What does yoga mean to me? Chapter 10 - Go Rest High on that Mountain

My mom passed away on September 6, 1998…

It was a typical fall Sunday, Angela was at work and I was on our recently purchased first computer getting ready for the new NFL season when my phone rang. It was my mom’s number and I answered, excited because I hadn’t spoken to her this week and I wanted to share some quality time catching up. Instead, I heard my uncle Stan on the other end. I could hear him clearly but I didn’t understand a word...

I needed to get home today, I didn’t have much time, if I wanted to say goodbye it was now or never…

I struggled to find the words, but I fought back; that’s impossible! Last time I spoke with her she was fine, she was coming home to recuperate, we talked about her coming to see our new home and stay with us for a while…

Now it was my gramma on the phone…Shawn, you need to hurry. We were both crying and the reality finally hit like a two by four across my skull. Adrenalin kicked in and I did what I needed to do. Called Angela at work, quickly made plans…I would rent a car from the airport so she would have a vehicle here, she would fly out tomorrow…move, move. I threw some things in a bag and caught a cab; it was 1100am when they called and by 1230 I was heading east.

The drive from Prince George to Edmonton is about 7 hours long and that summer there was no cell coverage on the route, so I had way too much time with my thoughts, more than enough time for the nagging doubts I had all summer to finally drag me down. It had been a strange summer, my cancer treatments going well and my health stable; my new marriage settling into a comfortable routine. We had been home a couple times that summer, but on other weekends I had taken her to Cranbrook to introduce her to old friends, or we went camping or hiking, and at the time I worried that I was wasting precious opportunity to spend more time with mom. Whenever I felt too bad, I would call and she would always let me off the hook. There will be other times, I’m not going anywhere; I would hear this and let it absolve any nasty guilt building up in me. Now all my decisions looked as selfish as they felt at the time, all the times I made fun a priority instead of a chance to spend time with my beloved mom.

At 0330pm, on a straight stretch of road between Tete Jeune and Jasper I began to cry, eventually sobbing so hard I had to pull over for a while to calm down and catch my breath.

I reached Hinton at 0430 and stopped to get gas, and I finally had a chance to call Angela and let her know where I was. I asked her to call mom and let her know I would be there soon.

I pushed on, still alone with my guilt and my thoughts and finally reached Edmonton around 0730. I pulled up to moms apartment and could see my brother Kevin standing outside on the stoop. I found a close parking spot and rushed over to see him but I could tell instantly what he had to say to me and my life changed forever. She had passed away at 0330, the same time I had been pulled over on the side of the highway…

There is nothing about that day that I don’t remember with crystal clarity. I remember who was sitting in what chair around my mom’s hospice bed, I remember the twilight in the room, I remember the smell when I sat down beside her, and how cold she felt when I stroked her forehead and her hair. I went upstairs to her old bedroom when they came for her, and I went to sleep in her bed, exhausted and heartbroken.

I’ll also never forget immediately waking up the next morning; opening my eyes, sun streaming in the room, at home at mom’s, people in the kitchen talking and making breakfast. For a joyous three seconds I didn’t remember the night before, and it was the last time in my life that I would be without the knowledge that I will never speak to my mom again. Time does heal all wounds but there is literally not a day in my life since then that I haven’t wanted to pick up the phone and ask her a question, or gossip, or talk Oilers hockey.

But there was another layer to this, the guilt I felt for not taking more time to call or visit when I had the chance, the growing guilt that I was surviving cancer when she was not so lucky, and now this. Why hadn’t she trusted me enough to tell me she was so sick? Why was I robbed of the chance to be there on her last day?

 I packed up all of this, added it to the rest of my growing pile of shit and shoved it back into the dark corners just out of reach…

"Go Rest High On That Mountain" Vince Gill

I know your life
On earth was troubled
And only you could know the pain
You weren't afraid to face the devil
You were no stranger to the rain

Go rest high on that mountain
Son, your work on earth is done
Go to heaven a shoutin'
Love for the Father and Son

Oh, how we cried the day you left us
We gathered round your grave to grieve
I wish I could see the angels faces
When they hear your sweet voice sing

Go rest high on that mountain
Son, your work on earth is done
Go to heaven a shoutin'
Love for the Father and Son