A year ago today my mom swung from star to star silently into secrets unknown. Yesterday, I thought about calling her for about a half a second. A half second of forgetfulness. Habit. Another family lives in the house to which I would call. The number going nowhere anyway.
The thing I remember the most from that night was my white knuckles on the drive home from the hospital. I guess I was hanging on to that steering wheel for dear life after spending a few hours in an ER room with the lifeless form of my mother.
On my drive home from work today after one of those days when you wonder if the spirit once crushed can repair, I thought about her death. She died and none of us were with her. We had been with her throughout the day, but we did not expect her to go on ahead so soon. So we were all at home, my brothers and I. And then my oldest brother called me and I knew this was the beginning of feeling like an orphan and picking up the phone and no one to call like before.
Of course, she was not alone. The truth that can seem trite when the sadness is thick like fog, is still true. She was taking holding of Life. And she was moving toward life more than those of us standing there watching her lie more still than she ever had since she first drew breath.