I want more than fleeting memories. Everything I took for granted seems so ephemeral now, and seemingly insignificant things carry so much meaning. . . the scent of Toujours Moi, a fuschia hand towel, the bench she sat on to primp, a delicate camellia.
I know her attitudes, values, and mannerisms are in me. Her aphorisms ring in my head: “Keep up appearances….Offer it up [to the saints in Heaven]….Early to bed…..”
I want to hear the intonations in her speech, see her perfectly coiffed, dressed and bejeweled in purple. I even miss her challenging habits…that forever and a day grace before meals ending with a litany of every deceased person in our family, her constant demand for attention, and her persuasive talent of coaxing [manipulating] people to follow her agendas.
Condolences imply that death has advantages. “She’s in Heaven with your dad…; she’s in a better place; her suffering is over; brighter days will come; she looks good [in the coffin].” Really?
The reality sets in as I look at her for the last time, just as the viewing of the body is ended. I worry about how cold she is and hope she is aware of the beautiful flowers and the grieving mourners.
I am beyond grief and tears when I hear my five year old great niece ask, “Who’s that?” as she stares at the body of her great grandmother. Out of the mouths of babes….
What is the prescription for the loss of a mother? Elisabeth Kubler-Ross lists a progression of stages we travel through after the death of a loved one. I prefer to remain in the denial stage a bit longer.
