Sunday, July 12, 2015
Hey, Mom! Talking to My Mother #7 - One Week
Hey, Mom! Talking to My Mother #7 - One Week
Hi, Mom, So, it's been over a week since you drew in your last breath. I might have acknowledged this fact yesterday, but I thought I should mention the Friday night visitation and the Memorial Service instead. I will spend at least a week and possibly more describing the visitation and service, though intermittently. We should spread out that good time!
I thought of you at 10:10 a.m. this morning. At some point, I will surely photograph a clock at 10:10 a.m. You picked such an interesting time to die. Two tens. Double ten. Readers, I don't have any interpretation for the time other than its duality and its memorability.
You also helped, Mom, by waiting until July Fourth to pass away. We will always be able to honor you and your passing each year on a day that is easy to remember.
My sister claimed that it's fitting that you died on the Fourth of July as it was a "non-holiday" in our family. In a sense this is true, we never threw a party. You did not have a box of Independence Day decorations. But we did things. We often went to Turkeyville on that day. Often, we went to the holiday parade in Richland, the one that prevented anyone from coming to get your body for over two hours. We often bought food from the annual chicken barbecue. And as my sister illustrated in her eulogy yesterday, you made a pie for the bake sale. Because your pies were so loved, yours was often pre-sold, someone bought it before you even brought it to the park. And we did watch a lot of fireworks in our lives. Occasionally we had our own, though mostly sparklers, on which we all burned our fingers.
I will think of you any time I use kitchen matches.
A week. Not a very long time and yet it felt like one of the longest weeks of my life. I put a lot of work into my eulogy, which I will share with you here, a bit at a time. But I know you already heard me. I know you like it, and you are proud of me.
A week. I am not sure how I will keep going, and yet I have no choice. Each minute opens up before the last. Time flows around me, and I am carried along on its current. And I have things to do: work and homework and dishes and laundry. The lawn needs mowing, and the dog needs walking. Liesel is stressed about her school work, and she needs my love and support as much as I need hers.
So, life goes on. It's such a cliché, and yet it's so true. We all must continue living and doing things that need doing, and we hope that it gets easier to do those things without you here. I feel you watching me. I hear your voice. I sense your presence. But it's not the same. I can't see you. I cannot give you a kiss, not today, and probably not tomorrow.
Though I feel you, I also feel empty.
I will always hold Richland dear to my heart as it's where I grew up. But already I have lost one reason to visit. You and Dad have always been my anchor, and I feel like I have lost half that anchor. And yet not, also. (I think there's going to be more content forthcoming on this anchor metaphor.)
You are here. (You readers can't see me, but I am pointing to my chest. Mom, I know you CAN see me, so you know what I mean.)
You are in my heart, and I am in yours.
You are all around me, and I am within your spirit, which holds me tight with love.
That's a pretty good ending, isn't it? Readers, pretend that is the ending as it's a nice final comment.
But I have a few maintenance type matters to work through.
Today's photo is from our trip to Britain in 1986. Obviously, that's us in front of Stonehenge. I like that you are holding my sister's hand. I like your smile.
Blog Housekeeping Stuff. This next bit will be back-posted to the first entry and the explanation of this blog feature. (Don't forget that there will be other blog posts on this blog, not just about you, MOM.)
At this writing, I see blog posts for Hey, Mom! grouping in three categories.
1. WORKING ON GRIEF: I need to work through my feelings, and I am going to do that by talking to you about my grief and the grieving process. The early stages of this will be the big stuff, such as the Memorial Service, making photo albums, and the anniversaries of your death, such as the first week, the first month, and so on. Some of this content may be as short as one line as I share one thing that made me think of you that day, Mom. The grieving process will have many facets.
2. MEMORIES: Though I am recounting memories as much for me as I am for you, Mom, I will recount memories from all the great times we shared in the last 53 and a half years. Readers may also enjoy this type of posting.
3. JUST STUFF: I miss talking to you in person and on the phone. So some of the posts or contents of posts will simply be things I would have shared if you were still here on this earth in physical form. For readers other than you, Mom, it won't all be "big" stuff. Some of it will be rather mundane. But then I know you loved my stories, Mom. You loved to hear about what was going on.
Bye, bye, for now.
Have someone give you a kiss, and tell you that I love you.
Talk to you tomorrow, Mom.
- Days ago = 08 days ago
- Bloggery committed by chris tower - 1507.12 - 14:15