I have a thing about dates. Throw a date at me, and I can, most likely, come up with something that happened on that date, of an either historical or personal nature. My dad was a history buff and he had an uncanny ability to quote dates of historical events often while we were all together at the family dinner table. My memory with dates runs a bit differently, because personal events get entwined with the historical ones. When someone mentioned a mutual friend's birthday recently, I remarked that it occurs on the same day as the Lincoln assassination and the sinking of the Titanic. Don't bother fact-checking. The precipitation of both events happened on the 14th. The death/sinking didn't occur until the following morning, April 15th, which is also, of course, Tax Day!
I'm pretty good with movies and songs. I can generally get to within a year and usually right on the mark. Many have asked how I can do that, and the answer is: I don't know. Throw any late 20th century year at me, and I can tell you a few things about that year. These things might have no import to you. They might be the year of my first kiss or my first whatever. But you will learn that I have decades of at-a-glance calendars swimming around in my head. I sometimes surprise people by displaying this, but, really, what is this ability worth? In fact, I would be just as happy to forget at least half of what I remember.
My mom passed away six years ago today. It was a good passing, in that it was peaceful. It was not-so-good in that she and I had been longing, in fact praying, for it to occur. Her last years were not good ones. And the last one was truly dreadful. As I wrote recently, she would have been 100 this year, and lived past her 94th birthday. She was in hospice the last five days of her life, and I had spent the final day with her. After the hospice nurse told me that I should go home, that she was not going to die that night, I left. I drove home at 9:30 and got the call at 10:00. We all agreed that she was waiting for me to leave.
My mother never had to provide care for either of her parents nor my dad. I had to provide care for her for almost five years: for her health; for her finances; for her living situation. My sister opted out, after having dealt with her husband's illness and death shortly before our mom's situation became apparent. She was done. So it all fell to me. If I had it to do over again, I would have done it better. But like so many things that we need to deal with in our lives, I had to learn as I went. And I did learn a lot. I also got a lot of help. Tom helped; my mom's doctor helped tremendously, and my friends offered much-needed support in the form of shoulders and ears. And I was lucky to find two of the kindest women, both Israeli, who maintained kosher board and care homes. And in one of those homes, my Presbyterian mother lived and then died.
The morning after was a cloudy July day, rare for Los Angeles. I listened to rather elegaic music and did some baking. I felt sad. But I also felt relieved. And there is no shame in feeling relief at the death of someone whose life has become a burden to themselves. A friend remarked, at the time, that I didn't seem to grieve for my mom. But, the truth is, I already had. While she still knew who she was and who I was, and still remarked at the smallness of my hand as she held it, she was barely there. A wisp at the end.
Today is also a cloudy day. I have all the doors open, and am at home, hobbled by the continuing threat of Covid19. But I'm ok with it today. It gives me the time and solitude to think about what happened on this date which I will always remember. To think about my mom. My sister once said that she never wanted to remember death dates; that she thought it was morbid to do so. But dates offer us a commemorative opportunity to think about our past, our history, and those we have loved. And to remember a cloudy day in the past that was filled with music, sadness, and relief; comprehending that at some time in the future, these days of frustration and trepidation will also be recalled as a time in the past. Someday, this year, 2020, will be remembered as a difficult time that we moved through, and we may come think of this time in the colors of these cloudy days. Thank you for reading my blog.
No comments:
Post a Comment