We buried my mother today.
She died in her sleep 2 August 2015 at 94 years of age. Her death was a surprise, but not unexpected. We had all gotten together with her just two weeks ago. She seemed in good spirits, considering her age. The Alzheimer’s had been progressing recently, but she still knew all of us, and that was a blessing.
She lived a full life and raised seven children. My brother posted a sign on Facebook: “My mother taught me everything, except how to survive without her.” For that, we have to muddle through on our own.
Several of the comments the reverend said at the service struck chords.
“You can get a bigger house. You can get a bigger car. You can get a bigger bank account. But none of that gets you a bigger casket.”
I’m pleased to be able to say my ambitions are rather modest. We don’t need a bigger house, so what would be the use of having one? And a big car? Just guzzles more gas. I will admit to the bigger bank account; not so much for itself as for what we could do with it. We’ve always wanted to travel and see parts of the world outside the United States, or even the remoter (from us) parts of this country. But you know what? we’re doing fine without it.
He also read The Dash, a poem by Linda Ellis. A reflection on the dash between the two dates on a tombstone. It is a thought-provoking look at what is important in your life, not only to you but to the people around you too.
I haven’t really cried yet. If it is anything like the loss of my father, years ago, it will keep coming back to me at odd and unusual times. That’s when I’ll miss her and the tears will fill my eyes.