When Your Parents are Gone
I expected it, at some point. After all, my mother was 84 and getting frailer by the year. A few months ago she fell ill and couldn't get out of bed by herself, so she went in to nursing care. A few weeks ago, she was unresponsive and went into the hospital. She seemed to rally for a while, and then.... well, I won't go into the details. Suffice it to say that my brother and I were by her side at the end.
I was prepared for the grief. My father died years ago, and I know that the grief comes in waves, washing over you at unexpected times, the waves decreasing over time but never disappearing completely.
I was prepared for the calls to relatives, the mortuary arrangements, the reminiscing that all happens in the days afterwards.
What I wasn't prepared for this time- and maybe because it was my mother and not my father- is how *old* it would make me feel. My place has shifted in the family: I'm now an elder. I'm younger than my mother was when her mother passed away by a few years, but I feel now that I have shifted into her place. It's as if her life is a transparency placed on top of mine, and I am struck in little moments of the places where they overlap. I see her gray hairs in the mirror. I see her wrinkles forming on the back of my hands. The way I clear my throat. The ache in my knees. The affection for birds and butterflies. My affection. Our affection.
She hasn't left me; parts of her have shifted into my soul to make them my own. I'm scared of being closer to death myself. Is this how she felt? Yes, this is how it feels. To be closer to death. I must get used to it. As the winter of her life has come to a close, I need to prepare for the autumn of mine.
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