My heart has joined
the Thousand, for my friend stopped running today. – Watership Down
It’s been about two months since my mom passed away. I can
honestly say, not a day has gone by where I haven’t thought about her.
I know I haven’t dealt with the matter yet. I’ve done a
positively fantastic job of suppressing my emotions and just pushing through my
days; but I’m always aware of a weight; something not quite painful, but
extremely noticeable, that seems to plague me.
The old mantra is true – you really don’t know what you have
until it’s gone. And, in my case, I’m sure it’s amplified by the birth of my
son. It pains me that he’ll never get to know her. It pains me that she never
really got to see him smile or launch into one of his uber-contagious laughing
fits; which has really only started in the past few months.
As a child, I was a big fan of “Choose Your Own Adventure” books – the books where you could make a choice and see the
result (a great learning tool). Unfortunately, it tricks you into thinking that
the whole world qualifies for a do-over; and nothing is further from the truth.
I don’t mean to be such a downer; and I certainly don’t plan
on having every blog post be nearly as depressing. I suppose it *has* gotten
easier, in that time has passed; but, unlike the days immediately following,
where there was pressure to complete activities required for the wakes and
funeral; all that’s left now is memory … and something that isn’t quite regret.
I know my thoughts are selfish. I recognize that her road to
recovery was certain to be difficult, if not impossible; and certainly painful.
And, from a merciful standpoint, her immediate and sudden passing was almost
certainly for the best. But, I’m also quite aware of the strong and powerful
love she had for her family; and her grandchildren, even more specifically.
And, I’m positive she would have willingly endured the struggle for each
additional day she could have spent with them. It’s hard to reconcile what was “best”
for her with what we think she would have wanted.
I know I need to deal with this … someone told me they were
surprised that after the events of the past few years (unemployment, failed
adoption, numerous life-threatening situations with my wife, my mom’s passing,
my grandmother’s passing) that I didn’t have some form of PTSD. I suppose that’s
realistic.
Part of my difficulty, of course (and where I differ from my
wife, for example) is her spirituality. I like to consider myself spiritual;
but I’m also driven by logic. When you see, for example, the sprawling …
universe (or whatever that would be called) with millions and billions of stars
and solar systems … you get a feeling for how tiny and insignificant you are.
But, I can honestly say, I pray that she has found the peace
she craved, and that she still feels connected with her family (and that she’s
part of our lives – so, even today, while my youngest sister is in labor, my
mom isn’t “missing” it). In many ways, the closing lines of the book I quoted
above (Watership Down) most
effectively sum up my hopes – still incredibly sad; but positive, given the circumstances.
Black Rabbit:
Hazel... Hazel... you know me, don't you?
Hazel: Yes, my
lord. I know you.
Black Rabbit:
I've come to ask if you'd like to join my Owsla. We shall be glad to have you,
and I know you'd like it. You've been feeling tired, haven't you? If you're
ready, we might go along now.
[Hazel looks at all the younger rabbits of Watership Down]
Black Rabbit: You
needn't worry about them. They'll be all right, and thousands like them. If you
come along now, I'll show you what I mean.”
He reached the top of the bank in a single, powerful leap.
Hazel followed; and together they slipped away, running easily down through the
wood, where the first primroses were beginning to bloom.
