In a process resembling the aftermath of Christmas, I’ve begun putting my house (literal and figurative) back in order. The immediate business of death and all the posthumous ritual is over. Thank you notes have been written and mailed. Lists are being made, both on paper and in my head, of people left to call, services to cancel, tasks to complete. My son and his family went back to their home in Dallas yesterday, and I spent the afternoon putting all Connor’s toys away, doing laundry, and taking the first steps toward the “new normal” life that awaits me, the life without my mother figuring prominently in it
My Mother’s Gift
“My mother and I are sort of joined at the hip,” I told the ambulance driver who transported her from Beaumont Hospital to the Angela Hospice Care Center last Thursday.
“I could tell that,” he said, an older gentlemen who let me ride along in the ambulance with them. He smiled kindly at me, obviously knowing what a difficult time I was going through.
He was right.