Friday, November 23, 2007

Yesterday Was the Day



Well, at long last we reach the end of this part of Lynda's story. She died yesterday about 5pm, peacefully and in no pain or discomfort. Though I wasn't with her, it was nice to know that Cheryl was, and that the smells of good food and the sound family talk and laughter were filling the house. What better way to pass on than with the smells of food and the chatter of family in the background?

Of course, now there are any number of things that have to be done before the last page is written, and it is my intent to follow up on these words by continuing to write about our lives together. This is her legacy to me now; I am released as the writer I've always wanted to be, and, beginning with the fertile ground of our memories, I will be able to raise more than just maudlin recollections, reaching instead for those resonances that I know to be to essence of being and being together.

Today is not a day when I have much to say. The tears long held back do not seem to be near the surface, yet I am sure there'll be a moment when it'll feel good to cry. Right now, the feeling is one of relief, both for her and, quite frankly for myself, since I have not had much opportunity for recreation in the past year. Selfish though it may be, I am now free to spend my time in pursuit of the things I enjoy, like playing golf! This is a pleasure I've not had enough of lately and now I will be able to pursue it without feeling conflicted.

There are many other such conflicts now resolved by Lynda's death, and though I will be absent the great friend and loving person that was my Mother, I am finally grown up. No longer the son, I am now the father, and a new chapter begins.

1 comment:

David said...

And it is amazing how that relief for her and for us, too, is a healing all in itself. I find that for me that Mom's death now becomes about other people - friends, co-workers who express their condolences and tell of the deaths in their families and what it means to them. It is strangely comforting: a sense of intimate sharing, of common experience.

There is relief in letting go, resolving, finishing - but also in picking up, starting again, renewing energies and ties.