A VERY FEW WORDS ABOUT THE HOUR OF OUR DEATH
Okay, this isn’t going to be easy to write, and, if you’ve lost someone you love, it might not be easy to read.
My mother died over 30 years ago, and I still haven’t gotten over it. I don’t believe anyone ever really gets over the death of a loved one. You learn to “get around it.” You plan your day, you do your business, you run errands, you maybe find some pleasure in the evenings.
But you are not getting over. You are getting around. You are avoiding looking into the void, the abysses. She is not there, you cannot see her, talk to her, be with her. You are alone.
Now, in the Christian tradition, there is an answer. One day you’ll wake up in heaven and be with her and all the angels and saints, with the mother of God, and her precious son. Happy Jesus! I’ll go with that. Let’s call that door number 1.
The old Celtic way is not quite so bright, but it ends well enough, with all of us trooping off under the direction of the Sidhe, the fairy folk. But we’re all together, which is the essential thing, So, door number 2.
And there’s probably a more mundane option. People who work in hospitals and hospices say that the dying often think they see their mothers during their last moments. Maybe it’s a built in safe guard to protect us from our worst fears. That could be door number 3, but I would have to ask what creator built in that safe guard. Maybe we’re back to door number 1.
Well, we don’t know, so we wait. In the meantime, all I can say is, “Sleep well, Mother. I miss you.”