Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice.

Ohhh hi Grief, I didn’t see you there.

(no spoilers, promise!)

I saw the new Beetlejuice (it’s a sequel not a remake!) and I know my mom would have loved it. I know we would have smuggled in our own popcorn and gone for Andy’s Frozen Custard after to discuss the gems from the OG Beetlejuice like Delia Deetz’s art sculptures, Lydia’s choppy bangs, and the chalk door on the brick wall.

I know we would have been movie quoting that entire day and several days after over text. And I know I would ask her, just like in the movie, “if you could draw a door and walk through to the After Life, would you?” No saying goodbye. No pain. Easy Peasy. Just draw a door, and walk on through. I wonder what she’d say.

I think about my After Life outfit (my ghost outfit). Not in a way like I’m headed to an event “OMG, what am I going wear?” Sometimes when I leave my apartment, I’ll comment to myself "ooo this a goooood ghost outfit”. I think about what clothes my mom is wearing in the After Life - she’s in her favorite Daisy pajamas. 

I can hear her right now interjecting to me calling it the After Life: “Say heaven, I’m in heaven. Did I tell you the joke about heaven?”

My dad was definitely the funny guy in the family followed by my brother as a close second. But when my mom had a solid story with a punchline, she was so funny. Mostly because SHE would tell you after the punch line how funny she thought it was, and THAT was funny. I remember her telling the heaven joke over and over and over sometimes adding in completely unnecessary details (like my dad would’ve done) for extra flavor.

My mom was highly functional and aware of her diagnosis, and she tried to keep her identity protected as a mom, Grammie, teacher, friend. I know she is/was happy with her life (and her death honestly). I know she used the heaven joke like armor to make people more comfortable with HER cancer and HER impending death. If people were laughing, the conversation probably wouldn’t go further into the dark stuff.

Despite being functional and aware, she was still having an identity crisis. She was teaching high school math over Zoom while getting chemo. She was having a slumber party with her grandson, even though she knew she’d be taking naps for most of it. She was planning every detail for her funeral from the flowers to the color of her dress. She bought the same dress in different colors depending on the season she died- teal for spring/summer and maroon for fall/winter.

Her funeral dress was maroon.

As her caregiver, I was also having an identity crisis. My role and orientation with friends, family and even my mom had changed. I wanted to to protect her identity at all costs. I wanted to shake everyone that was interacting with my mom and shout at them: “LOOK AT THAT FUCKING MOUNTAIN WE’RE GOING TO HIT! DON’T YOU SEE IT!!!”

My mountain: Losing my mom.

Doesn’t everyone else see it? I wanted to scream at her students who refused to turn on their Zoom cameras. (My mom is teaching YOU while being pumped full of chemo! PAY ATTENTION!) I wanted to scream at my brother for ordering the same ol’ same ol’ for dinner (We always order this! Why can’t we order something different and special for Mom?!) I wanted to scream at the woman at the store who kept repeating “You’re past our return policy window. There’s nothing I can do.” (I was preoccupied because my mom has fucking cancer! Why can’t you just make an exception?!)

I thought everyone saw the same mountain as me.

I was so mad that they didn’t see my mountain. I was so mad at them for not orienting their entire thoughts and lives to not hitting this mountain because that’s what I’m doing. I’m changing everything about myself so we don’t hit that mountain! I’m doing all the things to brace for impact!

Ohhh hi Grief, I didn’t see you there.

My mountain was so obviously losing my mom. I saw it so clearly whenever I Googled pancreatic cancer: there was my mountain. Whenever I would see her wake up in the morning and immediately go to the couch to take a nap because she was exhausted, there was my mountain. When there was an accidental overdose of morphine at 1AM and I had to single handedly find a Walgreens that was 1.) open at 1AM and 2.) had this med in stock, there was my mountain. 

There’s not a sense of community in that. People can understand how difficult those things sound, but they’re not living it. They’re not feeling that. They’re not in it.

I didn’t realize that my mountain was different than someone else’s mountain.

I didn’t realize that me losing my mom was different than my brother losing his mom and her mom losing her daughter and her sister losing her sister. I thought we would all had the same mountain. It’s incredibly difficult knowing that you have a different mountain than someone and that you will eventually crash into that mountain AND you will survive.

I didn’t realize that losing my mom would demolish me. And somehow, I still have bits of my identity. 

I didn’t realize that I was not in charge of making sure we didn’t crash into the mountain. 

My mom had so many sayings - mostly amazing bits of knowledge and wisdom. I specifically remember one that I hated though: “When you get married, your kids become first. Your husband becomes second”. I remember asking her once - where are you on that list, Mom? 

And there it is. She rarely put herself on that list. 

And as her daughter, I felt the enormous pressure to be the bestest caretaker because I was number one on her list. I was her number one. Her husband was gone. She would soon be gone. I was number one on her list.

And she was number one on mine.

If someone were to give me a piece of chalk like in the movie Beetlejuice and say “draw a door, and you can go to the After Life”, the answer would be easy for me. I miss her so much that I don’t think I’d hesitate. I’ve already suffered the worst possible pain of losing my mom. I survived hitting that mountain head on.

And that’s what it was for me - I was trying my hardest to protect her and myself in the only ways that I knew how: fixing, healing, controlling. The exact ways my mom taught me. I completely let go of my identity to step into my “new” identity which was fixing, healing, controlling. I took myself off the list.

If a little kid is chasing a ball into the street, you would scream “STOP” to alert them the severity of the situation and protect them. If there is an emergency, someone will scream “Call 911!” to alert others the severity of the situation and protect them.

My mom was dying. And I thought if I yelled loud enough, people would see the severity of the situation, help out and I wouldn’t crash. I was in an emergency trauma response at all times. I was going to crash into that mountain. Nobody else was on the plane except me, heading straight for this giant mountain.

And the worst part is that I was going to survive that crash.

Losing my mom was different for me than it was for you. Or my brother. Or my mom’s mom. Other people’s mountains were smaller. Or in a different area. Or not as scary as my mountain.

When things got really hard, I think if someone gave her the choice to travel to the After Life, my mom would have. Because life gets really, really hard. Too hard sometimes. Of course she used the heaven joke to survive HER mountain - losing the memories that she could have made with her family. Her grandkids growing up. My wedding. Family vacations. She was going to crash into her own mountain but would not survive.

“The Heaven Joke”… as edited and told by my mom:

When you first gets to Heaven, the two main things you notice are:

Ohh hey you’re HERE!!! (Excited to see someone made it in)

Ohh wow YOU’RE here?!? (Can’t believe they made it in)

It is said that St. Peter was troubled when he noticed the presence of several souls whom he did not remember having let in through the pearly gates of Heaven. Souls that probably shouldn’t be in Heaven, the promised land.

He went diligently to the Lord and said to him “Hey Jesus, uhhhh we got a little problem here. There’s some riff raff getting in and it’s not ME letting them in. But they’re getting in somewhere.”

Jesus responded “We can’t let this happen. Find out where they’re coming from.”

He then began to investigate. After a few days asking around, St. Peter went back to Jesus with the news. In fact, there was a back entrance through which an impressive number of souls were constantly sneaking to Heaven.

St. Peter hesitantly told Jesus “I found out what’s been going on. You’re not gonna like it.”

Jesus responded “WHAT DID YOU SEE?”

St. Peter spilled the beans “It’s YOUR MOM! She’s sneaking people through the back door!”

And then my mom would add in “So if I don’t get to pass through those pearly gates of Heaven, I’ll just go to the back door! Mary, THE MOM will let me let in!”

Wherever my mom is, I can’t wait to see you again. I don’t even care what my outfit is. And if I don’t make it past the pearly white gates of Heaven, I’ll meet you at the back door;)

~Jen