Lesson Twenty-Six

 It's a pretty crowded field right now. People my age, or so, have moved on past the relative sweetness of the time when there are weddings and babies galore. We have rounded the corner into the Desolation Zone. Right alongside our own bodies failing we get to experience a wave of funerals and memorials for dear ones who have begun to shuffle off their mortal coils. 

Consequently, I have been feeling quite wary of the attention given to me as the son of a mother who has just moved on to the next plain. A teacher with whom I worked came up to me a few days ago to let me know that she was praying for me, "unless you would rather that I didn't. Some people are like that you know." 

I told her I wasn't like that, since I figured that all positive thoughts at this point concerning my mother will help pave the way for a smoother transition to whatever the next phase of her existence turns out to be. 

I don't know what that is. My mother was pretty sure. Many years ago, she had a massive asthma attack while on a trip out west, and while she was being rushed to the hospital, she went away. Only for a moment or two, but from time to time she would talk about that white light and how it turned out that it was far from the terrifying closure she had always feared. She was not resigned at this point, only more accepting. She didn't want anyone to put up a fuss when her time came around again. 

Way back in my youth, I lost a friend to a car accident. My twenties were not the window in my life when I was prepared to absorb such a loss. I spent a lot of time mourning, wearing my grief like a badge. Until it was time to grow up. Just a bit. Enough to make room for all the others who were missing their sons and daughters and aunts and uncles and friends. And fathers. When my father hopped dimensions, I was newly married and just starting to put my own family together. I was still in that phase of making plans and attending ceremonies celebrating beginnings. And wouldn't you know it? I was not yet prepared to take on the responsibility of grieving my father. I consoled myself that the conditions and timing were not conducive to my system accepting his sudden departure. 

As it turns out, some twenty-six years later, I still wasn't ready when my mother slipped away. I am currently of the opinion that there are some folks who are better equipped to handle grief. I feel as though I am doing a pretty fair job of rising above the tangle of feelings that have assailed me over the past week and change. I feel more graceful than those previous encounters with the grim reaper. My mother helped with that. She was the one who broke the news to me about my friend, all those years ago. She was there to support me as I learned how to live with loss. 

And now I will remember those lessons as I do it again.