My mama, sweet Carolann, so deeply in love and in awe of life. Knowing so much of the spectrum of human experience, the deepest lows and remarkable highs, my mom was delighted and acutely aware of the fullness of life. She was a daughter, a sister, a friend, a teacher, a wife, and a mama. She took so much pride in each of these roles, but none more than her greatest passion and joy, being a mama.
My mama, Samantha’s mama. At the center of my mom’s life was her innate and learned desire to care for others, to nurture the flowers, the animals, her friends and family, and most importantly, her daughters. My mama was an educator, a teacher of first graders and counselor to many more. My mom loved reading books that made her think and allowed her to escape, she loved to travel in order to experience as much of this world as possible, she loved sending letters and creating paintings, she loved sharing stories and giving of herself to those she trusted. There is a quote I love that often makes me think of my mom, “she knows how to ask for love and she knows how to give it, what else can you ask for?”.
My mama was fiercely passionate about seeking the good, ever hopeful and optimistic, even amidst a lot of pain, she never ‘lost the fire of life’. One of the first moments in my life when I thought, “Oh, I need to remember this about my mom” was when she told me that she thought anything was possible. She actually got pretty frustrated when she was told what was impossible. Especially in regard to her daughters...she was our advocate, our defender, our north-star, our path-layer… nothing was going to stand in her way of pursuing the best for her girls. My mom was a deeply sensitive person, which I say with deep admiration and pride. It takes a lot of courage to feel so deeply, and she felt with the entirety of herself. My mama was a passionate learner, she was incredibly curious and open to the change that is possible when having vulnerable conversations. She was often asking me and Sam if we were happy, if we were excited about what we were doing, if there was anything we wanted but didn’t have. She sought to understand and to fulfill needs as she could. Some of my friends have also recounted stories of intentional and meaningful conversations they would have with my mom because she asked such good questions and always conveyed a desire to know people truly. Whether at in-person gatherings, texts, or in hand-written letters, she never left someone wondering if they were loved by her--you also knew. Most recently, I think of the immense joy I had watching my mama take devoted care and time to get to know my husband, Kieran, all the hours over facetime or on the phone or the quality time in person and getting to know him as her son, as he was to her. Some of our sweetest memories were calling my mom together and making her laugh, asking about her latest trip to the beach or what books she was reading, and her doing the same with us, wondering what our latest opinions were on the Royal Family or episode of Bake-Off. I know most people would heartily profess that being known and loved by my mama felt like being truly and unconditionally known and loved.
When I was 17, I studied abroad for the first time. During my three-week stay in England, I met a boy and totally fell in love. My first boyfriend! My first kiss! It was a lot of fun and so exciting. But then, of course, the trip was over and we all went home. I was devastated. I cried and cried and felt like I would never stop. I remember this part so vividly - I was crying on my bed, the first night back, and my mom was laying down next to me. I clearly remember saying to her that I was scared that one day this wouldn’t matter, that one day I’d look back on my 17-year old self and think, “Oh, that doesn’t mean anything anymore.” I was worried that one day I would think that I never loved him, that those feelings were irrelevant and maybe even not real. I remember my mom crying with me, I remember my mom with so much certainty and calm saying, “Don’t worry, it will always matter, you will always love him.” She said she understood why I would be afraid of that but also assured me that I will always care about him, that the love I have now will never be held as silly or naive.
I return to that memory often because it so clearly speaks to a larger part of my mom’s life and models so much about her that I so deeply admire. She met her daughter in that moment with compassion, gentleness, warmth. She showed me that she was a romantic; that while there was more to come, every moment, every relationship is significant, and powerful. She taught me that the love we feel, for however long it is, matters, is remarkable, a miracle. She told her daughter that her feelings were significant and the love I experience is powerful. I think of that story a lot now that I’m a bit older and have seen more examples of ways I want to parent, and considered ways I could have or would have responded… she could have been rational, she could have been practical… she might have tried to fix it. But she never made the problem the love, or the depth of my reaction for losing this boy we both knew I would never see again. She recognized that the pain I felt, the sadness I felt, was ok to feel - it wasn’t bad. And that even if I did get over and move on and find other people to love, which of course I did, I now get to remember a love in my life and feel gratitude and consider what I learned and felt at that time as important. I get to do that because of how my mom responded to me. It was a critical moment in my life and my mom knew that; she had the presence and awareness and experience and love for me and others, her desire to nurture me in every way, to guide her in her response. Because of that I get to have that lesson and apply it not only to romantic love, but to how I feel my feelings and help others experience theirs. They matter, they’re real, they’re transformative, and they are also a part of a larger story.
My mother was and is remarkable; she never wasted a moment. She might have feared that, she might have wondered that, like we all do, but when I saw her I always saw a woman who was so aware that every moment mattered. An intentional, brave, warm, strong, passionate woman who wanted every second to make an impact. That is what she prayed about: she wanted to live with purpose and to love others the way God loved her. The earnest seeking after God’s purpose in her life, allowed her to absolutely in every moment live out God’s purpose in her life, even if she was afraid she wasn’t. I know we could all, we would all look at her, and say, “you did it”. You loved, you loved with all of yourself. There was not one part of her body or her mind or her soul that did not love. One of the bravest things any of us could do, love with every inch of ourselves, my mama did and did powerfully.
And now here we are, this moment in me and my sister’s life that came long before we were ready. In my grief I have been overwhelmed with this profound sense that I feel like I have to learn how to be alive without her. A feeling that I need my mom to grieve my mom, and I don’t know if that will ever change. A deep desire to look to her and for her to tell me that everything will be ok. When I’m at work or having a hard day and wondering how to keep doing this, I think all I have to do is go in and try my best. Because that’s what my mom would have said--“that’s all you can do”--and she would have been proud of me and she is proud of me. That makes it a bit easier.
And at that moment when I felt I needed my mom to grieve my mom, I guess I realized that she had in her life taught me how to grieve; in the way she lived she taught me how to love people so much that losing them feels impossible. And in many ways it is. I don’t feel like I’ve lost her, I just miss her. I miss her presence; her texts and her calls, her hugs, her laugh, her smile when she saw me, the way she said my name, the way she called me “lovey”, the way she loved my friends and my husband. I miss her but I don’t feel like I’ve lost her. And so I look to her, to teach me again, and forever, how to love through this pain. How to love when it feels like I can’t anymore. Cause all I want is her, I just want her.
And then I take a deep breath.
I feel though that profound desire, the desire that will never go away, and I remember my mom laughing through her tears, taking her beloved Daphne for a walk, writing letters to her daughters and her pen-pals and friends, catching up with her friends over coffee, getting to know her neighbors, and I remember her making plans for her next adventure, looking forward to reaching her next goals, the next book, the next movie she would watch and talk about with me, the next recipe we would try together. I remember to do what my mom did. And that makes me feel a little bit closer to her once again, a little bit less alone, like she is doing it all with me, as we always wanted.
I’m grateful that my mom is forever and always going to be mom, that even now our relationship can continue. That she knew that the greatest thing she would ever do is be me and Samantha’s mom, and not just for the moment on the earth that she would get to do that with us, but forever. For all the people that will be loved by us because of the way she loved us, and in the future, for my children who will be loved and known by her too. I think she always knew that what she was building by being our mom was far greater than the longest life someone could ask. And while sometimes that still feels deeply unfair, as it is, I also know that one day I will too feel that way about my children and understand.
And I know she is with me, I know she is here. Not that it takes away the pain of losing her, or makes it better. There is a line in a video I like about grief and legacy that has been coming back to me throughout the past few weeks...“When you walk alone, in the Autumn, down roads at night with trees tossing in the sunset, know that I would give everything to walk with you, to tell you their names. But I am there, in the light, through the branches, and I’m loving you where I see you.” I think often of that.
I know that my mom wanted to live a much longer life with us, on the earth, next to us. And I also know that she is more present with us than she ever has been. I know I’ll never fully understand that but I believe that. I think we’ll understand that when we are with her in that place. And I am comforted. I am comforted that she stands on the shores of eternity with so many of the people she loves, free of pain. In ways that time is a circle, or in the way that time loses its meaning in eternity, I know that she probably knows me better than I know myself or could have ever known me while still alive. I know she has already met my children and my grandchildren, and that she has already seen everything everyone here has yet to do, and she is so proud. She is so proud. And she’s so excited for us to be there in those places. I also truly think that she’s already back with me in a very difficult to comprehend way. I know that in some way I’m already there with her and that we’re sitting together on the beach, again, and that we’re all there together, again. And that will be more perfect than any perfect idea of what that could have looked like here.
And again I take a deep breath, and I miss her, and I take another one and smile about something she would have told me now or a memory of the way we cuddled next to each on the couch while we read, and I’ll just keep doing that, one wave, one breath at a time. And as my mama said in so many of her letters to me, “Oh how I miss you and count the days until we are together...I so look forward to our hugs.”
Carolann Zuck, age 58, of Ladera Ranch, California passed away on Tuesday, February 9, 2021. Carolann was born January 1, 1963
A graveside service honoring Carolann was held on March 18, 2021 at 10:00 AM, attended by her close friends and family, at Fairhaven Memorial Park, 1702 Fairhaven Ave., Santa Ana, California 92705
Fond memories and expressions of sympathy may be shared at www.fairhavenmemorial.com for the Zuck family.
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