I have been thinking today about how I wrote about laughing with my friends and how crazy it seemed, days after my mom had died. I didn't say much about it. I wanted to say that I think it was part relief, part oreos, part delighting in my friends in one place and part not knowing what had just happened or what it meant. Not realizing how gone she really was, how my life would change, how consuming her absence would be. I had no idea. This was the first death I had experienced. My grandparents that I had grown up with were still alive. I had had no friends that had died, no other relatives, no-one. What I expected it would be like and what actually happened were two different things.
A couple of years later I was at my grandmother's funeral thinking, "This should have been my first funeral." And even her passing was early. My grandmother was only 69. My mother was only 48.
My mom's friend Joyce said something to me one of the days we sat Shiva. She mentioned something about how she was dressed up and the way I remember it, which may be off, but this is what I thought she had said, something about how we dress up not only for the person that has died, but for the other people we have known that have died. Out of respect, sort of acknowledging knowing what it means to lose someone this way and that grieving is not just for the moment but also for our past losses. I have felt this way since at funerals and hearing about someone's loss. A sadness for the event I witness and a flood of sadness for the loss I have experienced. Maybe that seems sort of an obvious thing to say. But I think at the time I had no reference for what was happening. It was like I had arrived somewhere to wait. I was waiting to see what would happen next.
Years ago I shared with a friend that I felt like I was waiting. I told her it was like I have been at a bus stop, just waiting. She asked if I was coming or going. I thought I was waiting for a bus to come, to go somewhere. She asked if I had bags with me. I said I did but I thought they were empty. I thought these were very smart questions.
I don't feel like I am a bus stop anymore. I feel I have come home in a way. For that I am grateful.
A couple of years later I was at my grandmother's funeral thinking, "This should have been my first funeral." And even her passing was early. My grandmother was only 69. My mother was only 48.
My mom's friend Joyce said something to me one of the days we sat Shiva. She mentioned something about how she was dressed up and the way I remember it, which may be off, but this is what I thought she had said, something about how we dress up not only for the person that has died, but for the other people we have known that have died. Out of respect, sort of acknowledging knowing what it means to lose someone this way and that grieving is not just for the moment but also for our past losses. I have felt this way since at funerals and hearing about someone's loss. A sadness for the event I witness and a flood of sadness for the loss I have experienced. Maybe that seems sort of an obvious thing to say. But I think at the time I had no reference for what was happening. It was like I had arrived somewhere to wait. I was waiting to see what would happen next.
Years ago I shared with a friend that I felt like I was waiting. I told her it was like I have been at a bus stop, just waiting. She asked if I was coming or going. I thought I was waiting for a bus to come, to go somewhere. She asked if I had bags with me. I said I did but I thought they were empty. I thought these were very smart questions.
I don't feel like I am a bus stop anymore. I feel I have come home in a way. For that I am grateful.
I relate to the bus stop image. For a time it was as if I was waiting, too. I bought a couch, then just sat on it for a year, or so it felt... I am sure I did many things, went many places during that time, but if you ask me what I did that year, I always think, "I bought a couch and sat on it" I don't know what I was waiting for, either. But I think losing your Mother is definitely arriving somewhere. And becoming a mother must definitely be another kind of arrival.
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