It’s been ten days since mom died and eight since the funeral. During the last day of Shiva (having people over to sit with us and remember my mother), I started getting a sore throat which turned into an upper respiratory infection, complete with cough. My favorite naturopath reminded me that grief is the emotion associated with the lungs, so it’s not really a surprise where it hit me.
My life is up-ended, figuratively and literally. It doesn’t help that we moved in early June. I become confused by things I have known for years. Which way to go to the airport? Scheduling two things on the same day. Not sure whether I’ve done tasks. Discombobulated. Unmoored. My mom was an anchor, always there, and she isn’t anymore.
I am driving and start to cry. I never thought she would die. I knew she was going to die some day, but I had no awareness that it could possibly be so soon. Which in many ways is terribly naïve—and ironic. We all know people who are unwell, and who live with illness and disease every day, sometimes so valiantly, or not, but they live and get through their days.
Mom took such good care of herself and dad, made sure they exercised and ate their greens. She was vital up to the day she went into the hospital with the aortic aneurysm. And 11 weeks later she is gone, not from the operations themselves but from the infections and complications. Her body was strong but she would not want to have lived in a weakened and needy state, and we knew it. So, in the end, here was this beautiful, vibrant, healthy woman who loved her life and loved us so well, and whose time had come.
And that is the point, I guess. We never do know. And those trite expressions about appreciating life, having no regrets, and not taking people for granted, well, I know what they're talking about. It does make me wonder if I will live my life differently from now on. It's possible. I just need some time to get my bearings again.
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