There's nothing that could've prepared me for the tragic news I received last Sunday afternoon around 7pm. I was carrying on as i usually do, having another mildly entertaining stretch of mindlessly autopilot clicking through my routines, when my brother came into my room to relay the news. He wasn't ready to give it, I wasn't ready to receive it, but nevertheless it needed to be communicated.
"Mom's critical right now, she's in bad shape. She may very well pass within the coming hour. I'm going to have to drive up there." His brief pause at this point belied his solemn sternness, revealing his underlying fear and worry and uncertainty, which would only be evident in the eyes of someone who knew him exceptionally well. He proceeded to ask a question, on to which we both already knew the answer, there was little point in its asking, but the panic brought on by the grim reality of our mother's condition rendered our collective sense of intuition, or maybe the ability to independently reason with ourselves, completely frazzled. "Are you coming with me?"
Of course I would be going. Whatever I had going on in some games would just have to take a back seat, my priorities just got upturned. When we were finally able to arrange to have the dogs fed and walked, and to get my 4 year old nephew's schedule figured out to where we could depart, the time had somehow crept by and it was already just after 9pm.
Well, our trip was a long and mostly silent 8 hours, and our mother's time of death was pronounced at 4:15am monday morning, and my brother and I arrived an hour after her ToD.
I'm grieving, well I think it's fair to say that we all are grieving. But I'm here, and back at home, still moving forward despite my burden seeming a little heavier today.
Moms are special, and you only get one of them. I'll miss her, I already do miss her.
Thanks for reading
