In Kentucky, it seems the funeral homes are used much more than the church buildings. But I really prefer northern Virginia's way of doing it...after all, I can't think of a better place for this sort of thing than one's church home. As most of you know, my mom passed away a few hours before Bob, which made for an interesting work week. As the church staff went over the checklist in preparation for Bob's service, I was doing the same over the phone with my sister. Mom had actually given up on having much fun in life fourteen years ago when my Dad suddenly died. Even her final two favorite passtimes of eating out and shopping were reduced to a hospital bed in front of her soap operas the last several months. So, it was certainly expected, and in some ways, a relief. Still....Bruce finally told me the staff had decided it was time I leave and go mourn the passing of my mother like a normal person and quit hanging around the church. (He actually said it with much kinder words, but that was kinda the basic drift of it). I guess it is true I'm the Queen of Denial. For example, I couldn't wait to get out of the funeral home and go call mom so I could tell her what a lousy job they did with her makeup. (I couldn't even recognize her!) I already knew exactly what she would say..."Well, for Pete's Sake, you woulda thought they could do better than that, wouldn't you have? Didn't they have a picture?" But, of course, you can't call where she is from here. I was OK through the reading of the obituary and the recalling of her accomplishments. Then came the singing of "Blessed Assurance" , the opening measure of which my dad would whistle on his arrival home from work every evening. That's the moments when one remembers their upbringing. Mom's death marked the end of an era, which few from today's generation could possibly understand. She was the family matriarch, left over from a time when gift giving and gardening and advice giving was a career. I'll miss ya mom. I'm not sure you ever really understood this crazy little redhead you gave birth to...but it doesn't really matter. You loved me anyway.
See ya in heaven, Darla
Let Us Adore – Anonymous
2 days ago
3 comments:
So, Darla - I'm a bit behind on my blog reading....been kinda busy this past week...but Oh, Boy - did your comments bring tears to my eyes. Thank you for putting into words your feelings....the bittersweet...the memories....I'm in denial, as well - I know my mom won't last a whole heck of a lot more years....but I don't want to think about it yet.....and having been back home for 2 funerals in the past 6 months with our family....it's getting harder to ignore.
love you, Darla!!
karin
ps - and I do believe you inherited a good bit of your mom's talents - you give SO much of yourself to others.....you are amazing. ;)
W-oh. I just read how you survived the Grand Canyon blizzard. (I've hiked it and have vivid memories of surviving a few things, but not blizzards). Then I read about your mother. I can't stop crying. Beautifully worded. I like the "denial". I've been using it lately myself as a form of survival. smile.......suzy
Hey, Darla,
I'm sorry your mom died, and I'm sure she was just in awe of you....and certainly proud of you.
I know what you mean about the era of gift giving, baking, serving...just having time for visiting your neighbors...and that being a job. My grandma was like that, and I miss her, too. We can't be just like them, even though we might long for simpler times, because we have to reach the world we live in, don't we? I'm thankful for the time we have, and also for the end of our time here on earth. It must be scarey and sad to live beyond the time where our plot on the earth seems a familiar place. There is a grace in going on to Heaven to be with those who have gone before us, isn't there. Still, it's sad for those of us left behind. I dreamed of my dad the other day...right before things got stressful in my life. I dreamed we were moving dirt in these big buckets, and he just reached out and hugged me, picking me up off of the ground and told me he loved me. (I can't remember the last time anyone picked me up off of the ground.) I woke up sad that it was only a dream, but it sure felt real--and pretty great.
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