November 22, 1990
My mother died that morning. 18 years ago yesterday my mother died. That was a long time ago. I was fairly young - in my mid 20's. Much more has happened since then, yet the pain lingers. Where is her recipe for those beloved chocolate cake-like cookies with the peppermint frosting? Exactly how did she make the pork chops in baked beans that I loved so much? What gave her the idea to put old rag socks on me and let me slide on the waxed kitchen floor to help her buff it? What would she think about me being a Baptist minister?
Yesterday I remembered the day that we did not go to the hospital to sit with her, hold her, cry with her, laugh with her, read from the Bible to her. Yesterday I remembered the Thanksgiving dinner we were not going to have together, but we did. Yesterday I remembered the relief I felt at my fathers words on the phone at 5am, "It's over." Those are words I will never forget.
Today I realize that this anniversary of my mother's death was not a mourning of the day she died. Rather, it was, and still is today, a mourning of the 2 years of her illness. It is a mourning of the last year of her life, from the day after the Thanksgiving of 1989 when she almost died and we brought her to the hospital for the first time. It is a mourning of how God did not heal her, not through the laying on of my hands or through the laying on of any hands. It is a mourning of the vigil we kept, of the vigil over which I was willing to lose my job because I was not going to miss this opportunity. It was a mourning that it took a disease to bring about healing in specific parts of our relationship.
November 22nd is the day my mother died, but her death was a mercy. Her disease is what I mourn. Her absence is what I mourn. November 22nd marks the time of her illness up till then, and marks the time of her absence since then. All of November mourning is creeping inside of me. All of December and January mourning is continuing in me. It is like a time release capsule. Slow and mostly steady, with some bursts of release from time to time. It is like a program running in the background. Sometimes it interrupts the program of my life that I am working in. My thought process slows, sometimes it freezes, although not like it used to. Sometimes I recognize what is going on, but sometimes I have to go into my Task Manager and look at what's running. There I am reminded of what is happening in the background.
November 22nd means so much more than the events that happened November 22, 1990. No wonder it fills me. No wonder it slows the rest of my thinking and heightens the rest of my feelings. No wonder I seek comfort in the arms of my Divine Beloved. And no wonder I ask my Holy Love why? Why? Why that way? Why then?
Today is November 23rd. But inside of me it is always November 22nd.
What day lives in you?
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3 comments:
Anne, as I read this, I mourn with you - I can feel your sense of loss. I am sorry...
My grandmother died a few years back on Christmas day. It was a very difficult loss for me as she was the only real grandparent I had ever known and had a relationship with.
She used to take me to all kinds of special places and one of them was a pound in West Virginia at her parent’s old farm where she grew up in the early 1900's. She would always pack a lunch and we would go fish - just as her father took her long, long ago.
These and many other memories consumed me for years - the sound of her voice, to the regrets and guilt of not visiting with her as much as I would have liked too.
One morning I awoke from a dream, and decided to call off work because the dream had inspired me... So, I decided to make the 4 hour trip to West Virginia, and went back to the pond on that old farm (Now all but abandon to weeds and scenes of fallen fence and collapsed in barns and boarded up house.
I had brought a balloon with me, and their I sat for hours at the side of the pond talking to that balloon... talking to my grandma... letting go of all that hurt, filling it with the joys and the love I felt for her... and when I was ready, I let go of that Balloon, and sent it off to her in heaven...
... and I never looked, or thought back to it again...
That is, until I read your letter here.
I hope that you can find a way to compartmentalize your feelings and bring some closure to your grief. It sounds as though you are still dealing with it... then again, we never really get over it - we just find ways to bring it into perspective and adapt to the changes.
God Bless you my friend, and know that you are loved and have been blessed with an immeasurable gift of having had the privilege to be a part of your mother’s life, and to have been her daughter.
Your Friend,
-Chloe
AnnMarie, your mourning song touched my heart deeply. What courage you have to express what the mourning song sounds like. I am affirming that your mourning song journey and connection to your mother's spirit deepen your connection to your self, Spirit, and the universe. Shine all of your emotions and experiences. They marinate the earth with grace.
I love your blog. Peace and Happy Thanksgiving. Ananda
PS: My mourning song days are September 25th, the day my grandfather John Leonard Leeke made his transition and February 6, 2003, the day that Deno Moss, one of my best friends made his transition.
@Anne - Thank you for sharing your story about your grandmother and of your grief ritual. I think it's so important to let these stories flow through us.
Peace to you.
@Ananda - So good to hear from you. Thank you for singing my song with me through your affirmations and in sharing your mourning song days. I can hear your harmony.
Namaste.
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