I thought I’d done a lot of pre-grieving over my mother’s impending death, but I surprised myself by wanting to sit with her for a half hour after she died. I surprised myself by the depth of my sadness as I stroked her arm, crying, repeating “Mommy, Mommy” over and over again. I surprised myself by crying when I touched the sleeve of her sweater. I surprised myself by feeling relatively calm and peaceful and solid (I thought I’d be a quivering mass of jello for a while).
The only thing I still can’t wrap my head around is the fact that for the second half of my life I will never see or hear or touch my mother again. That is inconceivable at this juncture, but perhaps that is the one thing that will just take some time getting used to. It is all so mysterious and deep and powerful, this living and dying stuff, messy sometimes, as we wade through the uncharted waters. But the most powerful thing I take with me, perhaps, is my relatively newfound gift of just being able to BE, without judgment or expectation. Yes, maybe that will carry me through these times. That, and my “Calms” homeopathic pills.
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