The last lucid conversation I had with my mother ended with her hanging up on me. We didn't argue. She didn't like what I had to say and made an excuse to end the call.

Three years later, I sat by her bedside in a hospital trying to fill her last days with good memories.

Coming to terms with my mother's death is hard, even after nine years. Really, it's been more than that as we never truly had a relationship worth anything. My mother was manipulative and conniving, mentally and emotionally abusive. She died from the end stages of multiple sclerosis.

I've often thought what life could have been like if she'd been well, mentally and physically. Instead, I'm left to learn from her actions toward me and others, and vice versa.

1. I am loved. Despite her actions making me feel worthless, my mother's death made me realize I am loved. My small family and circle of friends had great sympathy for my brothers and me as we spent a week watching our mother die and when we put her to rest. After her death, I discovered there is love in the world and I am worth something to others. I got married two years later, had a child and found great joy in both — all the while wondering why my mother didn't seem to find this joy in her life.

2. She wanted to love me. I had this revelation early on but denied it. I couldn't believe she loved me. It often felt she had us kids simply to gain a semblance of control — over what, I'm not sure. But in the end, we were all she had. I think she saw too much of others in us and was disappointed she didn't have more influence over who we became. I believe she wanted to love us more, but couldn't because she didn't truly love herself.

3. Do your best not to judge others. I judge too much and daily reprimand myself for it. Every time I look in the mirror, I see my mother. I look a lot like her and it reminds me to be more kind, but it doesn't always work. Like her, I'm sometimes disappointed in how I've turned out. But I do my best not to judge myself and not to judge others.

4. Actively listen to my child. My mother often robotically asked how I was doing. She didn't care, and I knew it. She was narcisistic and cared little about others. When I was young, I'd try to tell her about school or my activities, but she often talked over me, telling me something inappropriate. Keeping that in mind, I tell myself to actively listen to my child. And respond appropriately by having a real conversation with him. He has his own mind with working thoughts and curiosity.

5. Some injuries last a lifetime, but can be reasons to grow. Mental and emotional abuse is damaging. My mother often tried to manipulate me into believing everything in her life was someone else's fault. Guilt was often served hot and followed me through my life. I feel guilt daily for things I should not. Taking time to reflect on the guilt gives me perspective. It's taken five years, but I no longer feel guilty for leaving my child at daycare if I have the day off and need to get stuff done, for example. Nine years after my mother's death, I no longer feel guilty for not visiting her grave.

6. Some memories show she did love me, at least for a while. At her burial, I played a hymn on my flute — "In the Garden" — a song she often sang to me when I was very young. I cried that day, but not because she died. I cried because I'd never gotten to know her and because I lost my mom long before she died.

7. Hate will consume you, if you let it. There have been several periods in my life where hate consumed me. I became angry and vicious, withdrawn and depressed. After I got married, every little bump in the relationship made me angry and resentful. After seeing myself in a raging anger one day, I took a step back and realized hate had consumed my marriage, motherhood and relationships with others. I acted just like my mother. Realizing that gave me perspective and enough gumption to begin to change.

8. Humor can help you heal and survive. As our mother lay dying, my middle brother and I employed our survival mechanism — humor. We joked around and did our best to keep from sitting and crying. We told stories from our childhood and remembered the good times — like when a skunk got into our house and surprised our mother by warming up in hot clothes fresh from the dryer.

9. Let others heal in their own time and way. Since my mother's death, my mother-in-law died. We talk about her often and I can see my husband still struggles with the fact she's gone. We often just let our five-year-old talk about her and ask questions. My husband smiles and answers his questions, but in short, letting the subject drop. Our son was three when my husband's mother died, but remembers her clearly and it gives me joy he is so open to talk about her.

Talking about death can help others heal, but silence can also be a remedy. Everyone heals in their own way and time.

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