A sunrise in
Astoria, viewed
from the Port
of Astoria.
Aaron
Breniman
photo
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THE DAILY ASTORIAN • FRIDAY, JULY 13, 2018 • 1C
THE SUNRISE OF
MY MOURNING
After losing my mother, the importance of time and
being truly present with loved ones becomes clearer
By AARON BRENIMAN
For The Daily Astorian
L
ast fall, I wrote about the moth-
er-son trip I took to the Astoria
area to celebrate my mom’s birth-
day. We talked, shopped, dined, natured
and rested.
Last week, I picked up her ashes.
In December, I wrote: “Nobody
expects their parents to live forever, but
in the mundaneness of day-to-day life
intentional time together can get lost,”
and “I realized that the most important
gift I could ever give her was my time, as
she had given me hers for so many years.
Fully focused, attentive time.”
I remember thinking so many times
over the past year: Cherish this — you
won’t always have the opportunity to do
so.
During the week of her passing, I
had cleared my calendar to be in Can-
non Beach with a group of friends for the
56th annual Sandcastle Contest. I realized
later that I had really cleared that time to
walk my mother home. She passed away
on June 15 due to complications from a
stroke.
In the time since then, I’ve begun my
grieving. I’ve cried more than ever before,
and I now see everything about my
mother, and the impact she had on every
area of my life, in a new light. As I’ve
started the sunrise of my mourning, I’ve
moved through these moments largely
present, strengthened by a faith and peace
beyond understanding. I’ve reflected on
this new phase, revisiting many places we
explored last fall, this time while watch-
ing an explosive sunrise to mark my
mourning.
I’m fairly young-ish; I turned 40 a
week after she passed — a birthday I chose
to celebrate who I am today because of
who my mother was. These are the many
gifts she’s given me that will live on, that
I never fully received until she’d passed.
I’ve moved from spiritually focused
during dark, quiet nights alone in hospital
rooms, to tactically supportive roles doing
whatever needs to be done for my father
and family, to just now beginning to have
space and bandwidth to take in the loss.
Mourning’s sunrise is just beginning.
I’ve read and read, including the words
of French literary theorist and philoso-
pher Roland Barthes’ “Mourning Diary,”
which he wrote on scraps of paper daily
for two years following the death of his
mother in 1977, and theologian and nov-
elist C.S. Lewis’ “A Grief Observed,” a
work that gives context and comfort to
my tornado of new emotions. And the
“Losing Your Mom” CareNotes brochure
a friend picked up for me in which Peggy
Heinzmann Ekerdt writes:
“This is what we lose when our moth-
ers die. We lose the person who rejoices
in our accomplishments and agonizes in
our struggles; the person who thinks we
should win every race, woo every beau or
belle, and succeed at every job; the person
whose first urge is to protect, shelter, and
guide us; the person who knows what is
best for us, or thinks she does; the person
Courtesy Aaron Breniman
Susan Breniman, who passed away last month, carries around baby Aaron in her backpack.
Aaron Breniman photo
Last fall, Aaron Breniman took his mother, Susan, on a trip to the Astoria area for her birthday.
Here they are at the Peter Iredale shipwreck at Fort Stevens State Park.
who brags about us in our absence and
offers advice in our presence. In sum, we
lose the person who is our biggest fan and
our most ardent defender.”
These words have provided perspec-
tive and a springboard into my mourn-
ing. As have the little things I’ve discov-
ered in the past weeks — like the stories
and memories of people near and far
whose lives had been impacted by who
my mother was and how she lived, their
words driving me to tears held tightly
between pain and pride.
And other simple things, like finding
all the links to my writings in my mom’s
internet “favorites,” or rereading her
words written in texts or emails or listen-
ing to the final voicemail she left.
And through it all, I’ve come to know,
even more so than before, that life isn’t
about money or things, job titles or pro-
motions, and the grass will wither and
the flowers fade. Life is about the time
and love we give to family, friends and
strangers — like my mom always did.
And it’s about being fully present in these
moments with others, because we never
know when we’ll run out of tomorrows
with the ones we love.
As it says in 1 Corinthians: Love never
ends.
Aaron Breniman is an outdoor rec-
reation enthusiast and freelance writer
working on his first book. Contact him or
find him on the socials via aaronbreni-
man.com.
LIFE IS ABOUT THE TIME AND LOVE WE GIVE TO FAMILY, FRIENDS AND
STRANGERS — LIKE MY MOM ALWAYS DID. AND IT’S ABOUT BEING FULLY
PRESENT IN THESE MOMENTS WITH OTHERS, BECAUSE WE NEVER KNOW
WHEN WE’LL RUN OUT OF TOMORROWS WITH THE ONES WE LOVE.