"Running Commentary"

Condolences And Hope

    First, a word of thanks to the Blade-Empire readers and friends of my mother who sent heartfelt cards of sympathy to me and my family, upon hearing of Mother’s death last month. I even heard from a reader in Tennessee who follows me online. Nice!
Thank you all. T’was sweet of everyone to reach out.
    Help me out here. I’m unsure of the protocol – are you supposed to send thank you notes to acknowledge condolences? I don’t think so, but just know – if you did send a card, your kind words were appreciated.
    And if you DIDN’T send a card?
Well, shame, shame, shame on YOU!
    I suppose it’s a positive sign that I’m able to crack bad jokes again. I certainly wasn’t in a joking mood last week. Obviously, I’m making progress. As everyone who has lost a loved one knows – it’s a long and winding road. (Sorry. I’ve been playing that Beatles’ song on the piano every bleepin’ day – can’t get it out of my head.)
    Additionally, I’ve received a number of heartfelt emails from readers. More than a few told me I was wrong to set a time limit on grieving. If you remember, I gave myself one more week to wallow in my pity party. After that, I’d move on. Done with grieving.
    The readers were right – I was wrong. Grieving doesn’t work that way – it has its own lowest denominator. It doesn’t easily erase, like chalk on a blackboard. You can’t force grieving; just as you can’t will yourself to be happy when you’re sad.
I love it when I’m wrong. And because it’s such a rare day when I am – it’s appreciated all the more. (Bad joke No. 2.  STOP IT!  This is supposed to be serious.)
    Soooo, after last week’s gut-wrenching missive, here’s a ray of sunny introspection. There will always be a sense of sadness and sorrow over my mother’s death; however, the grief is assuaged with an awareness of how she died. It was as if Mother rose from her deathbed playing lead trombone with a Dixieland band from New Orleans … “Oh when the saints, Go marchin’ in …”
    We all know elderly friends and family members who suffered toward the end, painfully hanging on well past their expiration date, even when they wanted to die. Dementia and other maladies are not uncommon in the elderly. Not Bengie. Not my mother.
    We had such a wonderful 100th birthday party, and Mother was so vivacious and cheerful, greeting guests. She gave an impromptu speech and just glowed. Truly. I swear there was aura of light surrounding her.
Two short months later, she began to let go. The party was over – she was ready. With a smile, she told me her bags were packed and she was going to a better place. She died with children by her side holding her hands.
What a life! What a way to go.
    Meanwhile, shifting gears, it’s strange that I wake up each morning with an awareness that I’m no longer “on call.” For most of the last two years, I was Mother’s constant companion and nurse. It was my great privilege to be there for the woman who was always there for me. It wasn’t a sacrifice – it was an honor. I will always cherish that time with her.
But now? I’m beginning to establish new routines. Weird!  
    It’s funny how things turn out. I moved to Philadelphia in 1970 for law school and put in roots that grew to be every bit as deep as those planted in California where I was raised. I actually lived in Pennsylvania twice as long as California.
    After I left, my brother was the point person in California for mom and dad. Jim was the one that was there whenever needed. Me? I was 3,000 miles away and felt isolated. I missed out on a lot of family get-togethers and was envious of my brother’s being nearby.  
    Everything changed in 2003 after Dad died – Mother abandoned California and moved to Concordia to be near our sister. For years, Faith and her husband Steve were the ones who were “there” for Mother. And finally in 2018, everything changed once again. Following my divorce, I moved to Concordia to be with Mother. Temporarily … or so I thought. And thus, I assumed the mantel of point person. Jim was the one who lived far away.
    Today? Guess who’s the last one standing in Kansas.
    What goes around comes around? Something like that.
    There’s a banner hanging in my living room that features a quote by Desmond Tutu: “Hope is believing that there is light despite all the darkness.” That’s a good thought with which to close.
    Let us all believe in the light. May we all have hope – hope that 2021 will be a better year than the disastrous 2020. Let’s hope all the craziness of this past pandemic year was an aberration and not the norm. It’s a new year – 2021 can’t be any worse. We definitely hope not.
    Hope is what we cling to when we face darkness. When we lose the one person we loved more than any other. I see the light – Mother’s glowing aura at her last party.
I hope she’s still playing that trombone.
And, as for YOU, gentle reader?
    I hope you have a great week.

Epilogue: “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction …” Romans 12:12  Rmykl@yahoo.com