One week, three days, and twenty-two hours. That’s how much time has passed since the death of my mother. Death. The end. No more. Well, at least in Earthly form. My mother was cremated. Her body burned up in flames. We have the ashes to prove it. These words are not pretty. I’m not looking for pretty words. I need to experience the realness of this situation, and be one with the precise terms of what actually happens when human life ends.
If you’ve been reading my blog, you’ll know that I was dealt a card during my youth that was not the best of circumstances for me. My mother, among many other things, was an Alienating Parent. She removed my father from my life for about eleven years. Of course, I had many other issues with her over the years, but this particular issue is why my blog is focused on.
The interesting this is that I really don’t feel like discussing it. I mean, I feel like writing about my grief over the loss of my mother, but I don’t feel like pointing anymore fingers. She is gone, and because I spent many years “working on myself” in a therapeutic setting, I’ve been able to love her even during her most unlovable times. My entire understanding of my mother reached its paramount at the time of her death. My complete forgiveness, empathy, and understanding of her intense pain that she lived with on a constant basis culminated at the exact time of her death. Every negative thought I had about my mother simply lifted the moment I was advised of her death. Gone. Released. Healed, dare I say it.
My natural grieving process has kicked in. Fortunately for me and my family, my husband is the most understanding, supportive, and generous man that I have ever met. He’s been caring for the kids, cooking, taking time off from work while I cared for my mother during her last weeks of life, and for the week following her death so I could arrange her memorial service, and again now so I can finally grieve properly.
…And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.