Life goes on…

Two months ago, the base of my world cracked.  For my whole family, things changed drastically.

Two months later, I still have to remind myself that my mother isn’t coming home.  That she won’t be sitting in her usual spot at the table.  That we won’t be doing any of the things that I routinely plan for us to do when she visits.  And a lot of other things that say that nothing will be the same again.

I can still hear her voice on the outgoing answering machine message, and I want her to pick up the phone so I can tell her about this horrible nightmare that I’ve been having where she died.  But she doesn’t, and every day the unreality is there.  I miss calling her to tell her about the bargains that I found at the supermarket.  Or about the things that were happening at work.  Or asking for her advice on managing my finances.  Or telling her about a new restaurant, or recipe, or suggesting a TV show to watch.  (I’d call to say “Columbo is on now; it’s the one where…”)

I had told her once, some years ago, that I didn’t want her voice in my head when I shop… I’d be looking at shoes, clothes or another ‘luxury’ item, and I’d hear her say, “Do you really need that?”  Or I’d pick up a new thingy to try, and hear her, “Doesn’t it look lovely in the store?”  I’d said to her that it was no fun shopping with her voice.  Her reply was that at least she knew that she had taught me something.  Another time, I was trying on a dress, and I could hear her saying, “That’s how I like my dresses.  Scoop neck, short sleeves, dropped waist, full skirt.”  (So I put it back and told her that I was in my rebellious phase, and I wasn’t going to wear her dresses.)

It’s a good thing that life goes on, that we can pick up the pieces and rebuild something.  I know that the gaping empty space will not seem so huge in time.  I know that I am allowed to enjoy things, to laugh, to have fun, and sometimes to cry.  And my faith tells me that we will meet again and it will be as though no time had passed.  (On that day, I do want to know why she chose such an abrupt departure.  But I digress.)  I’m thankful that I did have her as long as I did, and that we were able to do things together, and that we had the kind of relationship we had.  She does not now become magically free from faults, but they were faults that we knew and accommodated.

So part of my job is now to reinforce the base of my world, so that I may be a support to others.  And perhaps one day again my mother will say, “I’m pleased with you,” and we can discuss what to cook for dinner.