So, to be blunt, my mother is dead. She died a week ago, in Florida, where she and my dad spent their winters from December to April. My three brothers and I flew down to be with her and Dad, all hoping she’d pull out of it again, as she had in several previous crises, but I think we all knew otherwise. She was 88.
We flew down on Sunday, and early Wednesday morning she died. In between times, she was so delighted that we were all there, as was my dad. We sang to her in four-part harmony, as she died. Yesterday was the funeral and burial, here in upstate New York.
Fortunately for us, she and Dad had made prior arrangements with a funeral director close to home, who took charge of getting Mother’s body back to New York State, and all the logistical stuff we might have had to stumble through. She’s been a great source of advice and comfort. There were only a few decisions to be made.
I’m having some trouble shaking off the numbness– I still haven’t wept whole-heartedly. I’m weary and sad and scatter-brained. My youngest brother and I are keeping Dad company in turn, but he also cherishes his alone time. He heads back to Florida in a couple of weeks, to meet my nephew and clean out the double-wide mobile home “unit” he and Mother owned in Florida.
I’m beginning to miss her. I hated the make-up job the undertaker did on her. We had a few good years together, just enjoying one another’s company. She would not have approved of the funeral service starting late, but that was due to the number of people who came to pay their respects. The church was filled. She was widely loved and respected.