Serin Eggling - Celebration of Her Life; January 29, 2012

Deeply loving selfless mom,
devoted daughter, sister,
sage friend,
luminous spirit,
...all that is beautiful.
~Serin Eggling~
6.28.1943 -- 12.3.2011


Serin Eggling, my beautiful mom, took her last breath in my arms on December 3, 2011. She turned 68 this year in June.

I was her only child. She was my only parent. Our bond was one that grew stronger daily like the roots of an old indigenous tree. And yet her capacity to love allowed her to share herself and care for others far beyond me. Her heart had the reach of the sun and so, so many have been warmed by her light.

A celebration of mom's luminous life will be held Sunday, January 29, 2012, 2:00 PM at Montclair Presbyterian Church in Oakland. A remembrance reception will follow just across the courtyard. It would be an honor to have you join me on this special day.

I've been asked by many where to donate in her memory and know my mom would be touched. In lieu of flowers, donations in her name can be made to one of the following, or a cause of your choosing.

--Prescott Circus Theatre:
Online: http://tinyurl.com/SerinPrescottCircus (Donate button on bottom of page)
Mail: Prescott Circus Theatre, 2425 East 28th Street, Oakland, CA, 94601.

--Montclair Presbyterian Church:
Online: http://www.mpcfamily.org/ (Donate button on right of page).
Mail: MPC 5701 Thornhill Drive, Oakland, CA, 94611

For my mom, every day was a new opportunity to find joy and give love. My mom didn't lose her battle with brain cancer, she won by never ceasing to live
life fully, appreciating her family, her community, her life, and finding light wherever she was.

As we travel through the rest of the holiday season and start a fresh new year, I hope all those she touched can hold on to the belief that her spirit and vibrant energy live forever in each of us, in memories, sunrises, sunsets, birds, song, and all that is beautiful.


With loving gratitude,
Vanessa Hammack

Vanessa Hammack, 4606 Dolores Ave., Oakland, Ca. 94602;

Nothing is Real

I just have no idea who I am or what I will feel day to day, hour to hour. Even when I'm being "productive" or doing something I feel is important, planning a celebration of life for my mom, walking her/my dog, cleaning another area in her house to take away the energy or sickness and loss, no matter what I'm doing/being I feel like its all happening in a bubble. I'm inside looking out - not really connected to anyone or anything. Knowing that the world knows I am there but doesn't know how it really is like to be me, to be in this bubble, not know how to reach me even when trying. I took a hike today w/ an old true friend, and her amazing son, and lots of dogs. I liked the smell out the outside, enjoyed the cool crisp air breezing by while winter sun warmed my face and neck. I spotted a single poppy in the hillside. One bright golden orange fully open poppy on a hill with dried browning grass and rocks and dirt. I pointed it out to whoever was near, and realize my mom has been pointing beauty out to me for my entire life. I found myself laughing and playing freely but it felt like it wasn't really me. Like I wasn't really there. Tonight I just walked into my moms office to get something from mom's printer and as if a wave slammed down on me I fell to the ground sobbing. Maybe the dryness of the day or maybe just a manifestation of my grief my nose started to bleed. I was sucked deeper into sobbing and the painful aching crying sounds coming out of me didn't feel like my own. I wasn't me and yet I was so completely my grief which is me. A few hours later I now feel like I couldn't cry if I wanted to. The only thing that is solid, true, and real is my longing to have my mom sitting here with me, in her house, on her couch, with her dog and her life...and me, her daughter, just holding her hand and ready to do anything in the world she asked for. The only thing that I can really know right now.

Middle of night aloneness.

I hesitantly move through my days, tackling what seems most critical but am blindsided by a suffocating longing at every other step. I'm trying to reconnect with the beauty of the holidays but my efforts are overshadowed by heartbreak -- missing my mom. I'm slowly undoing house aids & systems created as I desperately tried to help mom keep her independence & joy in life but with every note, every label, every book, every medicine bottle, I suffer loss over & over while unanswered questions fill me with dark anger. I'm falling into an abyss of despair that I'm fearful has months or years of darkness I must travel thru before ever seeing the light. My small consolation tonight is that w nobody there, no mom there to tell me it's ok, no friends to talk w @ 3am, probably writing one of my last too long a posts for FB protocol, I wailed sobbed yelled & rocked back & forth enough that finally I'm worn out & can sleep. I welcome deep sleep let me rest from the grief.

Ashes to Ashes.

The beautiful strong body that my mom was able to live a rich vibrant life in for sixty eight and a half years was privately cremated this morning at 10:01. Along with the brain tumor. Along with her most loved head wrap, most worn cashmere sweater, warmest pants, a pair of her favorite socks and soft leather shoes. I honored my mom's body when she passed. I've honored my mom's wishes with a caring respectful cremation. I'll forever, every day, and many days -- every minute, honor the spirit and love and memories and dreams and force that was, and is my mom. Today, with some loving help, I worked in mom's garden. Tended to her roses. Cleared off the stone pathways. Raked fallen leaves. Got my hands deep into the earth and imagined my moms hands tending to this very dirt many many times before. It's a completion to one piece of mom's end of life. It's all just as it should be today. I feel some small earthy peace today.

No Words.

I can't get words down, can't make words work. I am trying. I think I'm trying. Pencil. iPad. Moms laptop. Thinking. Pondering. Doodling. Nothing...nothing can sum up my moms life and end in death and feel good. A page. A fucking page to wrap up a life all tidy and succinct. Start with the "I'm saddened to say"...perhaps the hallmark "lost their battle with cancer", continue with the born here, grew up there, married, babies, career, picket fences and loyal dogs, toss in a few hobbies or proof they contributed to the world, then of course "survived by" listing blood family only, and if it's in the writer of this masterful one page life a nice "never to be forgotten" to close it out. This feels like forced crap. A template for beautifully unique lives. My mom's rich compassionate light filled ended too soon life. I respect the need for this...for formality. For tradition. For communication. For history. However, my block, resistance, pain, anger, judgement, fear, denial, along with some strong tugging unwillingness has produced another wordless day for mom's obituary. I actually feel sick to my stomach typing the word obituary. I notice that Ive been trying to call it anything but.

If tears were words I'd have a novel by now.
I am so sad and lost. I want a different ending. I HATE the end of this story.

I HATE HATE HATE it.

Death Protocol:

Nobody told me & I don't have experience...but im learning...things...like people are waiting for information...so they can plan for mom's service, donate in her memory, send cards, support me. I know I'm allowed to go through the days however I need to...but I'm learning that there is love & support on hold a bit...waiting for me to communicate. Maybe w big families others know this, maybe do it for the person grieving the most...but its just me now...my other half is gone. I know this & yet maybe why I haven't followed or learned the death protocol is b/c death & dead can't find a place in my reality. The words are too unimagineable to feel...

Unimaginable.

Log fire in mom's fireplace brings much needed warmth & also bittersweet memories of just over a week ago...it seems so far away. Holding mom's hand seems so far away. Her home is quiet...all I want is to hear her breathing as I did for months of nights past. Being in the world w/o my mom feels like being in a world w/o the earth or sky or ocean...it's so very unimaginable. I struggle trying to write a legacy piece for my mom. An obituary for mom. An anything that uses words like death, passed, gone. I will keep finding the light. Mom lived in the light her entire light. If she couldn't find it she would be it. I have her light in me forever & I understand this unimaginable void is only b/c I was so fortunate to have been loved and cared in unimaginable ways by my beautiful mom.

Last exhale.

At 5:45pm, December 3, 2011, next to my mom, pressed against her slender warm body, holding her cold hands that stopped receiving circulation, her weak head cradled in my arms, I whispered to her that I would take over breathing for her, that she didn't have to keep fighting, and I told her, I promised her I was going to be OK. A few more labored intakes and sigh-like exhales and my beautiful, loved so deeply and completely mom took her last breath as I took over her breathing. I am numb and still I feel myself drowning in heartbreak.

Transitioning Hours

Watching your changing breath by the light of the Christmas tree and fireplace. Giving all I have to honor your transition...morphine to relax your lungs, soft magical music to nourish your soul, the loving touch of my hand...I'm breathing w you...I'll take over your breath when you are ready...such beauty and deep grief ...and in these final hours your strength, serenity, and your never-ending love for me still carry and help me to finally carry you. No love could be deeper...that love we will both carry for eternity.