In Memorium

It has been six months since my mother died and two months since my dad died. I’ve had weeks, if not months to think about what I would say should there be a memorial service. I’ll be honest with you. I haven’t been able to come up with anything poetic or profound. I’ve never in my life been at a loss for words, but today I am.

When I think back on June 6th of this year, I think about how the day began. My husband and son were off at an Eagle Scout interview, while Gaby and I were home alone. I was in the kitchen doing chores and Gaby was playing the piano. I remember thinking how the moment reminded me of my childhood when I would hear my mother playing the piano while I was elsewhere in the house. The sounds brought to me peace and happiness. At that moment I felt that same peace and happiness. And then the phone call came. A call none of us had expected. My mother had died. There was no warning. No inkling of an idea. And all in one moment my world shattered.

I spent the following months dedicated to the care and wellbeing of my father. He was so grief stricken he was all but incapacitated. He could function enough to do mundane repetitious chores, such as laundry or shopping, but the life in him was gone. He died the day my mother died. And sadly, four months after her death, he joined her. And the sorrow I felt on June 6th was compounded. Those little shards of my life that I had managed to piece together after mom died, well, they fell apart. And I felt as though the world could swallow me whole and I wouldn’t care. But the reality is that this is not how life works. Life goes on long after those we love have crossed over into heaven.

I was raised LDS, also known as Mormon. We believe in God the eternal father, in Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost. We believe that we were placed here on earth to obtain a body, to prove our love to God through obedience to the gospel, and through the atonement are able to return to heaven to live with him. We believe Families are Forever. It is that belief that I have held onto with all my might, mind and strength this past year.

When mom died, I awoke the next morning and in my mind I could hear the following hymn in my head as though it was being sung by a choir:

God be with you till we meet again; By his counsels guide, uphold you, With his sheep securely fold you; God be with you till we meet again. Till we meet, till we meet, till we meet at Jesus feet. Till we meet, till we meet, God be with you till we meet again.

And as I heard this hymn being played over and over in my heart and mind throughout the day, I felt an affirmation that my mother was well and that I would see her again in the next life.

To share with you memories of my mother would be to recall senses and not events in particular. My mother was the smell of ivory soap, tide detergent and snuggle fabric softener. She was laughter everywhere. She was sunshine in the morning as she opened my curtains to wake me up. She was back scratches and tight hugs. She was funny poems and silly songs. She was Chubby Checker and the Twist. She was old black and white movies. She was Scarlet O’Hara and Kate Hepburn. She was beautiful. She was talented. And she was my mother. I am so blessed to be able to say that. If it is true that we chose our family members in the pre-existence, then I am truly happy that we chose one another as family. There were times when our roles reversed and I was more the mother and she more the daughter. She was frightened of people at times. She hated confrontation. I would be her front man. I protected her. But there were times she was the lioness protecting her cub when I was ill or being taken advantage of by others trying to get one over on me. I know she loved me. I can still hear her voice in my own at times. We share the same silly laugh. I hear her whispering to me little directives during the day on how to do a chore a certain way or other. I sometimes can even smell her. Maybe it is my mind doing all these things. Maybe not. I like to believe she is still here with me.

My father entered into my life when I was 3 years old. He does not resonate in me through sound or smell. We shared a very different relationship. He was very much the authoritarian. He was extremely intelligent, very dictatorial and stoic. He was rough around the edges. You either loved him or hated him. There was never any in between. But I knew a side of him that very few people saw, except perhaps my mother. Once, when I was a teenager, my father quit drinking for a year. During that year there was happiness in our home. There was peace. I could see a sparkle in my father’s eyes and a real kindness. He allowed his feelings to show that particular year that he normally kept hidden deep inside. I remember thinking, “This is how God sees my dad.” He knows his real inner self and for one brief moment we’ve been allowed to see it too. I am grateful for that year. Because of it I have never looked at my father the same way again. Oh, I’ve had my hard times with him and disappointments. I won’t deny that. But I loved him. I do love him. He was my dad. And in the sorrowful months following my mother’s death, he became my friend. He held so much pain inside of him, I just wanted to reach in and take it all away. I wanted to protect him. I just didn’t know how. All I could do was to be there for him and cry with him. Listen to him. He was my friend and I loved him.

I could list the accomplishments that my parents made in their lives, and that list would be long; however, I feel that somehow had they been given longer to live, that list would have continued to grow. They were forever learning and trying new things. They had a passion for education, books and travel. They had a passion for each other that over shadowed everything around them. I know they are continuing to learn and grow together as they continue their journey in heaven. There is a season for all things, and their season here on Earth has for me, sadly come to an end.

Thanksgiving week, Daniel and I took the ashes of our parents to Plymouth, Massachusetts, where we scattered them on a private beach near our childhood home. There had been a nor’easter earlier in the week, and it continued after we left. However, while we were there, the sun shone, the temperature was in the 50s or 60s and the sky was clear. We arrived in Plymouth to a crowd gathered for the Thanksgiving parade. Dan and I had not even thought that this might be going on. We knew we would have to wait for the parade to end before we could get down to the beach and carry out our parents’ last wishes. The parade changed everything. What could have been a very sad and somber day, turned into a celebration. Mom loved parades and would have loved this one. She loved Plymouth. She loved Thanksgiving. I could just feel that this parade would have tickled her. I was happy to see a couple of bands of bagpipers come by playing the traditional tunes. I had thought of bringing my bagpipes to play on the beach when we scattered the ashes, but thought “Who am I kidding? I haven’t played in years. It would have sounded like a cat with its tail being pulled.” So I was pleased that daddy got his pipers after all.

The parade ended. We went down to the beach. Hardly anyone was there. We said a prayer and scattered the ashes into Plymouth bay. When we were done, I notice an older couple sitting on the rocks not far from us, holding hands and just looking out at the water. They didn’t look anything like my parents, but their attitude and demeanor was like that of my folks. Happy. In love. And together enjoying the moment. We spent the day in Plymouth, but before leaving to head home, we decided to go back one last time to the beach to say good-bye. We arrived to find that a few feet away from where we had laid our parents to rest was a young bridal couple having their wedding pictures taken. The sun was setting, the bride was beautiful and I thought to myself, “This is how it should be. Life goes on.” And it does.

I miss my parents terribly. And there isn’t a day or night that goes by that I don’t think about them, talk to them or say a prayer for them. But for now I will close with this thought: May God be with them till we meet again.