I guess we ought to talk about Momma. My therapist said it was the healthy thing to do…::eyeroll::
I mentioned in a news flash blog that my mother passed away on Christmas night. My father called me, and made noises that I never heard him make before, and once I figured out what was going on I joined him in the howling at the universe. When done, I made some phone calls, alerting the troops, if unable to rally them due to a snowstorm thqt was described as “once in a generation.” And it was. You get a lot of talk from the elders about the Blizzard of ’77 around here, and someday I will be telling my grandchildren about the Blizzard of ’22. Except for me, my story will be very sad. Time lost all meaning the week after Christmas, much more than it usually does. I honestly can’t tell you what day it was that I made it to my father’s house- I think it was the 26th, but I could be wrong. It must have been, because I can’t imagine I went a whole 24 hours without seeing him after getting the call.
Everything was horrible, but I went to his house, trekking through feet of snow, and we did Christmas. It was weird, mostly because I think we were all still in shock. There was a week of time, more maybe, again as I said it’s all meaningless. We saw the family, which was a sad occasion but also made me feel better. My family is very big, and full of lots of very strong personalities, so sometimes it gets a little rambunctious, but there was no one I wanted more than them when everything went to hell. It was good to see them, and feel comforted by them. You see, all of my family is on my father’s side. My mother was the last McDonald.
Eventually time continued some more, and I called my boss at school and told her that I would not be coming in. It was simply too hard. I did do a shift at Avis, and it was agony. And then Saturday again, the 7th now, and we are laying my mother to rest.
Somewhere in the nothingness of time, we made all the plans for her funeral. My mother was unique in that she wrote her funeral 30 years ago. She spent a great portion of her life as a devoted Catholic, and so she requested a full Catholic Mass for her funeral, followed by a party of some sort. Probably my favorite part of the funeral was when they offered gluten-free Eucharist. Apparently, though I could not see them, a few of my friends had a really hard time not laughing. Which is fine, because my dad got up to receive communion, and when he turned around he noticed that everyone in the rows behind them was still sitting. He laughed at that. (He did receive the gluten-free Jesus that day.)
It was Sunday when time became real again. I didn’t have anything to do except go to work Avis and it was an okay morning even if I felt a little rusty at the wheel. Monday came, and it was back on schedule again. I went to Avis, and I went to work at the school, and I even came home and made dinner. Then, I cried a while. It would seem that now I have to allow a certain portion of my day to crying. Anyway, that is what happened from my hazy perspective. Again, time is nothing.
Also, as a fun little treat, I have had laryngitis for over 2 weeks. Apparently I am not sick as per my doctor, and I feel fine, I can just barely talk. Which is super helpful when you are in both the education and customer service industries. The other day I saw a tweet by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. They said “retweet if you’re taking it day by day.” Wow, that seems ambitious. Day by day, as opposed to hour by hour, or minute by minute. Mostly I am just taking it in moments, because time is nothing.
I am sure I will write much more about Momma in the future, but for today the best I can do is a play-by-play of what went down, at least what I can remember right now. But, oh boy, will there be blog entries! And oh, will there be poems! I dedicated A Lovely Wreckage to her, and I am very glad she saw that go to print, and saw her name on the dedication page. But the truth is, it wasn’t just that little chapbook that was for her- it’s all of it. I lost my biggest fan, and that kind of hurts, too.