Life goes on
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
Death has touched our household once again. Our mother died in her sleep. Born 90 years ago, she did her last transition in a graceful way, just as she would have wanted it to happen — without fanfare, without noticeable pain, quietly, her house in order, her dress laid out to wear, the bathroom immaculate with the chrome on the faucets polished.
By contrast, my father's death was a lingering one and he begged God for release as his heart failed and he gasped for breath. Gratefully, Mother's death was swift and unexpected.
We had to leave on a business trip. Mom's sister came to stay with her for a week. "We're having so much fun," Mom reported when we called to check up on them. Even though she'd had some qualms about our being "so far away," as she put it; all was well in Ramona — except for the ice and cold weather, but then it's winter, right?
When we were delayed, Mom was more concerned. "You'll be back on Thursday?" her voice was quiet. "Only three more days, Mom," we explained, "Do you want us to get someone else to sleep over?" She pondered and then said, "I'll be OK." Tim was here, checking on her daily, working right across the street on my kitchen. Paula was calling, neighbors and friends checking in, "Do you need anything?" She didn't — except for her girls to be home.
On the evening before our flight home, my sister called again — this had been a twice-a-day ritual for the last few days. Mom said, "I've just missed you girls so much. I want you to know how much I appreciate all the things you do for me. I'd like to ride to the airport with Tim to pick you up."
In Atlanta, as we were about to board the last leg of our flight, I called Mom to tell her that we'd had no big delays and we'd be home soon. She didn't answer. I called Tim, "Mom's not answering — check on her before you come. It's so cold and slick out, I don't think it's a good idea for her to try and come with you."
The stuff of life and death — the great common denominator that touches us all, that we all eventually face, has touched us. Death is a great reminder of why we are here, whether that here is here on the planet, here in Ramona, or here with Mom. In the face of death we once again affirm our connections.
Connection is why we came back to Ramona — a connection with our roots, a connection with family still remaining, a connection with dear people in our town, who we've come to know. Ramona was a place that resonated on a different frequency, the pace was slower, people waved, they knew the texture of our lives.
That connection to the past has been comforting to Mom. She could look out her bedroom window and see the Ramona High School building where she first met Dad, the greatest connection of her lifetime. It is our connection with the people in this community that comforts us now. They come by, they offer sympathy, they offer help, they bring food.
The children in our art class at Centre, sent us cards — each one a unique creation reflecting the child. "We're sorry," they wrote. "I'm sad your mom died," they said. "I hope you get along the rest of your life," wrote another. "If you nead anything, just tell me," and I grinned. What I needed was just this — the affirmation of life, the simple touch, a child's earnest caring.
It's another day in the country. I'm still reading cards and Callie wrote, "I'm thinking of you and I cannot wait for you to come and art to start!" Me either! Life goes on.
