Eyes wide open

Today my mom was buried. That sentence makes me sick to my stomach. Today my mom was buried. They say it gets easier in time. I think they lie.

Another morning of rushing. Never enough time. So very true…in every sense. Not enough time this morning. Not enough time to even stop and think and try to process what has happened. Not enough time with my mom. Not enough time. With the help of friends and family everything that needed to be done, got done…even with not enough time.

The wake this morning was tough. Very tough. Ugliness showed it face once again. When I got there I noticed that the van belonging to stepdad’s kids was right behind the hearse. Not right in my mind. Her kids should be following her. Not her second husband and his kids. His kids weren’t always very kind to her. They should have been, but they weren’t. His family is a mess. Polar opposite from ours. We are close, they are distant. We connect, they miss-fire. Brady Bunch we are not. I politely go up to my stepdad to ask him if he would mind switching cars when my sister comes. It is what my mom would have wanted, I know it. I know it for a fact this time…not like the sandwiches vs. hotdish. I know with all my heart and my being she would have wanted her kids to follow her first. His response is that they parked where they were told to. Again…a little clearer this time, I tell him…no longer a question…more of a statement…”her kids will be following her.” End of story. He once again tells me that he parked where he was told to. I tell him that I will go and clear it with the funeral director. My stepdad wants to have a power struggle and I am in no mood. I think to myself…if push comes to shove today, I will bury him as well. I look for the funeral director. My stepdad beats me to the punch and I see him talking to the funeral director. I am livid, I seethe under the surface. Not today. Not today. My stepdad returns to me, proud as peacock…his car is staying. The spouse follows first I am told in a cocky voice. Those are the rules. He won, or so he thinks. Well…nothing…and I do mean nothing in this world is that black and white. I tell him that it is not acceptable. His kids now rally around him and give me dirty looks and whisper. I don’t care if I am hated. I am used to being hated. It is ok because I know in my heart what I am doing is right. I send an employee to get the funeral director again. In 21 words I change the rules. I said…”I know you have protocol and rules, but her kids need to follow her. It is what she would have wanted.” Checkmate. Done. Easy. Fast. My stepdad looks at me and says…”fine, I am not going to argue with you.” Funny how people surrender when they already lost. They just don’t get it. There was nothing more to argue about because you are moving your van, one way or another it will be moved, even if I have to do it piece by piece. Simple. Clear. Done. I forgot about it after that. I did not want to dwell in the ugliness. That is his world, not mine.

I received a gift at the wake. A gift more precious that flowers. A gift more precious than cards and money. A gift more precious that someone saying “I am sorry”. I was given a letter that was written by my mom to one of her best-friends in all of her life. The letter was written in January 1978, still had the envelope. It cost 13 cents to mail. Now 27 years later it is priceless. The letter talks of how sick my sister was, she wasn’t even a year old yet, and how she almost died. It talks of how sick I was at the same time and how torn my mom was between us. Trying to help us both. It talked about how in the midst of all this sickness the cat got really sick too. The final straw. Once again, her humor coming through in the worst possible situation. I cried. I cried so hard. I think at first my mom’s friend thought she’d made a mistake by giving it to me. That was not true. That was the furthest thing from the truth. It was the best possible gift I could have been given second only to having my mom back. I have the letter next to me now. Thank you. Nothing more I can say other than simply…thank you.

The funeral was amazing. Everything came together just right. It truly was a celebration of her life and who she was. The readings were perfect. The mass was beautiful. The music was beyond amazing. My mom’s funeral…a perfect moment in time. Another gift from God. I have been to my fair share of bad funerals. Not this time, this time it was done right.

My sister and brother prepared a few words to say before my eulogy. I am glad they did. I kept trying to get them to do it. They were unsure. I had no doubt. They needed to do it or else they would regret it. Regret it forever. Like someone said a few days ago…”you only get one shot at this. Get it right now, you will not get this back…ever.” True. Very true. I printed their letters to bring with, just incase I could somehow get them to change their minds, I didn’t want any excuses for them not to do it. I would be prepared for them. My sister did not make it through her eulogy. I had to finish it for her, standing next to her holding her hand. It broke my heart. My brother was able to get through his letter to my mom a little better. A letter he had written a while ago but never got around to giving to my mom. Today mom got the letter. Afterwards they both told me they were glad that they did it. Sometimes big brother does know best. Trust me. When it came to my eulogy I prayed for my mom to be with me and to help me through it. She did. When I started to speak I felt such calmness and peace. I hit a few rough spots, spots where it was still too raw, too real. In my mind I asked for my mom to help me and again…peace and calmness. Many have said that she was with me…they know me and my sorrow and they know that without her I would have never gotten through it. They are right. They felt her too.

And by the way…I held Denny’s hand when we entered the church and followed the casket down the aisle. I had looked over and seen him standing next to me…grieving. Then I saw his kids. Once again, no connection. A voice in my head said to grab his hand and hold it. A gesture of peace and forgiveness. I grabbed his hand and he took my hand and held onto it. He did not let go, so I held on…for him. For my mom. Despite everything she loved him. I don’t think anyone even noticed, which is probably good…because they would’ve never understood. Once again, my mom was present. No other explanation for it.

It was surreal day to say the least. So much sorrow and grief. So many tears and laughter. So very real…in such a bizarre way. People came who I never thought would. People whom I assumed would be there did not show. People have excuses, people have reasons, and people have choices. What you put into this world is what you will reap in the end. Karma comes around, it just takes time. Lessons learned. My eyes are open.