heaven

It's been 4 months today that Mom died. I feel like I'm drifting away from that time, so sometimes I revisit those final hours and see if it still hurts, see if I still cry. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. Yesterday a memory hit me so forcefully I had to lie down for a while and just take deep breaths and walk right through it. It was right after Mom died. Peggy and Dad went into the family waiting room to wait for Zanthe from the church to come down. I sat with Mom for a while, then wandered out into the hallway right in front of the nurse's station. All of a sudden I couldn't walk anymore, and slid down the front of the nurse's desk and curled into a ball, hugging my knees, rocking back and forth. They couldn't see me from behind, so I thought I was semi-safe, but at that point I didn't really care. It's amazing what you do when you're in deep grief. You cry in front of anyone, without shame or embarrassment, you squat down and curl into a ball in public, whatever - open season on public displays of embarrassing behavior.

As I'm rocking I feel someone squat down next to me and put their arms around me. I feel someone's head touch the side of mine, and I hear someone whispering, "It's okay, it's okay. I know, it's so hard. It's okay, just cry. It's okay." I didn't know who it was, but I was crying too hard to even care to look up. I thought that was pretty nice of whoever it was, and they didn't try to say anything, really, just sit there with me and keep their arms around me. Note to self: when you're trying to comfort someone who's in a lot of pain, just sit there with them and hold their hand, or put an arm around them, or hold them. Don't say anything.

The mystery comforter eventually got up and left. I had no idea who it was. When I was partially composed, I stood up, wiped my nose on my sleeve (okay, another public display of embarrassing behavior, but not as embarrassing as what was running down my face), and asked the nurses who was there with me. "Trudy," they said. Trudy? Trudy was the nurse that some of my sisters thought had had a little lack of bedside manners, yet she was the one who had sat with me. I dried my eyes and went back into Mom's room to help the nurses get her ready for the funeral home. Leading the team? Trudy.

I can't say "Happy 4 month Anniversary, Mom" because it certainly isn't happy in the traditional sense, so I just acknowledge this day - four months at 12:40PM, Mom, since you started your new adventure. I want to tell you that now it's starting to seem like a dream that you were ever alive, that you were ever here, and I look at pictures of you, and it seems like another life, like there's a big block of wood between that time and this time, and maybe that's the way it's supposed to be, I don't know. I only know that I still miss you, and that I'm so glad we were together this lifetime, for almost 48 years. Thank you. Oh, and isn't heaven just like I thought? I thought it would be - hope you're having fun. I'll see you in my dreams. Love - #5