A Letter From Heaven

Not sure if she's in heaven or not, but otherwise ... picture perfect.

I miss you, Mom. Always will.
 


It seems appropriate somehow that this popped up in FaceBook feed today.

I was just cleaning up some stuff around the house and found Vicks Vapour Rub (I haven't used it since long before I became an adult, so it must have been my Mom's) and a bottle of her Oil of Olay, which I don't use, but kept anyway. I don't know why ... okay, maybe I do, but ... I don't know why.

It will be nine years in a few short days (Nov. 29) - time to throw this stuff out and move on?

Perhaps, but that's okay ... I still have two of her dresses hanging up downstairs.

Three Weeks Years On

It's hard to believe that it's been three years since I've heard Lex's voice. Actually, in some ways, it feel like much longer.

March 6th was the appropriate date - the anniversary of that sad event. I should have written then, I suppose.

But you see, March 6th is also my youngest daughter's birthday. And, interesting story there - on the first anniversary of Lex's death, I was painfully aware of these two polar opposite events occuring on the same day. On the second anniversary, the fact that March 6th was both the Kit Kat's birthday and the day Lex died was most definitely on my mind from the moment I opened FaceBook. But this year was different.

My baby turned 19, you see (and, by the by, what the hell is up with that?!) and, I am sad to say, the fact that it was also an anniversary of another, much sadder sort slipped my mind. Slipped my mind until I read a Face Book post written by a good friend who, appropriately, I never would have met but for Lex. And then, once again, I experienced that jarring sensation when that juxtaposition caught me unaware and struck me hard - the date my baby was born was also the date that Lex died.

I am "lucky", I supppose, (if that be the right word) ... yes, I *still* miss Lex; but, perhaps not to the depth, to the degree some do. I refer not, of course, to to his "real world" family and friends (no contest there, I am sure), but rather to the more faithful (for lack of a better word) Lexicans, as witnessed on the Neptunus Lex Super Secret FaceBook page.

I still read semi-regularly over there (if reading the first four or five posts at the top of the page a few times a week counts as semi-regularly) and pop up with a comment or post occasionally (okay, very, very occasionally), but ... actually I kind of wonder how people (not just my NepLex friends but all my FB friends) manage to find the time to spend as much time as they seem to on social networks while still meeting the other obligations and needs (including their own) that our reality entails. But that be another story for another day ...

At any rate, I just popped in here to say .. what?

Hmmm, strangely I don't really know. Perhaps just to state that not just as is so evident on the Nep Lex page and elsewhere on the interwebs, Lex is still missed by many significantly quieter voices in the blogsphere (including those who can really can only be counted as semi-irregular regular bloggers, at best).

Fair winds and following seas, Sir ...

Never Forgotten

A FaceBook post by a friend really struck home tonight. She was reposting one of Jann Arden's posts that started like this

I had a break through of sorts a few days ago, right after I had a mini 'breakdown'.... I asked my mom if she thought she would ever forget me and she said, "Well, my brain might, but my heart won't". Those eight words took my breath away. 

"Well, my brain might, but my heart won't " ... those words really struck home for me.

When my Mom was so sick and struggling with dementia, I was very lucky in that there was only one occasion when she didn't know who she was when I came to visit in the hospital.

I bustled around the room, doing my thing and yakking away and suddenly realized something was off. So I sat down on the side of the bed and asked if she knew who I was. "Of course I do" she replied. "No you don't". "Yes, I do". "Okay then, who am I?". The moment of truth ... she looked at me with such peace and warmth in her eyes and simply said "someone who loves me very much". I still tear up just to write of it.

A few months later, after popping up to the hospital for a quick unexpected visit one evening, I told her that I had to leave to pick up my youngest daughter (insert name). It had been a particularly bad day for Mom (they had moved her to another room and her mind had just totally shut down) so when something didn't seem right, I asked "You remember Kit Kat, right?" "No, I don't think I do... ".

I took my daughter's framed school picture out of the closet where they had put it after the move and placed it in her hands. "Now you remember Kit Kat, right?". "No, I'm not sure". I left her with the picture, dropped the subject and started talking about something else. When I turned around and looked at her, she was repeatedly softly stroking my daughter's face on the photograph and once again she had the most peaceful look about her.

When I left that evening, she told me that she had been so afraid that I wouldn't find her because they moved her to another room. I replied, much like you would to soothe a child's fears, that no matter where they moved her, I would always find her. She stopped, seemed to consider that for a moment and then responded, "Yes, yes, I believe you will". Her face visibly relaxed when she said it.

I still miss my Mom desperately even though it's been over six years since that horrible day. But remembering (and writing about) moments such as these, while they pull my heart strings and bring tears to my eyes also bring a smile to my face (albeit a sad one) and a feeling of warmth.

On that note, I came across this poem shortly after Mom died. It, too, spoke to me, which was surprising because I am really not a poetry person.

Which, yeah, I believe I shared that with you before. But maybe I'm wrong, maybe, just maybe when it comes to times of loss, I am. At any rate, I will bid you a fond adieu and leave you with this poem.

And the sentiment that, no matter what, I am so glad that I have this blog that has captured, in perpetuity, such important moments in my life. Because even in reliving rereading such terrible moments of pain and hurt and loss, I can still find love, warmth, (occasionally humour) and a sense of connectedness.

Death is nothing at all, 
I have only slipped away into the next room. 
I am I, and you are you. 
Whatever we were to each other, we still are. 

Speak to me in the easy way you always used. 
Put not difference in your tone, 
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. 

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. 
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. 
Let it be spoken without effort, 
Without the trace of a shadow on it. 

Life means all that it ever meant. 
It is the same as it ever was, 
There is unbroken continuity. 
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? 

I am waiting for you, for an interval, 
Somewhere very near, 
Just round the corner. 
All is well.

Nothing is past.
Nothing is lost. 
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!"

Three Weeks On

It was three weeks ago today that the unthinkable happened.

It was three weeks ago today that the blogging world lost, in my humble opinion, one of it's brightest lights.

It was three weeks ago today that many, many people who had never actually met the man first felt the stinging loss of a good friend.

It was three weeks ago today that the United States lost not only one of its finest sons, but also one of its finest ambassadors to the rest of the world.

It was three weeks ago today that a wife lost her husband.

It was three weeks ago today that two daughters and a son lost their father.

People die every day, don't they? And it's sad of course, if and when we stop to think about it. We know that everybody has a family, that everyone is somebody's child, parent, sibling, spouse or friend.

But we don't think much about it unless and until it happens to someone we know. Then the standard words are "He was too young" or "She lived a good, long life" or, the perennial favourite, "at least he's not suffering anymore".

Capt. Carroll (Lex) Lefon, USN (Ret) was laid to rest today in Sandy Eggo, California.

And yet, there seems to be so much wrong with that statement. First of all, it's hard enough to think of Lex as even being "retired", let alone laid to rest. No, me thinks the man is still soaring in the sky somewhere, doing loops, and twists and turns (perhaps even a split S here and there), rushing up to feel the heat of the sun only to swoop over and fall earthward. And then start all over again. For the sheer joy that is in it.

If Heaven is that reward at the end of one's life, if it involves anything like eternal happiness and bliss, then I am comforted to know that Lex will be repeatedly strapping on his aircraft until the end of time.

But for those of us left behind, gravity-bound to the earth, it's been a long three weeks. A time of great sadness and longing, a time of forcing ourselves to turn our minds to family and work obligations while our chests hurt and our hearts are heavy.

The company of friends (again, generally, most whom we've never "met" in the conventional sense of the word) helps to dull a bit of the sting. We share our favourite stories and memories, often with a chuckle here and a tear there. But we know what we must do, we know that life is a gift and must be treated like the precious thing it is. Our family members, too, are gifts, we know and must be treated with the same high regard.

None of us know for certain how long we will be here. Perhaps the best we can do is enjoy each moment while we constantly cultivate our relationships, remaining open to new ones and never forgetting the lives that have truly deeply touched ours. Perhaps, with some luck, we will even do the same for another some day.

But, for now, three weeks later, it hurts. And the "missing" (whether it be in the form of the hole in the missing man formation, the empty chair at the solitary table or the hole that we know must be in the hearts of Lex's wife and children) can seem so huge, so empty, so sad. So eternal.

To Mary, Christopher, Ashley and Kate - I know chances are slim to none that you will ever read these words yet I feel compelled to share them. Your husband, your Dad touched so many lives around the world. Touched lives that I'm sure even he wasn't aware of. You know better than anyone else what kind of man he was and we can only thank you for sharing him with us. May it help you some tiny amount to even have the smallest sense of how many prayers are lifted heavenwards on your behalf.

After my Mom died a few years ago, a friend (whom, ironically enough, I never would have met but for Lex) told me that you don't get "over" these types of loss; you get *through* them. I have found her words to ring true. I still miss my Mom, some days desperately. And I know I always will. But life goes on. And on. And on. With its highs and its lows, its joys and its sorrows.

And, in my heart, I know that  Lex wanted for his family what my mother wanted for hers, in her absence - in her words, not to be sad, but for us to live our lives and enjoy them.

Three weeks on ... and the world still weeps.

The Watch

For many years,
This sailor stood the watch
While some of us were in our bunks at night, ...
This sailor stood the watch

While some of us were in school learning our trade,
This shipmate stood the watch
Before some of us were born into this world,
This shipmate stood the watch

In those years when the storm clouds of war were seen
Brewing on the horizon of history,
This shipmate stood the watch

Many times he would cast an eye ashore and see his family standing there,
Needing his guidance and help,
Needing that hand to hold during those hard times,
But he still stood the watch

He stood the watch for many years,
He stood the watch so that we, our families,
And our fellow countrymen could sleep soundly in safety,
Each and every night,
Knowing that a sailor stood the watch

Today we are here to say: "Shipmate . . . the watch stands relieved.
Relieved by those YOU have trained, guided, and lead
Shipmate you stand relieved . . . we have the watch!"

"Bo’sun . . . Standby to pipe the side . . . Neptunus Lex is going ashore!"

--H/T to Andy Niemyer - adopted from a traditional poem read at retirement ceremonies

A Poet I'm Not

Many have referred to Lex as a warrior poet (yes, I'm still getting through all those comments although I'm pleased to say I only have about 5 pages to go ... let's just say that I'm taking a lot of detours along the way) and it's far from me to disagree.

The thing is, personally, I'm really not into poetry. There are very, very few pieces that speak to me. So I must admit that on those occasions when Lex would choose to quote passages from "the classics", well, barbarian that I am ... if the quote went on for too long, my eyes simply glazed over. And stayed that way until they could refocus on some real poetry, like Lex's writing.

So I find it passing strange that I've been posting poetry this past week - like I said, usually, very little of it speaks to me. But, if I post something on these pages (I recall a couple of pieces really resonating with me when my Mom passed away so maybe there's something to that), it's because it does.

I came across this tonight and knew I had to share:

"Going home, going home, I'm a going home
Quiet like, some still day, I'm just going home
It's not far, just close by, through an open door
Work all done, care laid by
Going to fear no more
Mother's there, expecting me
Father's waiting too
Lots of folks gathered there
All the friends I knew
Nothings lost alls gained
No more fear or pain
No more stubbling by the way
No more longing for the day
Going to roam no more

Morning star lights the way
Restless dream all done
Shadows gone, break of day
Real life just begun
There's no break, there's no end
Just a living on
Wide awake with a smile, going on and on
Going home, going home, I'm just going home
It's not far, just close by, I'm just going home

Nothing's lost, all is gain, no longing for the day
No more stumbling on the way
No more fret nor pain
Goin' home, goin' home, I'm a goin' home
Quiet like, still some day, I'm a goin' home

I'm just goin' home
I'm a goin' home

H/T to Skippy Maximus

Commentary

Nothing at all against Steve Jobs but ... really?

'She is Gone'

“You can shed tears that she is gone,
or you can smile because she has lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that she'll come back,
or you can open your eyes and see all she's left.

Your heart can be empty because you can't see her,
or you can be full of the love you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember her only that she is gone,
or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back.
Or you can do what she'd want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

David Harkins
Silloth, Cumbria, UK

With thanks to the Kit Kat

Les Miserables

It's been a rough few weeks month around here. I thought just for me, but apparently for all of us. If it was true that misery does indeed love company ... we would all be feeling a mite bit happier, I imagine.

As of last night, I finally went through every single picture from Mom's house, every photo album, every framed photograph and every stray one laying in the bottom of a box. Which, while it gave me a feeling of satisfaction (not that I'm 'done' with them, by any means, because I have quite a stack that I still need to figure out exactly what to do with) also left me feeling even more lost and alone.

I found Mom this morning, in my dreams, in the strangest place. She was in what I was calling a memory stick but was actually something more like the size and shape of I-Touch. Not a picture. Not even video. But actually Mom.

Walking around, smiling, talking with me but trapped inside the device. I realized it as a way to have her back, as the only way to have her back, so I was mostly okay with that and she certainly seemed happy enough in there. Still I remember telling her how much I wish I could actually hug her. Didn't seem to fizz her too much though. But then the alarm went off and I had to leave her behind.

Not too far behind though. It seems like she's been with me (or hovering nearby) most of the day. Not in a good way but in a sad way. And something tells me it's only going to get worse as we come closer and closer to that cursed date 11 days hence.

Ironically enough, the girls will be at bereavement retreat for teens that weekend. How strange is that? I think it will be good though. For them at least. And apparently the Kit Kat agrees. I was a little surprised by her comment the other day that she thought it would be a good place to be right then.

Although I must admit that I find myself wishing I had a similar place to go. I'm far from certain how, exactly, I am going to get through that weekend. And I realized today that my husband has similar feelings. It took me a while to realize (and I must confess, it's still very easy for me to forget) how much losing Mom was a personal loss for him, too. Not 'just' his mother-in-law but because both his parents died shortly after we were married and Mom lived with us or right next door for the past 16 years, I think, in a way, she became his mother, too.

Since we have to take the girls to the retreat which is a few hours away, we have decided to stay in Halifax for the weekend as opposed to spending most of it on the road. Which should be nice; we very rarely get away alone for a weekend. Somehow I don't much expect it to be though. Less something to be enjoyed; more something to be survived.

Heartbreaker

Lex brings us a story to remind us all what really matters in life.

Which brings to mind another wonderful family who honours their daughter's memory every day. By helping other children. And who (coincidentally?) are also blessed with Grace in their lives.

Healing

I have tried my best to avoid our local hospital over the past year.

But I've been up there two or three times since Mom died; once for a workshop and once for blood work, anyway. Still I have managed to avoid the actual wards. Like the plague.

There is a coffee/snack kiosk in the lobby and surprisingly, the coffee is pretty good. Being a true coffee addict, I spent a lot of time there when Mom was in the hospital. One woman, in particular, who worked there (her name escapes me now -I have a good memory but it's a little on the short side) was particularly friendly. Sweet, actually. We chatted a lot and shared a lot of personal stuff.

I've seen her at the kiosk on a couple of occasions when I've been at the hospital since then. And I literally could not physically force myself to walk over there and say hello.

Just. Could. Not. Do. It.

It was too much. Just the thought of it hurt too bad.

I was up at the hospital this morning for blood work. And she was at the kiosk. I was surprised to find that not only could I go over, get a coffee and chat with her but I was compelled to. I really wanted and needed to say hello.

So I did. And shared with her that I hadn't been able to speak to her for the past 11 months. Not until now. She got it. She's still sweet. I wouldn't have expected any less.

I walked out the door with tears in my eyes. But I had to wonder ... perhaps, just perhaps, it was a small sign of healing?

Dear Mom

I miss you so much and some days it hurts so bad I think I will never survive. But I know I will because you would expect no less.

You would tell me that I have a family to think of, who need me to take care of them. And, of course, you’re right.

You would also say that my being sad and crying over you is the last thing in the world you want. You would tell me you want me to live my life, enjoy it and be happy. That I will never doubt. I promise you I will do my best.

You gave me so much. You were my go to person. My rock. Both emotionally and financially. Who do you go to when your go to person is gone? Quite frankly, I’m still trying to figure that out.

You were and are a wonderful mother and an amazing grandmother. We were all so very blessed to have you in our lives. From all the time you spent in the hospital with your one granddaughter to all the hugs, kisses and unconditional love you lavished on the other, to always being there for me, I don’t know how I would have ever survived those early days without you.

I just wish I could have done more for you. I know I had no choice but to put you in the hospital when I did, but how I wish I could have given you what you so desperately wanted and needed and kept you home longer. Please never forget, never doubt how much you were and are loved.

In all honesty, I don’t know what to think. I don’t know whether I will ever see you again or not. But whatever may be, I will never, ever stop holding you in my heart. They say that someday I will be able to think of you, remember the happy times and just smile. I would like to believe that, I really would. In the meantime, I will just remember you and try to smile through my tears.

And I know you will be waiting for that day when you can rejoin Dad, when death will be no more, neither will mourning, nor outcry nor pain be any more, for the former things have passed away.

Until then. I love you, Mom. Always and forever.

Me No Compute

It's nice to see I'm not the only one mystified at all the Michael Jackson hype, that there are many at least some others shaking their heads over the whole debacle.

Because me no compute.

One of the commenters at Lex's states that as a child of the 80s, he can understand some of what’s going on "because Jacko WAS music when [he] grew up. He was also the King during the formative years of many of those who are in charge in the world of media (it’s a relatively young crowd if you think about it). So to them, an idol has passed."

Which reminded me of the comments of one of the DJs on our local radio station this morning; she was quite upset about his death and made a comment to the effect that the only thing that might compete was Elvis' death except he was only someone she and her friends listened to growing up, not someone they were "into" like Jackson.

I was 17 years old when Thriller was released in 1982. So yeah, I guess you could say Michael Jackson was the "in" thing when I was growing up. I can't tell you how many times I watched that video or danced to that song back then. Hell, as a teenager I witnessed the birth of both MTV and Michael Jackson, the superstar. And to think my own kids think they're so cool.

And yet still I shake my head. Me no compute.

Lady Di was only four years older than me. Meaning that I was 16 when she married Prince Charles. I suppose that makes us contemporaries for lack of a better word. And what teenager girl couldn't help but be awed by that fairy tale wedding ceremony?

Yet I recall shaking my head in disbelief when she was killed in 1997. As just one example, I was amazed how my husband of all people, he who has really no interest in anything celebrity, seemed stuck on such a *momentous* event as her death. I didn't get it. And still don't.

Not that her whole life wasn't an interesting story, from her fairy tale marriage to her charity work to her divorce to the conspiracy theories around her death. But. The way it went on. And on. And on. Sorry, I just don't get it. Me no compute.

I was 12 years old and traveling through the US with my Mom, brother, aunt, uncle and little cousin when Elvis died. How well I remember that day. We had stopped for the night at a hotel in Phoenix on our way to the Grand Canyon when the news of his death came on the radio. Of course, it was BIG news. And sad news.

But I was stunned at my aunt's reaction. Basically, she lost it. There's simply no better way to describe it. She cried non-stop all that afternoon and night and into the next day. It may have been probably was a lot longer than that but that's all I can say with absolute certainly so many years later. I mean you honestly would have thought her husband or her 3 year old son (whom she ignored through her tears) had died ...

Me no compute.

No, I simply do not get our fascination with celebrity. How and why people make them larger than life in their own lives. Or how it is that some find people like Michael Jackson "more real than reality", although I agree it's an apt enough description.

On average, one person dies every second as a result of hunger. That's 4000 people every hour. 100 000 people each day. 36 million people each year.

And if that's not compelling enough for you, one child dies every 5 seconds as a result of hunger. That's 700 children every hour. 16 ,000 children each day. 6 million children each year.

How can that compare to the death of any single celebrity, no matter who they are?

Between February, 2002 and April, 2009, 120 Canadian soldiers have given their lives in Afghanistan. Fighting for you and I. How can that compare to the death of any single celebrity?

Obviously, I could go on. And on.

Yes, I recognize that these celebrities had people in their lives who truly loved them. Who will mourn their passing. And of course, that's something I can relate to. Of course, I am saddened for those people. In the abstract.

But the way the rest of us carry on?

Nope. Me no compute. Not one little bit. Frankly I think we're all most of us are simply nuts.

And none of this even touches who or what MJ himself really was. Imagine if I were to actually go there...

Gifts

I quickly looked for a book to grab, nothing too big, nothing too interesting, as I ran out the door to take the Blue Jay to her riding lessons yesterday. I didn't want anything I would get too immersed in, there being too much else I *should* be doing.

I ended up with "The Deep End" by Joy Fielding, likely one of the books I had picked up at the hospital gift store this past summer. Nothing like 50 cents for a paperback and a buck for a hardcover.

It turned out to be small but fairly mighty, sucking me in to stay up to finish it last night. Just your typical "everyone is having a mid-life crisis while some serial killer is out to kill the main female character" kind of thing. Doesn't sound too appealing, does it?

But it was well done or, at least, differently done. I've seen, heard, read enough about men's mid-life crises, their need for fast cars and younger women. This was written from the abandoned wife's point of view whose best friend, apparently, was going through her own mid-life crisis.

And yet, none of this silliness was what I wanted to write about. Our main character, Joanne, has a 95 year old grandfather in a nursing home. With dementia. Whom she faithfully visits every Saturday. Grandpa never knows her, of course, and really only ever opens his eyes to ask if his daughter, Joanne's dead mother, is there. Depressing, huh?

But at one point in the book, Grandpa opens his eyes and he is there. He recognizes and knows his granddaughter. Although fuzzy on some of the details, he is able to ask about her family. And then he asks if she has time to play gin rummy.

As a kid, Joane and her grandpa had played cards all time time. So this is huge for her. She frantically rushes around trying to find a deck of cards. Transported back to her childhood, they play three or four hands. But eventually, inevitably, she can see him start to tire and she has to talk him through every hand. Then he closes his eyes and is gone again.

Heartbroken, Joanne begs him to wake up. Unsuccessful, she holds his hand and shares all her troubles with him, this man who use to be her grandfather, just your typical, run of the mill "my husband has left me, my teenage daughters are driving me insane, I no longer know my best friend and I keep getting calls where someone is threatening to kill me" kind of thing. During this tirade, Grandpa opens his eyes and asks her if she would rather trade places with him.

Three pages later she gets a call from the nursing home telling her that her grandfather has died. "It had to happen sooner or later" Joanne says. "He was ninety-five. "

At which point it struck me ~ "But he gave you such a gift". I know a bit about dementia you see, my mother having passed away six months ago tomorrow (but whose counting?) after a year long battle with dementia and other health issues.

And how well I remember those gifts she gave us. Those times when she came back from wherever she was, to be herself, to be the Mom she always had been, was always meant to be.

It would happen so suddenly, so without warning, that the turn-around was always shocking. Filled with excitement and great hope each time, there was always an equal amount of trepidation. How long would it last this time? And would I finally be able to tell her, to express what I so desperately needed to?

I connected on a visceral level with Joanne as she scurried around asking the nurses for a deck of cards. As she shared those last few hands of cards with her grandfather. Because corny or not (okay, yeah, it was a bit corny), the book touched me at various levels. This one being the strongest.

Those times when a loved one temporarily leaves the fog of dementia, temporarily returns to be with you (invariably as if nothing had happened and they had never been gone and what's the big fuss all about?) are truly gifts. With every moment to be treasured. And carefully packed away for when they once again retreat to another world. Because they will.

Gifts to be taken out and looked at longingly in what at the time seems to be the hardest of times, the worst of all times, when they are still there but are no longer there. When you visit daily but miss them so much it physically hurts.

And, perhaps more importantly, to be taken out and polished, admired and cried over in what really is the worst of times, after they are gone. For those days when it feels like that is all you have left. And then to be carefully put away again, until next time.

Blogging X Two

Yeah, you've heard this whine before. But it really is hard to keep up with two blogs.

Sometimes I will follow a link to someone's Blogger profile and see three or four blogs under the name of one person. It makes me cringe, I tell ya. How do they do it?

And sometimes it seems to go in waves, I might have lots to say on one blog but nothing really motivates me on the other. Which might be slightly better than when I feel oligated motivated to post on both.

But there does seem to be a bit of an ebb and flow ... perhaps that's a creative ebb and flow. Who knew?

Anyway, I did think to share this with you.

A snippet of a song heard in the car today.
One I've heard many times but a few verses of which particularly struck me today. Took on a whole new meaning.

I guess I thought you'd be here forever
Another illusion I chose to create
You dont know what ya got until its gone
And I found out just a little too late
. . .
Now being without you
Takes a lot of getting used to
Should learn to live with it
But I don't want to
Being without you
Is all a big mistake
Instead of getting easier
It's the hardest thing to take...

Some people say acceptance is the last stage. Others say it is only the first step. I will let you know if I ever get there.

But enough of that for now. I really gotta get to work.

Going On

It's funny how life forces you to go on. Whether you actually want to or not.

There's always so much to do ... work, kids, house, work, laundry, kids, cook. Did I mention work?

That somehow, one way or another, you find yourself putting one foot in front of the other. Whether or not you really mean to. Whether or not you really want to. Whether or not you even realize it. You just find yourself doing it.

That doesn't mean that there aren't moments ... moments that sometimes stretch into hours, even days ... where you move as if your body is weighted down by hundred pound weights. Where your mind is not much more than a fog. Your stomach a rock. A lump in your throat. Tears in your eyes. It can hurt so bad. So bad that I can't even convey to you how bad so bad is.

There's a huge piece of me missing. A huge hole, almost less a hole in my life than in my heart, my soul. It's just ... gone. With nothing, absolutely nothing, to replace it.

And yet, somehow, like I said, I find myself doing what I do, living my life (so-called), every day. The majority of people around me would, I think, hardly even recognize that anything was wrong. Because I don't walk around in tears (usually), I do smile and laugh and chat, just like always. And most of the time when I smile and laugh and chat, it's not forced. It's not fake. It's me.

But those other times, oh God, those other times. How truly, deeply, painfully it hurts.

I don't want to accept that Mom is gone, you see. Because, in my mind, to accept that she is gone is to ... accept.

To accept that she will no longer be a party of my daily existence, a part of my life and my children's lives. It would be to move on. And that, that is the last thing in the world I want to do.

And yet, somehow, almost inexplicably, I find myself still going on.

I will slog my way through my never-ending, always-changing to-do-list. I will get through filing Mom's income tax return. And ours. I will attend numerous school meetings, set up a RDSP for the Blue Jay, make phone calls, pay bills, slog through paperwork and tend to all the things, both big and small, that always tend to pop up. And I will work. And work. And work.

And through it all, at times, I will move as if my body is weighted down by hundred pound weights, my mind will be not much more than a fog. my stomach will be a rock and there will be a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. And a hole in my heart.

But other days, the sun will shine, my kids will laugh and I will be (almost) happy and content. Because my Mom is missing. And even on the best of days, almost is as good as it gets.

Update: I never realized until after I posted this but ... three months today. To the day. I miss you, Mom. Something tells me I always will.

Belated Hurt Pain

Does anyone really mind getting belated Christmas gifts?

Not I, I think they're great. An unexpected surprise. At a time of year when a little more cheer goes a long way. I don't even mind belated Christmas cards. After all, it's the thought that counts and they make me smile.

But belated sympathy cards? Not quite in the same ballpark.

Found lurking in the mailbox this morning (no, not the virtual kind) was a package from Palliative Care. Expressing their sorrow at our loss and offering us help and resources. A good idea which might have been much appreciated. Which might still be much appreciated. But, please, over two months after the fact?

Not to be outdone, in the regular Canada Post mail came a sympathy card. From a woman my Mom grew up with, whose name is familiar but who I don't believe I've ever met. But who, ironically, as she pointed out in the card, was my brother's Grade 4 teacher.

Now I appreciate the fact that we dropped the ball by not putting a notice in the local newspaper where my Mom grew up. On the other side of the country. And when we go home this summer to bury Mom's ashes next to Dad, I will be sure to remedy that and have some form of memorial service there for her friends.

And don't get me wrong, I certainly appreciate the sentiments behind this particular sympathy card.

But this is the third belated sympathy card I have received. And despite the best intentions of the senders, all each one does is bring me to my knees. Yet again.

You know when you have a bad cut and it scabs over? And then something unexpectedly pulls the scab off. Or when a nail cracks in half and the tear goes down real deep? And how if you can't fix it right away, a piece of the nail is guaranteed to get snagged on something and pulled back.

You know how much that suddenly, unexpectedly hurts.

Yeah. Like that.

So may I suggest, as a rule of etiquette to keep in mind ...

• belated Christmas cards ~ good



• belated sympathy cards ~ bad.

Update: Some might consider the picture above to be rather harsh. I agree. But did I mention I was having a bad day?

Dreamscape

I can't recall having even one dream in the past two weeks. Not since Mom died. Sure, I know we supposedly dream every night but I remember none ... until today, that is.

Tired out, I went back to take a nap after the girls left for school. But I felt sad and restless. Couldn't really seem to fall asleep. Still, it felt good just to lay there and not move.

And then dream, I did.

I was in an apartment. With my Mom. We were both doing our own thing, just another ordinary day. But then I walked into the kitchen and saw that she was trying to get out a stain (blood, perhaps?) from a sheet from the hospital. She was determined to get rid of this stain but wasn't having much luck. I told her to give up, that she would never get it out. That I had sheets from the hospital that I had never gotten the stains out of it. [Disclaimer: it was a dream, okay?]

Then I was outside walking around. So very, very sad. Because my Mom was gone. I was walking around barefoot and somehow knew that this was very inappropriate to the season. With my head down. Sobbing softly and moaning. Because my Mom was dead. I passed by some people and recall thinking that they would think I was nuts. But to hell with them, my Mom had just died.

My Mom had just died. The thought repeated itself over and over again in my head. And then suddenly ~ click! I remembered that I had just been with my Mom! What the hell? I picked up my head and started running back to the apartment to find Mom. But I didn't get more than ten steps and there she was, calmly walking towards me.

Mom. As she was. As she had been before the past year of sickness. The Mom I knew.

I ran up to her and gave her a huge hug, which she returned. Then I pulled back, looked into her face and told her how much I love her. I recall having an insight at that moment. This was Mom, the real Mom. And now I could tell her again how I felt. She returned the sentiment, of course.

And then she said goodbye, turned around and started walking away. Now this is the weird part, as if the whole thing wasn't really strange enough. There were no tears, no recrimination or pleading for her not to leave. I simply stood there and said goodbye to her as she walked away. A couple of times as I recall. Each time, she stopped, turned around and said goodbye again. The last time, I told her that I wished she didn't have to go. She turned, said "I know" and then kept walking. And yet somehow, it was okay.

The dream immediately switched to something else. I was walking on the same street but going somewhere else with all thought of Mom gone from my mind. Well, that's not entirely true. It was like a second dream and I was still very sad, with no memory of what had just happened. And so the dream continued.

I was stunned when I finally woke up. Went over the dream about Mom carefully, so that I would remember it. And then asked myself "What the hell that was all about?" I suppose it was just something my mind had to do, to find a way to say goodbye to Mom. The real Mom as I knew her. The way she had been.

Although I would like to think that maybe, just maybe, she had come back to say goodbye to me. But that would most certainly not be in line with Mom's beliefs as to what happens after death. So I don't know, suppose I never will.

But what struck me the most was how matter of fact, calm and peaceful the goodbye was. Perhaps some day that memory will bring me some peace.

Struggling ~ Yet Strangely Comforted

"Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name,
Speak to me in the easy way you always used.
Put not difference in your tone,
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort,
Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was,
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am waiting for you, for an interval,
Somewhere very near,
Just round the corner.
All is well.

Nothing is past;
Nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!"

~ Canon Henry Scott-Holland, 1847-1918,
Canon of St Paul's Cathedral

Today...

The memorial service for Mom is this afternoon. I so don't want to do this. Can't I just crawl back into bed and stay there?

Will today be the day when it really hits me? I am starting to think maybe ...