Grief

an essay

I used to plan for it in my mind. For many years my mother Frances was sick. Not in the kind of long term way, but that she had compounding illnesses. She had multiple heart attacks and strokes. She suffered from seizures, and when moving to a new place, would have trouble finding a doctor who believed her.

Seizures are not always the grand floppy type. When I was very young my mother would kind of freeze in place. She would still have a light in her eyes, and I didn’t always know what to do. There was a medicine that she took that required injections, and there I was at eight helping her with them. It formed a sense of willingness to do what needs to be done. People in health crisis do not scare me, regardless of what may be happening, sight, sound and smell.

This past Sunday was my 44th birthday. Hundreds of people on Facebook dropped by to give a message. That was nice, very kind of them. A few more texted and called.

There was a church community I was once very much a part of. It ended with a conflict, and for the most part, they all stopped, at once, talking to me. They didn’t block me like some people do in the social media age. They just ceased to be a part of my life.

In the years before, I had prayed with them, and believed in my deepest moments that if and when my mother passed, they would be there with me. In fact, that is what they promised.

…….

She used to call me on my birthday and sing to me. 43 birthdays, 43 songs. When I was in prison, as soon as the tone went through, she would be singing. One time, I was in solitary confinement, ‘the hole’, as they call it. There is a little cart they drive to the door, and you have to sit on the floor and talk through the food tray. The angle of it made her voice bounce into the hallway of the unit. The guys joined in and sang along with her.

At the end, when it was over, several of the prisoners said that they were grateful for her. Like she was singing to them too.

She had a kind laugh. I would joke with her, the same old jokes for years, and every time she would laugh. Sometimes, as she got older and the emphysema set in, she would laugh and cough. I would stop, and she would say no, no, please let me laugh.

…….

There is something different about me now. I would love to pretend it is mortality creeping at my senses. That would be a lie. I have seen many deaths, sometimes close at hand. The thing is, she was my biggest supporter. Even when she probably should not have. I am not entirely sure how to resolve that loss. It was not material support, nor was it blind support.

Some folks think she looked the other way when I was, clearly, acting the fool. Not for one second. Frances was a tough lady, and when needed she kicked my ass. The only real times that I have understood a broken heart was when she was disappointed in me. I wonder if she is feeling that way now.

…….

There are many messes I am still cleaning up in my life from my youth. In some ways they will stay with me forever. Regardless of how eternity ends, I think I will bring them with me.

We live in a strange world. Sometimes wonderful, and sometimes terrifying. There are deaths that happen, to children and yet we argue online about some social media posts from years ago or even last week. Like those posts matter in the same way a precious life does. Like we don’t all miss someone so much that it is physically painful. Like we haven’t experienced crying until there are no tears left.

If you say this is not you, you are a liar.

You are only lying to yourself. We all know.

…….

I wonder, dear reader, if we held hands under the apple blossoms, just for a moment, would you know that it was so I could know you are there, but not for any other reason. Grief grips you in such a way, such a powerful, full-throttle wave that you are not sure you are drowning or swimming. Am I upside down right now?

Time, that inexorable march we condemned ourselves to in the Garden, does not stop for anyone. No clones, no robots, no AI simulacrums will ever be able to sing Happy Birthday the way she did. The lilt is irreplaceable.

And all I’ve done for want of wit
To memory now I can’t recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be to you all