A difficult couple of months...have been the most meaningful and blessed ever.
My mother died on October 11, 2014.
No one ever writes those words without bearing a heavy load on their heart. However, I can't say I was too shocked to hear my sister tell me this news over the phone on an otherwise regular Autumn Saturday afternoon four years ago, as our mother had been dealing with poor health for almost 10 years prior, but she wasn't suffering from any acute end-stage illness at the time, either--so it did come as a surprise that day.
I always had the thought in the back of my mind--about what that day would be like when I got the terrible news. It's every little child's worst nightmare to hear that their mother has died and as a kid my imagination often dreamed up the worst scenarios. I always imagined that I would just lose it emotionally, be in hysterics, not be able to go on...but if enough time passes you grow up a bit. Life's experiences give you some control of your feelings--At the very least in an attempt to resemble looking like an adult. But, of course, that didn't mean I stopped thinking about it...worried about getting that call. On the contrary, since my mother had been so sick for 10 years I thought about it all the more. I knew it was coming soon. As a family man in my mid 40's, I probably imagined myself reacting to the news in the way a "grown-up" would handle it: I'm at some meeting at work--I get the call--I politely excuse myself...and I say things like "I understand..." or "Wow. How are you doing?" I would need to calmly focus in order to make phone calls, tell other people, make arrangements...do serious stuff in the face of bad news...like a grown-up would do.
But I wasn't doing anything serious at the time when my sister called. I was alone at home cleaning my car out. My pregnant wife and 2 year old son were out for a quick run to the store. Instead, when she told me the news I just felt numb. I didn't cry, not right away. Instead, I felt so sad for my sister who was crying so heavily she could barely tell me the news. So, luckily for me, I was able to focus on helping her feel more comfortable telling me the awful news. The phone call ended after a few minutes and then...I was alone...in my driveway...listening very clearly to the light Autumn breeze blow and swirl around the trees and our small house. Quietly, I thought "What do I do, now?"
My wife came home after just a few minutes but it seemed like it took so much longer. I didn't think about calling her to tell her--And I didn't know who else to talk to at that moment. I hung out in the garage--Crying a bit. When my wife did come home, she greeted me with the usual "hi honey" while our rambunctious little boy playfully waited for us to get him out of the car seat...but right away she saw that something was not right in my face. "What...?" she asked. "My mom died." It hung there for just a second...We embraced and I just held on to her. It was a welcome relief. In her embrace I found comfort, solace, and a needed break from those prior few minutes of confusion and despondence...emotionally, I lost it a little, trying not to let our son see what was happening since it was important to me that he see me as a "grown-up." Whatever that means.
The following week, we traveled back to CT for my mother's services. It was a beautiful gathering of long-time-no-see family and friends. As a matter of fact, we found ourselves having a fantastic time. Old friends of mine showed up to her wake whom I would not have thought would stop by at my own wake. The funeral was at the Catholic church where I was confirmed as a boy, which was for me, a warm and comforting place to experience this difficult event. Later, we partied at a local event hall, sharing our favorite mom-stories while her rowdy sisters and one brother (6 in all) all made the room feel like mom was partying right there with us.
I didn't cry. I was never sad about any of it. I didn't cry except for one moment. When it was time to say goodnight to so many old friends and family at the wake, we all said our goodbyes to each other, some of us planning to go eat out at a fancy Italian restaurant, when I realized we should probably allow our 2 year old son to say goodbye to mom since her ashes had been there the entire evening. After all-she was right there among us. In his own way, he had been having as great a time as everyone else, possibly better, climbing over all the plush chairs, rough-housing with relatives he had never met prior, and playing hide and seek. I picked up my hyper boy and expected to do just a cute little "b-bye" wave and go to dinner, but when I picked him up and said "say goodbye to Mimi, bud"...clear as day, focused and sincere...he delivered a pitch-perfect "Bye, bye, Mimi!!!" Where on earth did that come from? I couldn't hold it, and I just lost it for a minute.
I heard so many echoes. Echoes of the soul, crying out to each other. "Remember when...?" Through my child, through old friends, through family members with long histories. Relationships that are now forever changed because of time or just because some of us are gone. Memories were recalled that exist now in our stories, in our current relationships with each other, in our own further understanding of who we are as ourselves. The connections we made over the years had deep meaning. Like fabric being sown together over the years, they remained intact. The meaning doesn't become evident until someone leaves us and we cry out for more of it. "Where did it go?" They come out in echoes without us even trying and when they do, they touch our soul and can even move us to tears.
