My father died when I was eight years
old. Fifty-four years later my mother’s heart stopped. That was Friday night at
about 6:30. She lived with my sister down in Birmingham, Alabama but has been
in a nursing home for the past 6 months in what was a nearly vegetative state I
think. Try as I may all those memories that I feel obligated to have at a time
like this just won’t come…the cookie baking, the Halloween costume making , the
warm motherly moments like when I had the flu or a cold etc. My mom wasn’t a
bad person or an inadequate mother or anything like that. I know there must
have been times like that. It's just that in my memories of my childhood we
were never a particularly close or demonstrative family. That now comes back to
haunt me and a better writer than I could probably turn this into something
vaguely Shakespearean….”The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.”
None of those moments present
themselves right now and I think I feel almost as badly about that as I do
about her passing. It seems one is obligated to have those warm and fuzzy
thoughts about one’s family at a time like this, should feel a more piquant
sense of loss. I suppose that’s just one more little hash mark on the guilt
side of the ledger for me.
Finally,
I am now the eldest in our immediate family and I can’t help wondering if that
means that I am next. Will my children and grandchildren have the same feelings
of insufficiently defined loss that I have? Will they have to struggle for the
good memories? If I can offer anything of any earthly use to anyone else at
this time it’s the same question…will yours?
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