I went to a Memorial Service for a dear friend's mother today.
I was dreading it, thinking that all sorts of unreleased grief for my own parents would surface but, in fact, it was so nicely done that I remained totally focussed on the dear, Sweet Lady who had left us to join her husband for Valentine's Day.
Losing one's mother is profound or, at least, it was for me.
I wasn't home when my mother died and didn't fly back for the funeral - there were reasons, but I'll always carry that guilt.
Today, a photo montage of Sweet Lady's last days was shown on a flatscreen. And suddenly, in a photo that flashed by, there I was.
And I realized that I had been enormously priveledged this last week. In being welcomed to visit and say my goodbyes, I was a very small part of a family gathering where each of the four children came together from different parts of North America to go through photos, reminisce and say farewell to the woman who bore and raised and loved them.
I didn't get to do that with my mother. I didn't get to see her in bed and accept the end, I didn't get to gather with my siblings and laugh and cry, I didn't get to sit quietly with my her and just say goodbye, face to face, like I did with this Sweet Lady.
My friend - let's call her Eve - allowed me to be a tiny part of this intimate, sad and happy family gathering, to bring food as an offer of support, to hug them and to say that I am sorry for their loss.
I was a miniscule part of their journey, but the experience has somehow been very profound for me.
I was given a taste of a family facing the circle of life together, and it feels like it's somehow filled a portion of the gap of not having that with my family for either of my parents' deaths. Perhaps that's why my mother's death didn't hit me till the one year anniversary of her passing, and my father's death doesn't seem to have hit me at all, yet.
I know it seems strange to say that being part of another family's grieving process has been an honor, but it has. I am grateful that I could be here, with my friend Eve, at this time.
This last week, and today, has been a gift.
Rest in peace, dear Sweet Lady. I'll always remember that moment when you told a funny story at brunch....
This is a poem I found last night about mothers and passing on, and I felt comforted by it. Perhaps you'll like it too...
The Watcher
By Margaret Widdemar
She always leaned to watch for us
Anxious if we were late
In winter by the window
In summer by the gate
And though we mocked her tenderly
Who had such foolish care
The long way home would seem more safe
Because she waited there
Her thoughts were all so full of us
She never could forget
And so I think that's where she is
She must be watching yet
Waiting 'til we come home to her
Anxious if we are late
Watching from Heaven's window
Leaning from Heaven's gate
Wednesday, September 1, 2010 at 7:08PM 
Ittybittycrazy
