October 19, 2018 – The first anniversary of my Mom’s death.

         Half of the year I have been in denial – is she actually gone?  Denial was easy to fall into as I live here in North Carolina and she lived in Massachusetts.  But, I was jolted back to reality when some important thing in my life happened and I’d reached for the telephone and would suddenly pause – realizing she’s gone. I can no longer phone her – I can no longer share ‘whatever’ with my Mom. Then as I set the receiver back on its cradle, I experience the most overwhelming feeling of sadness.

         Or, I’d go to the mailbox, barefoot crossing the cool green lawn, then a few steps on the too-hot pavement with the sun warming my back as I open the latch and pull out a stack of mail.  Flipping through it I’d occasionally come upon the back of a number 10 envelope. As I turn it over a flicker of anticipation flashes through me expecting to see her handwriting - then the realization – I’ll never find another letter addressed to me in my Mom’s handwriting in the mailbox, ever.

         I am still coming to grips with her death.  I try my best to “check” the grief – but then – why should I?  Her presence is everywhere – in my home among the photos and dishes and trinkets.  In my closet among the scarfs or matching “mother\daughter” clothes, I bought for “us” over the years. Her books that line my bookshelves beg me to re-read them. Or, how I often pause when I make Mom’s recipes that I know from heart.

         And, part of my denial process was dragging my feet on getting the date of death on the family headstone.  It took me almost nine months before I telephoned the stonemason to do the work.   

         What prompted me?  I would wake up with dreams.  I’d see Mom shaking her head with a soundless soft smile of disapproval.  I’d be silently shrugging my shoulders back at her and mentally making excuses, ‘been so busy’, ‘it’s winter – needs to be done in the summer’, or ‘I forgot – yes it is on my to-do list’, ‘I’ll get right on it’.

         Finally, I got off my duff and dug through the notes I took at the law office when we opened my Mom’s estate.  I found the name and telephone number of the stonemason and made the call.

         After the initial contact, it took me dragging my feet a few weeks to sign the contract and send it on.  It took longer than I expected from the first contact to the contract coming in for the work to be done.  Then we had a little hurdle with the shrubs that had overgrown the headstone again.  The stonemason suggested they be removed as they would interfere with his work and at some point shrubs get big enough to topple head stones. We wouldn’t want that.

         So, my brother Ken, rectified that situation. One day he chopped the shrubs down and then he went back, got the roots out, and put in some spring flowering bulbs.

         Then in September, my dreams went into “panic mode”.  I admitted to my brother I was having dreams that if the stonework wasn’t done by the anniversary of her death I expected to be rudely woken with a ghostly visit from Mom with her saying:

         “What’s up with my headstone?”

         A few days later the stonework done, my brother snapped a picture to send it to me showing the work had been done.

         Now I don’t fear her coming to me in a dream as I am certain she would say,

         “Well done kids – Dad and I are happy up here.  Even Dad thought the shrubs needed to go.  And, we like you putting in spring bulbs for us. . .”