Hospital Memorial
October 18, 2023
I wanted to write down all the details before my memory fails me, as it has ever since all of this happened.
This morning, my brother and I got separate calls from the hospital where our mom worked and passed away, letting us know they would be holding a small memorial among her colleagues later that day. Last week, we had given them our blessing to organize a personal memorial on their own time. We did not want to intrude on their space as they mourned their coworker, so we initially declined the kind invitation to join. At the last minute, however, they extended the invitation again. By that time, my brother was back in California and unable to attend.
My first instinct was to decline because I don’t do well with strangers or being in unfamiliar places due to my anxiety. But I also knew Mom would have wanted at least one of her kids to be there. After an hour of debating whether to go, I called the hospital to say that I would attend. As a very emotional person, I had to put my other plans on pause and spend time preparing myself to return to the place where she passed and to hear stories about someone I was still mourning. In the end, I am very glad I decided to go!
The memorial was set outside; the weather was sunny with a gentle breeze. Some people commented that it was too windy, but to me, this felt perfect for Mom. A program was handed to me, which included a beautiful description of her and her legacy as a nurse. It made me realize the huge impact she had at her work. She always kept her work and personal life separate, so I only knew her as Mom, not as Karen the CRNA, or even as a separate being.
As soon as I arrived, someone returned the turquoise-striped scrapbook I had given last week for her colleagues to write tributes about her. I got to skim over it, and it was clear that everyone loved her and that her death had impacted them deeply.
The service began with a Navajo colleague giving the opening blessing in the Navajo language. I wish I knew the exact words, but I listened and felt the message in my heart. While listening, I looked up at the sky and saw a flock of birds flying. I felt like Mom was flying with them.
Then, some colleagues who worked closely with her gave beautiful speeches, sharing both funny and tearful stories. Common adjectives they used to describe her were kind, witty, humorous, and empathetic. They spoke about how she helped immensely during the COVID pandemic when it was very hectic, always present in times of need. Hearing these stories made me admire Mom even more; it was clear she was an amazing nurse.
They also mentioned how she always arrived early, earning the nickname “early bird,” with her red van parked out front. She greeted everyone with a jolly smile, always making sure her colleagues and patients were happy. Her humor, witty jokes, and ability to make people smile left a lasting impression.
What got me crying the most was when they talked about how proud she always was of her two kids, constantly sharing updates about us. While she took her job as a nurse seriously, it was evident that her number one job was being a mother.
After the speeches, the team from the last department Mom worked with handed me a Bromeliad, a plant symbolizing the remembrance of her presence at the hospital.
Finally, we participated in a hospital tradition that started in 2020 during the pandemic, when they were rapidly losing COVID patients. A tree was planted and watered, and rocks were painted to honor those who passed. They continue this tradition for any patients and colleagues who die, and now Mom is included. We lined up in a single file, each with a small cup of water, and poured it slowly around the tree clockwise, which has significance in Navajo culture. It was a beautiful way to say goodbye to those who passed.
The memorial lasted only twenty minutes, but I am already exhausted. Grief really does drain your energy quickly. For today, I am going to pause, order some comfort food, and spend the night reading the messages her colleagues left in the scrapbook.
Love,
A Grateful Daughter
