The ringing, ringing, ringing of my phone in the kitchen jolted my mind and forced me awake again. You have to deal with this day, I told myself, You have to meet your brother, there are still people you have to call, you have to go to the church, you have to make decisions and plans.
Plans
The large, hungry chocolate Lab beside me, tongue licking, tail wagging, tells me in definite speak that I must get out of bed and face the day. There were doors to be opened, dog chow to be poured. I reach over and rub her ever-available belly. It's lazy and goofy and I love our mornings but just as I embrace this one, just as I fall into our routine, I snap.
Mom, oh Mom. So much of my life, of my days, for years have been spent in consideration of and caring for her. She struggled for so long. What do I do with that time now? How do I hold the days before the unraveling? Who am I without her? I feel like an orphan, homeless, detached, lost. I've been saying for two days now that I'm relieved she is no longer in pain. And I am. But the face of the woman in the mirror does not speak relief. The face is blank, sad.
I move through my day. We make the decisions. There are memories shared, tears dropped. There are moments of laughter, moments of long glances out the window. I kneel in the chapel, pour prayer from my heart. I buy the dress. I fall asleep on the couch.
I awake in the middle of the night, just now, and look at my finger. I look at the three rings my father had placed on her hand so many years ago. I know exactly who I am. I am their daughter. They live on ever and ever in me. I am, in a word, them.
5 comments:
Oh, Alison, I'm so, so sorry for your loss. Knowing that it was coming is no aid, no comfort, no help. Even less help is the notion that, eventually, the pain will ebb some and life will get easier. That you will laugh again, one day, sooner than you're ready.
Try to keep in mind just how alive you are still, and how much living your parents would want you to do. From your description of them, they were both vital, dynamic people, filled with life. They would want you to live as much as you can. Squeeze the sweetest juice from your life for them. I think that's what they'd both want you to do.
Hi Alison,
My first time here and I'm sorry it had to be under sad circumstances. I followed your comment over at Just Golden.
I'm sorry to read about your beautiful mother's passing. What a rich and dynamic life she experienced. She and your family will be in my prayers.
that is the beauty of this, alison. you are honored to carry them, their memories on.
The title of this post struck such a familiar note with me. I remember going out to buy groceries a few days after we buried my mother. It felt so WEIRD to be thinking about something as mundane as food when my life had fundamentally changed. I remember looking at the other shoppers and thinking, irrationally, that they must be thick-headed not to be able to tell by looking at me that I was different. (Not that they knew me before.) I had to restrain a strong impulse to stop those strangers in the store and tell them, one by one, that my mother had died, that I might look normal to them, but I most certainly WAS NOT.
You're right when you say they'll live on in you. You've learned that from your father, haven't you?
Alison, What a moving post. I know your path must seem so difficult right now, but you will get up, you will go one and you will find ways to fill that time. And yes, they are alive in you.
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