Editor's note: This column is part of a series by Lakeshore residents about their experiences living through the COVID-19 pandemic. 

We buried our mother last week.

It wasn’t COVID-19 that took her. But it took something from us, and it took something from her.

We held a service, but not the service that had once been carefully planned. Her vision and ours was for beautiful flowers on the casket, favorite music played in a traditional manner on the church organ, a comforting sermon, and a eulogy that told of her life.

We had a plan to accommodate a large extended family, neighbors, friends, church families, and more, who would come to pay final respects to the last living member of the Greatest Generation in our family circle. Our friends would be there to support us in our loss and grief.

Simple familiarity lost

As it has for so many, COVID-19 robbed us of an important part of the grief and farewell. It robbed us of the opportunity to gather with cousins, neighbors, people who knew Mom and shared memories of her. It robbed us of the family gathering and memories shared, where we would create a display of photos and memorabilia that told of her life. It left us alone with our thoughts and grief, scrambling for a new plan.

Hazel Bosch died April 2, 2020.

Instead of hugs and voices, and the surrounding of family with more family and friends, we said our last goodbyes at a funeral parlor with seven immediate family members. Entering a silent parlor with nothing but a plain, open casket and a few scattered chairs felt very wrong. 

Thank you, COVID-19, for one more simple familiarity you’ve taken away.

Instead of a large church gathering followed by a meal, we met at the cemetery. A few friends and family lined the rural cemetery road in honor and respect. Some sat in cars in the cemetery to watch, a few stood and watched from a distance.

At least it was warm. At least the sun was shining. Instead of an organ playing hymns, we had a choir of birds in an otherwise silent cemetery. A few words, then a prayer. The family took turns shoveling soft, sandy dirt into the grave. We didn’t have to do it that way. Somehow, it just felt right.

Extraordinary measures

In the days leading up to Mom’s departure, there were people who took extraordinary measures to help and bring comfort to her — and us — in these uncommon times.

The medical staff of Holland Hospital made every effort to assist her with the telephone so we could communicate as best we could through her dementia. They kept her as comfortable as they could without the benefit of family being there to help identify and communicate the needs of an individual with severe vascular dementia. 

The case management staff agreed with our assessment to return Mom to the small adult foster care home where she lived — a familiar place that specializes in memory care — instead of a larger rehab facility with many individuals needing extensive care, and the potential for severe isolation and more complicated communication troubles.

The staff at her adult foster care allowed us access to her. They made her final hours as comfortable as possible for all. Lakeshore Memorial Services of Holland guided us, suggesting alternate plans for a simple service to fit the times.

Be gentle with yourself

Moving on with life through grief is tough in any circumstance. This season we are in makes it even more difficult. I don’t have much advice, other than relying on friends, family, and faith. Drink in as many sunrises and sunsets as possible, surround yourself with comforting music, aromas, and reading materials, and reach out to grief professionals if you find yourself drowning in emotion. 

We live in a time when anxiety is high. Be gentle with yourself, take help when it is offered, seek help when it’s needed. I truly hope you do not have to experience something already so emotionally raw in the circumstances we live in this moment. 

Eventually, there will be an end to this, and life will return to a familiar rhythm once again. Then, we will tribute her life with a memorial, in the way she deserves.

Bev Berens is a Holland area sheep farmer and longtime agriculture reporter. She is also a contributing writer to The Lakeshore. 

This article is part of The Lakeshore, a new featured section of Rapid Growth focused on West Michigan's Lakeshore region. Over the coming months, Rapid Growth will be expanding to cover the complex challenges in this community by focusing on the organizations, projects, programs and individuals working to improve conditions and solve problems for their region. As the coverage continues, look for The Lakeshore publication, coming in 2020.