I was talking to someone recently, and they had the most wonderful stories about the funeral mass of their loved one.
Before I could even process it, I found myself crying.
It hit me that my own mom never got that.
This is what is so bizarre about grief, it comes and swats you down when you least expect it.
So all of a sudden I found an entry into sadness.
I started thinking about the toast that never happened.
The sendoff that never was.
I also found myself contemplating, the roast.
Trust me on this, she would have gotten a great belly laugh.
She may have come off stern, but she truly was a good time Charlie.
If you really knew Cathy, you surely have a story.
Everyone has a Cathy story, and in true long winded fashion, we would need to remind her to, "wrap it up!"
Any who....
White wine, super long menthol cigarettes, potato skins with bacon and sour cream, a thin crust extravagaanza from Dominoes, diet coke, and good taste are just a few of the things that come to mind when I think about her.
(Yes, she did not like Chicago style pizza, eeek!)
Personal ashtrays at dinner parties.
Gourmet chef.
Always available to offer unsolicited and usually unwarranted advice.
Anyways...
Getting back to what I saying, what she did get,was a daughter, who called her neighbor, the local funeral owner, only to be told they couldn't, and wouldn't, take my mother, even though there was a 30 year history between them, and oddly enough, the same funeral home that made quite the show of my fathers death ten years prior.
If this sounds awkward, it is.
No, it WAS.
More to come.
Another ridiculous story entirely.
But one which I will tell that another time.
Either way, in the midst of a newly produced pandemic, I lost my childhood.
In more ways than one.
I was now an orphan.
With no closure.
I do not care what people tell you.
Once both of your parents die, THINGS CHANGE.
It does not matter how old you old are.
But it does matter how young you are.
So anyways, I did the only thing I could do,and found another funeral home.
However, once they took her, they had nowhere to put her..
I cry, just imagining where they put her for a month, before they could cremate her.
NYC ended up with refrigerated trucks lining the streets outside hospitals, to hold the dead.
I want to throw up thinking about the visuals.
Nightmare?
Nope.
That was my reality.
Once I got her belongings, I was told to put them in my garage for at least 2 weeks before I could touch them.
Covid was so fucking new, we were scared within an inch of our lives, or I can say at least I was.
I was made to believe that whatever she had touched was now infected.
If I was to touch it, I would be at risk.
That is what they told us.
And I did whatever they told us.
So I sat there for weeks staring at my mothers belongings, all within reach in a clear hospital bag, paralyzed because of fear.
And rightfully so, because at that moment in time, the world was put on pause.
I remember walking into my garage, looking at the bag, all that I had left of her, and waiting till I could touch her belongings.
It was like a kid on Christmas, except I never want to see a Christmas morning ever again like that.
Because once I did, I saw all of the cash she had in her wallet, had been stolen.
If you want your heart ripped out and lit on fire, that did it.
Want to know what did it more?
An entire support system vanishing in the wind.
My grief was overwhelming.
And it was penetrating into everything around me.
The way I was handling myself, not up to certain standards.
Apparently going through loss during a pandemic, too much for those that I needed the most.
So perhaps I wasn't able to have that "normal" send off, but what I did get were some of the most hurtful, yet important lessons this life has to offer.
And even though I never got the goodbye I wanted, I guess I got my own send off, into adulthood.
One which I thought I had already known, having three kids, but no, that wasn't what made me an adult.
It wasn't giving birth.
Oddly, it was death.
First my father's, and then hers.
Her death showed me my truth.
Her death opened the doors, to my send off.
Growth.
Her end, was my beginning.
Her departure, my introduction to the world.
So in that, I must be humble.
And thankful.
So while the formality may be missing, the sentiment is never gone.
Your memory shines bright in my mind, and you are spoken of daily.
It was via this crazy, unexpected course, that started an entirely new journey for me.
One that I never saw coming, never thought I would be brave enough to embark on, let alone conquer, but one that keeps me excited to see what lies ahead.
So even though I never got to give you a proper goodbye mom, I hope you are able to see how I have been doing..
Kept going, even when I didn't think I wanted to, or even could.
I hope you can be proud, because I am trying.
And though I may trip along the path, it does not mean I will not get up, dust myself off, and keep going.
Perseverance.
I learned that from you.
Amongst so many other lessons.
Xoxo,
C.
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