I feel brain dead, right now...
..."in a good way", I think. Family is gone. Two of Mom's grandkids left on Friday morning; the rest left this morning around 0730. I had a bit of anxiety last night about how I'd feel in a completely empty house, no family, no Ancient One. My anxiety was unfounded. I feel good, here. I'm at home. Our home. My home. I'm not "looking for The Mom", nor are the kitties. It's a little odd not to be elbow deep in Mom at this point in my day but I don't think I'll have a problem getting used to this. Everywhere I turn in this home I am greeted with an internal video of a memory...and I am pleased and grateful that this is happening. Nonetheless, I asked my sisters if they would arrange a schedule of having someone call me every day for awhile, as I have had some concern that the loss of Mom in the flesh would, occasionally, hurt so much that my heart would stop. They are doing this. Now, though, I'm feeling that this is just all around good therapy for all of us. Mom was such a force with which to be reckoned that we have all been blindsided by her death, despite the circumstances. We're finding this to be true of unrelated acquaintances, as well. I think everyone believed, with her, that she was physically immortal.
    I did some housework today. I've always thought of myself as someone who doesn't pay much attention to housework, especially while Mom and I were sharing this home. I'm beginning to think, though, that some of the housework was neglected because my priority was being Mom's companion, which felt right, and, I think, was right...and, often, needed housework would put me in an area of the house where Mom wasn't and didn't want to be. Made it easier not to do it.
    I have been overwhelmed at how quickly and wonderfully this week has brought our family together, renewed bonds, sharpened impressions, strengthened the quirky ties each of us family members has with one another. I was able to meet a relatively new member of our family. One of Mom's grandkid's partners came and, lo and behold, some of Mom's eccentric traits are reflected in this woman: Mom's inordinate love of Miracle Whip; chocolate; coffee at any hour of the day or night (the caffeine never kept my mother from sleeping); Cheetos; her love of children and her desire to be their protector and champion. There were times when I could see Mom's impish glances in this woman's reactions to the goings on, here.
    Every family mourns eccentrically, I think. Our strategy seems to be spontaneous bursts of hilarity interspersed with tears. We joked about everything, including how to use Mom's death to get freebies, based on an experience I had a couple of hours after Mom died. A few hours after Mom's death and the closing of the initial after-death business I decided it was time for coffee but didn't want to make it. I probably also wanted to get out of the house and into the world for a bit, as well...so I headed for the Starbucks drive-through. The coffee drink I ordered took a little longer than usual to make, as I'd arrived at what passes for a coffee rush period in Prescott. As I waited, the barrista engaged me in conversation, asking if I was just going to work. Without thought, with Mom's death soul fresh, I responded, "Actually, I just lost my job. I've been my mother's companion and caregiver and she died this morning at seven-oh-nine."
    The poor young woman's face fell. Her mouth dropped open. I stared back at the woman...I can only imagine what sort of contortions my own face went through. I was devastated that this confession had spontaneously popped out. When the woman gathered her wits (which I never did), she insisted on giving me my latte for free. When I told my sisters what had happened they roared with laughter...and the incident was mentioned daily every time someone left the house to pick up more supplies or seek a bit of outside entertainment. We all agreed that Mom would have not only gotten a kick out of this, but would have been pleased to know that we were making some practical use of her death. She was, after all, a master bargainer.
    That was not the last time I inappropriately blurted news of my mother's death to complete strangers within my community. Each time I did my relatives were present...and savored the moment with much merriment. I was not the only family member who did this. I realized that people who have just lost a loved one probably should be prohibited, by law, from talking for at least the first 72 hours...but, this last week came too early for the statute to kick in.
    Item #15 in a codicil to my mother's will, dated 1992, specified the following: "No funeral (graveside service if you wish). Just get together and have a party on me! No tears!" Since all of us first received a copy of this codicil, this item has become legend in our family, and beyond. It inspired some very good friends of ours to do exactly the same for their patriarch when he died some years ago. Although none of us realized it until we were fully into the week, this is exactly what we did. I imagine we serendipitously engaged in an ad hoc Irish wake. Despite Mom's adamant last sentence, we shed tears, many. I'm sure, if anything of my mother was capable of being aware of what transpired here immediately after her death, she forgave us this. After all, my father's extreme sentimentality, which rendered him quick to tears, seems to have been a dominant gene. It was as evident in their children as my mother's blue over his brown eyes. I suspect she would have been secretly pleased that we didn't spare the tears, since there was much laughter as a week long party spirit embraced our home.
    One of my sisters will be coming right after the new year. This was planned in advance so that I wouldn't be left alone too long, then, as the week progressed and phone calls between us and her reached fever pitch, we wondered if this had been the right decision. I am not in the mood for questioning anything, though, and am very pleased that I have another extended sister visit to which to look forward. I suspect it will come at exactly the right time.
    This sister is also the one who mentioned, this week, that Mom was "such a gentle, pure spirit". True statement. Mom had her own take on gentle which did not exclude the occasional "gentle" tormenting of pets for fun. Her gentleness did not include fear or hesitation. She was, I think, definitely pure; purely herself, always, without internal conflict.
    Another long, long time friend of mine said he always thought my mother would have been the "cool mom on the block". She was. Although we, as kids, wandered our neighborhoods (we lived in several) with abandon, as kids of my generation did, one way or another we and our friends always ended up at our house, Mom was always delighted to have anyone and everyone under our roof and had such respect and interest in our friends that she often included them in her frequent pre-classroom testing of audio visual activities. I don't think I ever heard anyone say, specifically, that she was the "cool mom", but our friends' lack of reluctance to be in our home, her specific interest and pleasure in everyone we brought home and her across-the-board acceptance of everyone was enough to garner her this award. She parlayed this talent into being considered, among us as adults, the best mother-in-law in the world, completely hands off; a generous, delightful hostess, praised for this, just yesterday, by the father of one of my sister's husbands in a condolence card in which he was moved, by my mother's death, to step out of character and gush about how wonderful it was to know my mother; she was always up for fun and irony, able to manufacture both from sometimes meager resources; always open to new ideas; always open-hearted, open-minded and generous toward everyone, even people it was hard for some of the rest of us to tolerate.
    My mother left clear trails of several legacies. This week my sisters and I were able to cross observe one in particular that I'd rarely considered: She and my father, despite the stark contrast between her eternal optimism and his eternal pessimism, raised a family who learned how to raise safe, solid, caring, all-inclusive families of their own and expand this ability to their children. This trait continues to evolve into the latest of my mother's grand and great grand generation, both of which include children by genes and children by choice. Whether or not she met them, and there are some newcomers that she learned about but was never able to meet, they were all hers...no exceptions.
    One of her last legacies, I think, is that she allowed herself to become the focus of my journals about her and my life...and delighted in it. She allowed me to broadcast that, although it is very hard in this society at this time and not without ticklish times and great risk, it is possible for families to embrace their elders to the point of keeping them four-square within the family to the ends of their lives despite health problems, dementia, despite everything.
    "You just do it." This is a quote from her with which she often responded when one or another of us would recall circumstances that, on the surface, seem difficult but which everyone survives, seemingly miraculously, in good shape. It is a philosophy that all her children, and grandchildren and great grandchildren seem to have absorbed. You're here. Although it's interesting to contemplate, you don't need to know how or why. You just do it, while you can. When you can't, anymore, well, you start doing that with which you're immediately confronted.
    In fact, my family is "just doing it" for me, at this time...exactly as Mom taught us. They have been smart about sensing when The Loner shouldn't be left alone. I cannot find words to express my awe and gratitude.
    Mom lived in character. She died in character. She came in ready for anything and she left wanting more. It pleases me to imagine that she is not being disappointed in this.
    Amen, Mom. Amen.
- posted by Gail Rae @ 18:26   email  this post