I don't know what time it was when I left the hospital. It had to be around two-thirty, going on three AM. I was in a dazed state, the tears had not yet begun. The building seemed completely empty. I was carrying my mother's prosthetic leg and a shopping bag full of her things, including a Babar book that I'd bought on Friday to cheer her up and which she never got a chance to see.
I can't believe that it's been a year. Sometimes it seems like that much time cannot possibly have passed, and other times it seems like too much has happened to possibly be contained by just one year.
The parking lot was deserted. I drove home through a dead world and somehow made it in to work the next morning, and every morning after that. It was graduation time, I wasn't allowed to take any time off. The falling apart happened gradually.
Mom and Mickey Mouse were born the same year. She grew up on Disney animation, and her whole house was filled with Disneyana, among other things.
It still doesn't seem real. Go figure. Nothing seems quite real to me anymore. All something I dreamed. I go through the motions, pretend to be a Real Boy. That's what life has become.
Goodnight, Mom. Goodbye.
It's been six years now since I lost my Mom, Doug, and I can assure you: Those last moments never quite escape. You always remember where you were, what she said, how you responded and when finally you parted.
ReplyDeleteBut life does go on for all of us, and as a parent I know what I want for my children, which I'm sure is what my Mom wanted for me: Go out and do good in the world. Make friends, make a contribution, try every day in at least a little way to make a difference.
We can't stave off mortality, any of us. We can't save our parents.
But, damn, we sure can make them proud.