This week was scheduled to be a week in California with Elizabeth’s family. Those plans changed just moments before getting in our Uber to the airport.
My father’s name popped up on my phone…
“Stephen, your mother fell and hit her head. We’re at the hospital, and she’s not going to make it.”
I sat down in the corner in silence. Just like that, my mother was gone.
I was angry at the onset of the phone call because of what led up to this. My mother has been struggling with her mental health ever since she retired about five years ago.
She has had bouts of not eating and not taking care of herself. She had missed countless appointments, which she normally would never miss. This caused her quality of life to quickly deteriorate.
All of this ties back to her mental health.
Over the past two years, she ended up in the hospital multiple times after she fell from being so weak.
Unfortunately, no matter what anyone said, it wasn’t making a difference. She was not her “centered” self; she was conditioned to believe things that were not true.
This last week, she fell for the final time. She hit her head and never regained consciousness.
The last words I said to her over speaker phone were, “I love you, Mom. I’ll see you again.”
After the anger from the beginning of the aforementioned phone call, sadness took over.
I didn’t have a very close relationship with my mother over the last few months of her life. Once she quit trying, I had a really hard time staying in touch. Every phone call was more frustrating and painful, so after years of trying, I stopped.
The entire situation is just… shit. It sucks.
My mom didn’t feel she was loved, while the reality was just the opposite. That especially was the case with my sister. I swear to you, my sister talked to my mom every day for 35+ years.
My sister and my mom were tight as hell. Thick as thieves! My mother was very proud of her children (especially her daughter wink-wink), and my sister loved the hell out of my mom.
My sister did everything she could to help my mom. I admire her efforts beyond words.
As I sit here writing, I am inspired to try and prevent something like this from happening again.
I believe that is rooted in transparency, often seen as vulnerability.
Over the last five years, as I’ve learned a tremendous amount about mental health, I began sharing it with my mom on a regular basis.
One thing that always stuck out was that my mom wanted to listen, but when it was all said and done, the rubber didn’t hit the road.
She would go over some challenges she was having, and I’d inform her on the cause of it and the similarities we both had. I showed her how certain modalities helped me and how she can implement them too.
She said she wanted to…
These conversations went on for years. When my mom would get a little irritated, she would tell me she wasn’t a crazy person, she didn’t have some sort of screw loose.
That’s where this stigma really hits home. My mother was struggling with her mental health, and to admit that would mean…
She was a failure.
She was crazy.
Something was “wrong” with her.
That crushes me. The truth would have set her free, but the perception, the stigma, it blurred her vision.
That prevented her from living as her divine self, love. She lived her life in an endless dream, as it’s called in “The Four Agreements.”
“The evidential mind (dream) is a despicable master but an indispensable servant.”
This dream took over once she retired; once she lost purpose. Her mind endlessly looped, and she never regained control.
She went from literally making fresh, organic meals every day to barely eating at all. She went from exercising every day to not leaving the house for weeks at a time.
She lost her appetite, started drinking more, and began backing out on things like family events.
This is how fast we can start “sinking” and how dangerous it is. I don’t want anyone to go through this.
We can help each other by being more transparent. If things are fucked up in your head, that’s ok, there’s a way out. That way out is most likely not easy, but there’s a way out.
There’s a way through, I should say.
If we are more transparent as a society, we will normalize mental health and how mental health is on a continuum.
Just because you’re “sinking” for a while doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. As a matter of fact, that’s what the norm really is.
It takes all of us to normalize mental health. Just go ahead and talk about it.
If my mom would have felt more comfortable in her own skin, she would still be here.
I wish she was.
As I’m writing this, I’ve just finished up the saddest hour of my life. I sat with my father as we just cried in the living room.
He kept apologizing for tearing up… I would promptly decline his apology.
I told him, thank you. Thank you for being transparent with me.
Thank you for being here with me, Dad.
As he went to bed, I just sat in my living room and took it all in. I didn’t distract myself, I just sat with it. I urge anyone in the mourning process not to distract yourself, but instead be with your emotions so you can understand them.
Then, make a plan and get after it. That’s helping me.
Now comes the next chapter of life. My dad is alone in my hometown and not in the best health. All my years of casting vision and planning are being put to work to help him make a plan. This includes selling the house he built 44 years ago.
Not the conversation any son wants to have with his father.
As I’ve said in many other writings, I’m going to do my absolute best. I’m going to stay centered no matter the response because that’s what he needs from me.
I miss my mom, but I’m at peace knowing she is no longer in pain. I do believe there is a God, and I believe she is now with God and at peace.
Below is the obituary I wrote for my beautiful mother.
Cheers to Patti. I love you, Mom.
PS: Special shoutout to my dear friend and flat-out hero, Kyle. Kyle was at my parents’ house before the ambulance. Kyle was there the entire time with my dad. Kyle was there during my mom’s final moments at the hospital. He has been there for my family for nearly every emergency over the years. He truly is a hero, and I love him dearly. Thank you, Kyle. You are such a wonderful human.
Obituary for Patricia Ann Jurgella
Patricia Ann Jurgella passed away peacefully on November 23rd, 2025, leaving a void in the hearts of all who knew her. Born on May 19, 1955, in Wisconsin Rapids, Wisconsin, she resided in Stevens Point, where her vibrant spirit brought light and laughter to every room.
A true caregiver, Patti devoted herself tirelessly to her children, mother, and the rest of her beloved family. She was a hard, driven worker who knew the value of nurturing life, both in her professional endeavors and at home. She possessed a wonderful sense of humor and was, quite simply, “a hoot.”
Patti’s passion for life was evident in her thriving annual garden, her love for flowers, and her commitment to healthy eating. She generously extended her love through food, always making extra so everyone could enjoy a wonderful meal. She cherished going for walks, especially on the beach, and was a devoted fan who loved watching her children play sports.
Above all, her greatest love was her family.
She is survived by her loving husband, Mark Jurgella; her daughter, Aschley (Ronald) Jurgella Kezeske; her son, Stephen Jurgella, and her grandchildren Eleanore and Leonard Kezeske. A celebration of life for Patti will be held in the summer of 2026.
