at Dulles Airport on the way to Tromsø, Norway where Darcy was born
When I was 40, Chance and I participated, with the family, in a La Leche League event on the National Mall 1994
I graduated from George Mason University in 2004 at the age of 50- just a few weeks after my mother died. She did get to see me in my cap and gown- I took them to the hospital for her to see
As I approached my 60th birthday I pondered life. Then I learned that I had a brain tumor and suddenly I didn't feel so old. I thought that I was too young to die. So I had brain surgery. And I didn't die!
And here I am, pondering again. 6 weeks away from my 70th birthday. My hair is completely gray. When I get a haircut I always marvel at the gray hair that falls on the black cover I wear for the hair cut and wonder who's gray hair it could be. How did that happen? What's next?
I copied this from Facebook. The sentiment says it so well. I think of my kids as children so often. It's not easy to put into words.
I see them sitting and thinking and working something out. I see them laughing I see them crying about the unfairness of their world.
I see all of their ages and stages. Feeling the fluttering and kicking inside my body. Seeing them as new, freshly born babies. Taking first steps. Babbling and then saying words tentatively. Then talking my head off so I want to yell "shut up".
I have photos of the kids at various ages, walking away- taken from behind. Candid pictures, yes. But much more.
As soon as they crawl and walk and talk they are moving on. Becoming individuals. Walking into adulthood.
Years ago I wrote about Courtney, my first born, going to college. I thought of it as another weaning.
I have five, complete adult people in my life who started out as a piece of me. Nourishing their growing bodies with the placenta and umbilical cord that connected us. Then feeding at my breast we were one. And nursing beyond into toddler-hood.
And always, no matter how far they crawled or walked or drove and even moved far away, they are in my heart and I am in their DNA
