My Mother’s funeral was 30 days ago…I don’t feel good…I look at the world and it seems to be bland, out of air. It was the saddest death and the saddest goodbye…the funeral music was so lovely but I could hardly hear it. We have gone on, I guess.
I play with my doggies, I pick vegetables, I have parties. Parties to make me forget like Mrs. Dolloway. Somehow when the flowers come out and the table is set, and the meat is in the oven and the wine is in the frig, all seems right with the world even though it isn’t.
I try not to talk about it because if I do, I start talking and I can’t shut up. My mother told me that this is what happened when I turned one and if to validate it seven years later, my report card said, “Claire continues to talk incessantly.” People don’t like it when I talk. A boss told me once not to ask questions which hurt my naieve child within. My father called me mouth one year on my birthday, in the newspaper, in public, this too hurt me. Someone wrote a nasty comment on my blog shortly after my Mom died…it made me so sad because other people told me how lovely that particular blog was. But that really wasn’t what made me sad, what made me sad is that the person didn’t sign their name and so I was left wondering: am I hurting someone? So I have been quiet.
I go to work. I walk the trails, I keep planning parties. And I play with my dogs. My dogs…always ready to sink their teeth and their mouths wide open into anything I give them…bones, beach balls…whatever. My dogs, always happy to hear my voice and jump on me with love, and lick me until I pet them again and again.
It is a sad day when your Mother dies and it is an even sadder day when you wake up thirty plus days later and know that the only place you will ever see her again is in your dreams. But it is a good day when you realize that your dogs have a message in their play…what truths their mouths convey, what nature giveth let no one taketh away.
Please find the courage to sign your comments.