Grief

The Losing Side

| Flower Roberts

I have officially arrived at the Losing Side. When my parents were alive, there was a point when they started losing friends and relatives at an alarming rate. I could not understand how they could stand losing so many people they loved.

They did not cry about the deaths. Mom kept a supply of sympathy cards. The church ladies would call and assign a food to make for the family. Mom boiled dozens of eggs. Dad peeled them. Funeral bulletins were kept and filed.

Every week someone else moved on to the other side of life. Siblings, Sunday school class members, neighbors, and former co-workers started falling off the conveyor belt. Their world was emptying. 

I bought a handful of non-sappy sympathy cards last week. I sat down and made lists of memories of each dearly departed. I mailed these as I left the mountain to head home for a funeral. Next week, I must get back up the mountain for another.

We went to a party last night where we discussed dear friends who are gone. Mr. Flower and I gave pointers on what to do after the loss of both parents. How best to clean out sixty plus years of life from the home place. Who to call for help with appraisals or junk removal. What to do when mistakes are made on the death certificate…

If this seems morbid to you, it is because you have not yet arrived at the Losing Side. When you get there you will know it is time for those precious folks to go. Life goes on long after the thrill of living is gone.  Oh, yeah…

You will eventually not cry as the coffin goes by.

The Losing Side is just another part of this journey. When you are there, keep cards and casserole dishes at the ready. The more the better. Needing a generous supply means you have had a life full of folks you love.

Keep living and loving as long as you can.

FLOWER between funerals

Letting the Ashes Go

| Flower Roberts

I went to the place that my Daddy wanted his ashes spread yesterday. I took my lunch there and ate in my car. I got out and took some photos. It is peaceful, private and conveniently located near their house. Daddy was always thoughtful like that.

Daddy’s chosen resting place.

The plan was for the whole family to gather at this location. We were instructed to play his favorite hymn sung by his favorite soprano. Mama negotiated the length of her speech, three minutes max per Daddy. Then we were to take turns silently sprinkling his ashes. I found a blue heart dish with three circles just for this part.

This ceremony has not occurred yet. It has been hard to get all of us on the mountain at once. When we finally all got there, the weather was bad. I had nightmares of Daddy trying to sleep in snow. So we postponed the event until spring. Then Mama died. There went three minutes of the ceremony.

Now we have two urns full of ashes. Daddy’s is bluebird blue and Mama’s is pink, of course. Mama claimed she wanted to be sprinkled with her sister’s ashes at a different, less convenient, location. Did she mean this, or was it the dementia talking?

My daughter, Rose, gave me a pep talk about letting the ashes go last night. They wanted to be set free and sprinkled in nature she said. I know they liked this idea. I do too, on beautiful, sunny days.

For now, I will sit quietly with the blue and pink urns while I remember my parents. I am not ready to let the ashes go.

Pink and blue. What would you do?

What will we do with the urns then? Store them to wait for the next dearly departed. That’s as creepy as keeping a coffin at the ready in your garage. Yes, we know someone who got a good deal on one!

I do not know when I will be ready to let the ashes go. I will continue to visit the spot to acclimate myself. My sister will have to make the call on Mama’s sprinkle site. She haunts me enough already. I don’t need anymore guilt with her name on it.

FLOW

My Sparkly Pink Obsession

| Flower Roberts

It has been going on for weeks now. I have been calling it the ‘Pink Sparkle Emergency.’ I have been searching for all things pink. Pink was Mama’s favorite color. I thought it was just a habit, this looking for pink in January. Her birthday is in January.

I found a pink heart dish for her gift. I got out a pink candle holder I made years ago. I will light the pink candle on her birthday. I thought the obsession would stop.

Ready for Mama’s birthday

It got worse. I needed a pink shirt and pink snowflake jewelry. Shirts came. Wrong pink. The jewelry did not sparkle enough. I shopped until my new hips hurt looking for the right sparkle and the right pink.

Finally, I have the right pink. The right pink? What does that even mean?

The right pink?

I was hoping the emergency was over. I hoped I could finally relax.

Last night I had a pink sparkle dream. There was a little pink sparkle dress. Maybe it’s from too much Wicked watching and Golden Globe viewing?

When I woke up this morning, I saw it in my mind. The perfect pink, the perfect sparkle.

Mama’s perfect pink sparkle dress

It was my mama’s evening gown. I called home and made Mr. Flower take photos. Just to be sure it was safe.

I have not been searching for the perfect sparkly pink. I have been searching for my mama.

Tomorrow is her first birthday after her leaving us. Grief does strange things.

FLOW

A Single Word

| Flower Roberts

April was supposed to be the beginning of my writing odyssey in the mountains. I have not written a single word of the book I have started. The Universe had other plans for me. I am used to this. I roll with the waves.


On April 1, my ninety-three-year-old mother was diagnosed with double pneumonia, sepsis and a UTI. She was taken to the hospital. An IV of fluids and antibiotics was started. She faded. She pulled the IV out and screamed with every touch.


We decided what she needed was peace. We stood by her bed feeding her ice chips and finely chopped food. Hospice was set up for comfort measures. She rallied enough to be sent back to her nursing home next door.
An angry rash developed that robbed her of her peace. Its source has been the subject of speculation. Her withered hand was in constant movement.

Mama Kiki

Treatments were changed but the rash kept spreading. No one could stop it. Our hearts hurt for her. She finally rested. Many good people kept eyes on her, knew her, loved her. We were blessed beyond words.


Our final gift was she knew us, spoke to us with her usual grace and manner. Dementia let her loose for that last day. We were who we were there in Room 11. We were who we had always been.

Who we were

She slept through the night. Mama was peaceful in the morning and left in a wink to be with all the people she loved on the other side. I had been reciting all their names for days,  in whispers. I do this to comfort myself that she will not be alone.

My only word for now is gratitude. My parents were the best they could be just as their parents had been. Many folks helped care for her, especially Debbie, Monique and Frances. We had angels with us the whole journey.

Gratitude for good end to a great life. That’s the word.

Thank you Mama Kiki