Announcing my mother’s wake.

I don’t care for softening words, like “with a heavy heart…”

You know all these phrases. “With a heavy heart, I regret to inform you, that…” and then all the euphemisms. “Passed,” or “didn’t make it,” or any of the other phrases we use to avoid the hard words that none of us like.

I understand the desire to soften the language. I burst into tears every time I say the hard words, so I understand wanting that. All these softened words do for me is prolong the moment of impact. I guess gain something by spreading the pain out over a few minutes.

I guess that’s what I am doing.

My mother died. Those words hurt.

If you would like to know the details of her funeral, I will share them. Just ask.

If you can’t make it, or don’t want to, but you do want to help memorialize her then there’s lots of ways.

My mum believed that we have a temple in this whole wide universe. No good reason to restrict our celebration or mourning to particular buildings or moments.

If you want to help me wake her, I am glad for the company.

My mother likes hoppy beer, and she likes dry cocktails. She likes black tea, and she likes dark coffee. She likes rich chocolate and she like good red wine.

She likes good food well prepared, especially if it has a story attached to it. She likes fresh bread, and fresh tortillas, and fresh cake.

She likes big spaces full of empty wind and big sky and big mountains. She likes walking and she likes sitting and watching the world do what it does.

She likes reading. She read everything. And she likes good films and good TV, but she likes it best if she can talk to you about it afterwards.

So if you do wish to help me wake my mother, you may come, you may show support in the way that you like best. I understand that some people want to be present. The company helps. I appreciate it and my family does. It helps to know we’re not alone.

If you really want to help me wake her, then raise a glass to her. Eat a meal and remember. Enjoy a book and watch the clouds.

And remember: when a glass is half air and half water, it’s all the way full.

This is a story for a Grief Playbook that doesn’t exist…because each story is different, as is every day that we who grieve navigate a sea of emotions and numbness that come in waves.