The Loss of My Mother
As we age, the loss of a parent is often inevitable.
“ I don’t think I have much longer,” mom said out of nowhere. Funny how those who are dying seem to know it.
Mom and I were sitting on her bed in the den. Parceling out her life, we continued with her itemization of bills, and important contacts. Her legacy was laid out in endless paperwork as we exchanged more bank notes, phone numbers, and details. My mother was always very organized, even down to her own death.
“Here’s whom you need to call to make arrangements after I’m gone,” she continued with an instructional tone. It wasn’t said with sympathy, or sadness, but with the air of a teacher, laced with practicality.
“If you want to sell any of my things-those things you children don’t want, you could put an ad in the paper,” she added abstractly, like she was commenting on a painting, pointing to the local weekly newspaper.
We shared a moment, albeit it briefly, where a knowing look was exchanged. A few tears were shed, but they were few. It was too painful for both of us.
We knew we shared a special bond, one that needed little explanation. It was a look we’d given one another during this seven-month torture of cancer.
Perhaps she viewed me as a younger version of herself. God knows we were a lot…
