Slowly becomes real

Today was the visitation or wake as some call it, for my mother. As usual it was a day of rush and not enough time. Biggest crisis was that we could not find the rosary. The rosary that my sister gave mom for Easter from Isabella, my mom’s precious granddaughter, my sister’s daughter and my niece and godchild. The rosary was a gift that my mom wanted to have with her in the coffin and then given back to Isabella on her first communion. My mom held onto the rosary as she died. Rosary in one hand, my hand in her other. We could not find it. I was sick to my stomach. My sister was sick to her stomach. After all the careful planning and preparation, how could we have forgotten the rosary? I only remembered about the rosary when I realized I did not have it on my way to the visitation. Thank God for cell phones. I assumed she had it. She assumed I had it. It is dangerous to assume. Lesson learned today. After much searching and me turning around, knowing it would make me late to my own mother’s visitation, we had to find the rosary. Keep looking, I am on my way. As I arrived back into town the phone rings. Rosary has been found. It was in my suitcase. Of course. I had put it there for safekeeping. Knowing that no matter what happened this week, I would have my suitcase…thus, I would have the rosary. Why do we put things away in places for safe-keeping? I know I never remember what is kept where. How safe is that?

I got to the funeral chapel on time. Another miracle. There have been a lot of them this week. By all accounts I should have been late, very late. I was the third to arrive. My step-brother and his wife were already there. I know there names, nothing really more. They are born-again, ultra-conservative, not very accepting. They are pretty much everything I try to avoid in life. But, here we are again…face to face. Funny life turns out. My mom knew how I felt about them and many others. I kept nothing from her. Wear your heart on your sleeve. So here we were, brought together by my mom. The irony of it all. I said hello…coldly and matter of fact. Why pretend to be close now? My mom hated fake emotion and fake pleasantries. Be real. Not cruel, but real. Then I glanced over and noticed my mom in her casket through the tiny window on the door. I lost my breath. I felt like I was being slammed against a brick wall. I moved quickly through the doors. The tears falling heavily already. I was the first of her kids to see her. As I got about halfway up the aisle I stopped. I could see her clearly. It did not look like her. It did not look like her at all. Who is this stranger laying in my mom’s casket? My legs started to give out. I almost collapsed right there…in the middle of the aisle, in the middle of chapel. Then I felt hands on me. It was my step-brother and his wife. They helped me to the casket and basically held me up. I kept crying and crying and crying and crying. The only thing I could say was “oh my God” over and over and over and over…like a stuck record. Oh my God. After a few moments I began to recognize parts of her…slowly…very slowly. Oh my God. I touched her. So cold. So stiff. So…not her. Like a statue. Not my mom. Oh my God. It was a devastating moment that is burned in my memory. But, oddly enough I was comforted by two people I never thought possible. The irony of it all. My mom bringing us together for a reason. In the end I am thankful that they were there, I was not alone.

There was one person there who I was not thankful to see at first. A person who annoyed my mom often. And by often, I mean all the time. It is not her fault. She was born that way. I avoided her. Not wanting to even deal with it. I saw her walk up to the casket. I turned to my friend Tammy who was sitting next to me. We had been talking about grief and surviving and life. Tammy suffered the loss of a stillborn child. Some wounds never heal. I turned to Tammy and said, referring to the annoying person…”if she goes flying across the room we will know for sure that my mom is here. My mom cannot stand her.” I don’t know why I said it. It was bad enough to think it, but to say it. What is wrong with me? Grief. Grief makes you say and do cruel things. Grief. You feel nothing but hurt and pain and want others to feel it too. It was a moment of ugliness. I looked up and she was walking back down the aisle towards us. Trying to avoid her, I lowered my head. It did not stop her. She walked right up to me. I looked up, annoyed, thinking…not now…now ever…couldn’t she see I was hurting? All she said was “I am sorry about your mom” and tears fell down her face. She walked away. It was a blow that knocked me sideways. I started to cry and looked at Tammy as this annoying person, broken and fragile, walked away and said “I feel like such a jerk.” Tammy just looked at me…honestly and understandingly, and said “because you are.” She was right. I was wrong. This annoying person I was avoiding was there to comfort me and I was cruel. I regret it. I regret all of it. It wounded me. I am sorry. She had seen I was hurting. That is why she was there. That is why she said…”I am sorry about your mom.” and cried. I am eternally sorry. Even though she did not hear and does not know what I said. I am still so very sorry. Sorry. Once again I was wrong. Sorry. You are the better person. Sorry. Please forgive me. Forever sorry.

The flowers were beautiful. The people were kind. There was sadness and sorrow and grief, but also a lot of love. My mom was loved by many. Terri came dressed in a costume that my mom had sewn. A group of wonderful friends my mom and I have become close to through the theatre productions over the years sang a great version of “Hooked on a Feeling”- my mom’s favorite song. People shared stories of how she touched their lives. It was hard but also strangely comforting. I heard quite a few whispers of how many flowers there were. Love.

As I looked at her in the casket. I realized that she wasn’t there. She was all over the room, her spirit moving through us all. She was in our tears and our laughs. She was in us and always will be. I miss her. I miss her with all my being.

I feel like a wounded animal. Lying deep in the woods, slowly dying but still alive. A wound that causes nothing but the most intense pain. A wound that is deep. A wound that won’t cause death right away but will cripple and devastate and hurt. A wound I will have to live with for the rest of my life. Pray.