I catch myself wallowing in my loss then suddenly hear the laughter of my children and am shocked that I can't share in their light hearted joy. It makes me feel so guilty, it's as if I'm under water, with all sounds and feelings muted,not quite connected with what's right in front of me. Today's been like that. this beautiful autumnal day that practically passed me by, though I was still aware of it's beauty even though I couldn't fully connect with it. There are days like this since you've been gone. Were we too close? Can I not claim back that piece of me that went when you went? Will my own children feel like this when I go? I hope not, may they remember the good and feast on that memory and know that I'll always be with them, may they in the face of grief draw strength from the love that's been given them, may they be strong in spirit and positive in thought.
May tomorrow bring back the good memories I forgot today.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
3years 4months
Finally found my way back to this blog, thanks to a dear friend, I was somewhat lost in cyber space and emotionally tied up.
The more time slips by and my mothers death becomes more distant, I suddenly get thrown into contact with her final few hours. Her sister Rose administering to her in a true irish tragic style, over from Connemara for the final breath of precious life left to her sister, and Kay, my mothers dear friend and sister in law, wife to her favourite brother, trying to be the voice of reason, bringing the point home to me that my mother was mortal and close to death, me still believing in some small miracle that would save her at the final hour.
And then she went, we were all down stairs but Rose sensed it, the passing, then the macmillan nurses who had known her and shed a tear, came to organise her physical being for the next stage of the journey.
I see the man who took her from her bed and placed her in a bag often, in the supermarket , in his car,going about his business, there is often a side long glance between us a slight recognition of the precious body he took away from me, I wonder if he remembers all the faces of grieving relatives or if he is now immune to the raw emotion that his job entails.
The funeral parlour is being sold, it's called 'The caring lady funeral director', does that mean that she doesn't care any more? or is she off to Spain to grab some precious life before her time comes .
The more time slips by and my mothers death becomes more distant, I suddenly get thrown into contact with her final few hours. Her sister Rose administering to her in a true irish tragic style, over from Connemara for the final breath of precious life left to her sister, and Kay, my mothers dear friend and sister in law, wife to her favourite brother, trying to be the voice of reason, bringing the point home to me that my mother was mortal and close to death, me still believing in some small miracle that would save her at the final hour.
And then she went, we were all down stairs but Rose sensed it, the passing, then the macmillan nurses who had known her and shed a tear, came to organise her physical being for the next stage of the journey.
I see the man who took her from her bed and placed her in a bag often, in the supermarket , in his car,going about his business, there is often a side long glance between us a slight recognition of the precious body he took away from me, I wonder if he remembers all the faces of grieving relatives or if he is now immune to the raw emotion that his job entails.
The funeral parlour is being sold, it's called 'The caring lady funeral director', does that mean that she doesn't care any more? or is she off to Spain to grab some precious life before her time comes .
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