The Search Itself ...

Three days after Easter, Wednesday, March 30, 2005 my Mother died very unexpectedly.  In my blessed numbness I went through all the motions.  I personally went to her best friend's house to tell her the news. I just couldn't do it over the phone.  I went to the church to meet with our priest and nun to coordinate her sacred Mass of Burial.  I went to her house to pick out what I thought she would want to wear, choosing her teal dress which I had picked out for her for Easter.  But then the weather had turned cold, and she was unable to wear it.   I knew it to be her favorite color, but when I took it out of the closet, I realized it hadn't been hemmed yet.  I guess she had put it off, since she knew it was going to be too cold to wear it.  I could hear her saying to me, "Oh, honey that dress is too long."  But, then I knew from prior experience, upon the death of my father, that the undertaker does not want you to bring shoes.  So I said out loud to Mother, "I know it is too long, but you always freeze to death. Maybe it will keep your feet warm."  I hope it did.  Then I went to the funeral home to pick out everything else.  When I asked the undertaker if he thought the casket I had chosen was too  masculine, he said, "Well, let's just lay the dress in here and see what you think."  This was really weird to me, and my best friend who was with me, walked up about that time, and the look on her face was just priceless. I said, "Mary, does this look all right to you?"  "Yes, I think it is fine." 

The following day was her funeral home visitation.  I awoke that morning feeling quite ill. Thinking it was nerves, grief, shock, whatever, I tried to go about the day. We were to be at the funeral home at 2:00 p.m.  By noon I was flat on my back, so ill I wasn't able to even stand.  I guess I had caught the same virus that had hit my Mother so hard just two days before.  I somehow managed to dress and get to the funeral home.  The first person to visit was my dance instructor for many, many years during my childhood.   This was so appropriate, because other than my parents, she had more influence on me than anyone during my formative years.  After she left the funeral home, I continued to get sicker and sicker.  I ended up being able to stay for only about one-half hour, and then I had to be taken to the Emergency Room.  I spent the rest of my Mother's funeral home visitation in the hospital.

Who misses their Mother's visitation?  It's not something that you can say, "Oh, I understand now.  Next time I'll know to do ..."   There is no next time. There is no re-do.  I missed the hugs. I missed the commemorative stories shared by so many.  I missed the support of just being in the presence of the people who thought enough about my Mother, our family, to come to pay their respects.

It's now been six years since this happened.  I'm still not sure what the lesson is to all this.

I do know that I have always known I have wonderful friends. But their love during this was a beautiful affirmation of their importance and blessing in my life.

I do know that, even though I missed the hugs during the visitation, that the cards that came to my home almost daily for three months recreated my Mother's life for me. The memories shared with me with the handwritten notes within these cards were a lovely testament of her life on this earth.

I do know that the grief counselor at my church has now become a lifelong friend of mine.

I do know that the spiritual journey, spiritual search I have been on since this fateful day, has been one of confusion, learning, and awakening. 

Sometimes the blessing is in the search itself.


This week The Red Dress Club wanted us to recall something in our life that seemed terrible at the time, but looking back, brought  something wonderful.