Monday 25 April 2011

Going through the motions...

The sun came up this morning and shone on the photo of my Mom in the livingroom. Tears came. This is normal they say. It's grief. She's been gone five weeks today and how different life is. I'm in the process of redefining myself and finding new purpose. Not as easily done as said. She was a wonderful Mother and a remarkable person. She's worth the suffering, so I let the tears come and hope the laughter will follow. When we lose someone beloved to us it feels as though the world should stop, but it still turns on its axis forcing us to put one foot in front of the other just to keep from falling down. And so... I'm still standing.

I had a lovely visit from Gail this weekend, a writing friend of mine. We took our mutts for a walk and she let me talk my face off. I shared all my wild and crazy thoughts with her and she absorbed them all. With her, I relived the last few hours of Mom's life and in hearing myself say "I felt I abandoned her in her hour of need" was able to make some sense of things, sort things out a little. Gail helped me accept that I did what my Mom wanted me to do, go home, get some rest, leave her to the process. Death, like birth is a process. There is reluctance, fear, and then, eventually, a final giving in to what the body knows to do. I have been a birth doula and I believe I helped my Mom labour toward death during the time I spent with her, and the time I left her.

Birth and death are very similar. They are both exit and entry at the same time; a departure and an arrival. And with both there is a distinct scent, very similar in their earthy, musky origins. I've noticed it with each birth I've attended. It's a scent that lingers, plants itself in your olfactories for days before it eventually dissipates. It's a sacred scent; perhaps even heaven's scent. I arrived minutes after my Mom's last breath. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful. I hugged her and kissed her and told her I loved her one last time while I hoped she was still near enough to hear me. Then I sat at her bedside and watched as they pronounced her death. I was present while the aides washed her body and felt moved by the visceral thought that this body, my Mother's body, had been my temple for nine months, my home. I was awash with emotion. Then, by her side, as she lay in that unreal stillness that is death, I began making phone calls and arrangements while waiting for her body to be taken to the funeral home. Throughout these events I noticed the scent that death had brought. As the morning progressed it became more pervasive to the point of being cloistering and by the time they came to transport her body four and a half hours later I was anxious to leave. 

At home I rested briefly and returned to the residence later with my husband to begin the process of emptying the room of her contents. When I opened the door, the scent was still there. This time it was welcoming and I found I didn't want to leave. I even snatched the blanket off her bed, wrapped it up in my arms and took it home to hold onto it. For days the scent followed me, dissipating only gradually. I caught myself looking for it, wanting it, hoping it would come. It made me think she was with me. 

Throughout the week, the scent comforted me like an old friend. The morning we scattered her ashes seemed to be a turning point. We met at my cousin's house, next door to where my Mom lived for seventy-nine years. There were my two cousins, my son, my nephew, my brother, my sister-in-law and me and my husband. I carried Mom in my arms as we walked over to the creek and stood in silence on the foot bridge. There was a comforting embrace in the fog of this early spring morning. My brother said the words of interment that the minister gave us and we all said the Lord's prayer. Then my Mother's two grandson's took turns sprinkling her ashes in the creek she loved all her life. Her ashes made a lovely plume in the water. The normally busy road was quiet. When the last of her was gone we heard a pheasant's cry. We couldn't have asked for a more fitting end to the occasion and I felt a sense of peace. She was finally home and her last wishes were fulfilled. And like vapor, the scent was gone.  

It's returned only occasionally; briefly, when I was talking with Gail. I think I'll consider it a visit from my Mom. She'd be glad to see that I'm putting one foot in front of the other and still standing.

The rest is pixie dust...