UrMom.com
My mom just reminded me of a song I had long forgotten--I got the joy joy joy joy down in my heart *clap clap* / down in my heart; "STOP in the name of the Lloyd!"- Mister Stupid
We don't want to step on your ABC gum at the movie theater or anywhere. So I love my mom. Meanwhile, we are both in our pajamas at 3 pm drinking coffee and the sky is grey and it begins to lightly rain as we talk about family. Her youngest brother's wife's sister is dying of brain cancer. Mom's Irish twin just passed away last December. They were born a year and a day apart. 'An Irish Blessing' is the song we always sang at the end of the year in choir. 'May the Road rise to meet you/ may the wind be always at your back/ may the sun shine warm upon your face/ the rains fall soft upon your fields/ and until we meet again/ until we meet again/ may God hold you in the palm of His hand...
She'd said she had been crying recently. It's March 16, John 3:16 'For God so loved the world' day.
It's difficult to really feel the loss with so much commotion during the final days of a loved one's life. Everyone thereafter suffering through the stages of grief being on different stages; Summer ended up on anger round Christmas I bet. I felt selfish remorse having nothing to do with Aunt Wendy after Christmas, and told my mom outside that I couldn't even cry. I think it's because everybody has another thing to say, one after another, building an invisible bridge everyone else can get fucked under. There's little room to brood or cry and not much time to feel.
Kristin had been lying on the floor by their mother's death bed and lying in bed myself the other night I had this sensorial occurrence; I could feel her anguish, hear her heave and feel the ever-long shudder hearing them say she's really dead and this intuition that a mother's death for her children is like being born; you cry uncontrollably, eyes sealed shut but you have to squeeze them shut that hard for opening them again to make sense. You see all the family who came to witness in the room like you're going home with them, but you're really going on with them now, holding on for every successive day until it's your turn to die.
We put them in the ground so that flowers love to make you cry forever and trees don't want you to climb them anymore but you won't stop yourself from observing your children doing so. It's just nature being what it is. I used the word 'poignant' while talking to my mom about Fat Albert because we are wont to change the subject or say about a thing that would had amused our dearly departed as well; she'd impersonated the mumbly one. She asked me what that word meant and it's just that something makes you feel like crying despite the intentional context.
Dwelling. It's not always bad. Just don't ignore the living. Good evening. Miss you, Aunt Wendy.