For Mom - Goodbye

I stood in the kitchen in front of the idiot robot music machine trying to change it from a tinkling harpsichord version of the Brandenburg Concerto to a more appropriate, deeper, mellow orchestral version. My head was down, fingers tapping the app, distracted. I heard a gasp, a sigh and a sob from the living room and knew it was done. Her struggle over, Mom was gone.

I came around the corner and saw Dad, my sister and brother embraced and crying. Mom lay on her hospice bed, sightless eyes open, mouth slightly agape, still as stone. I leaned into the group hug and held my family tight trying to comfort them with more than just my touch.

Mom was gone - passed - spirit lifted and worn body left behind on a special bed set up in her living room. Days before, a brain hemorrhage crippled her already weak body. When the doctors could do no more, she came home, lingered and struggled a few days, and left us in the middle of a beautiful morning after hearing last words from each of her babies. Once she decided to go, she left in a hurry – no hanging about for that one. She mouthed her Tommy a last goodbye and flew away into the vastness where the wild winds blow - gone.

While she lived, brimming with essence, her edges were smeared, soft, indistinct, vibrating in concert with all the life around her. When her spirit rose, her body stopped vibrating, became still as alabaster. Empty of life it was sharp, defined, like a statue; her face stern, her skin ivory and smooth as marble. I kissed her once on the forehead and whispered my thanks for giving me the universe.

Mom's spirit flew and her suffering ceased. Her painful heartbeat, her worry, her weakness all stopped when her soul lifted. I was relieved she was at peace, but I was bewildered - spooked - by her absence.

Yet, I did not shatter, was not grief stricken - instead, I was astonished. Where did she go? One minute she was right there - lying on that bed, blanket over her, barely breathing, listening to my whispered words of comfort, feeling my kiss - and then she was gone - more than gone - she was empty. Like a chrysalis, or an egg shell, or a seed pod, or a molted feather - her body was an empty vessel left behind after a metamorphosis.

Bound by flesh, blood, gravity and time, she was transformed by death; she was unbound, powerful and free - wings spread - joyful. She went from being my little Mom - anxious, confined in a weakened body, brain bruised, heart shattered - to being my superlove Mom encompassing everything. She was the sunrise, the sunset, the live oak in my front yard, the light playing on the grass, the grass itself. She was the hawk, the osprey, the dolphin, the ocean. She was a crystal mountain stream and a summer day and a glass of lemonade and blue sky and thunder. She was the air in my lungs, the sunlight on my skin, the rain on my head, the wind in my hair. She was everything everywhere. The mystery, holiness and sanctity of it were terrible - magnificent - unbelievable. Her transformation was surreal - my mind whirled with the immense mystery of it. What just happened?

Science has no answer - whatever substance or mechanism or process animates a body baffles biology and physics. We can't pull the spirit/soul out of a body and put it in a petrie dish for experiment and study - thankfully.

Religion attempts to fill the gap. Faith the size of a tiny mustard seed conjures Heaven, God, Jesus, and the prophets - Or Allah and Mohammed - or Shiva and her million deity cohort - or the Great Creator and the spirit of Turtle Island. For me, of little faith, none were sufficient to explain Mom's transformation. This was bigger than any mortal attempt at explanation. Any justification or definition put the magic in a box enclosed by mere language. This was so vast and so strong, it overwhelmed any poor attempt at description. Mom could no longer be contained by flesh, blood, language or even thought.

I cant tell you what happened when Mom died, cant explain it. I know it was huge and holy and wild and perfect and unknowable. She left behind everything she ever cared and worried about with our memories attached. The only thing she took with her was the only thing she could never leave behind - the thing she was never without - love. Love big as the vast universe.

Early the next morning I rode my bike across the bridge over the river and looked off to the east. Puffy clouds blew across the rising sun golden, orange, cream and blue. Sun sparkled on the river and washed across the cypress and tupelo. A pair of osprey soared up-sun.

Thanks Mom - thank you for everything.