The aftermath

In a couple of other venues, I have claimed to be all tied up in the administrivia that follows the demise of a loved one. We’re intermittently busy packing up Mom’s apartment and handling the things that must be done. Yesterday was a milestone of sorts: The crematory called to say Mom was ready (there really is no good way to put that, is there?) so my sister and I went to pick up the cremains and death certificates. Today I canceled the cable and Internet account. The last bits of medical equipment have been sent back. And sympathy cards are coming in.

Sunday is another milestone when her obituary appears in the local newspaper. Yeah, I know, how quaint, a printed obit.

I’m holding up OK. I actually haven’t had a big crying jag yet, which surprises me. I don’t think I’m failing to recognize the gravity of the situation. It might be more like I was there all along, trying to keep things together while watching the inevitable developments. The Monday before she died, we were playing CDs for her and Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” had me in tears for a bit. I’m expecting a bigger impact at some random point in the near future, I guess. I’m glad to be functional now, though, because stuff still needs to get done.

I’ll write about something else soon, I promise.


About songdogmi

I'm a longhaired almost-hippie stuck in the inner suburbs of a major rust-belt metropolis who's thoughtful, creative, and kind of geeky. In exchange for a paycheck I run around in a cubicle maze most days. When I escape, I play music, hang out in coffee houses, dink around on the computer, take naps, and think I should be off in the woods somewhere. Every once in a while I get in my car and drive far, far away, though I've always come back so far.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to The aftermath

  1. maxauburn says:

    The big cry will come. You’ll be surprised by what will set it off: A tv show your mom liked, something she loved to eat, or even a flower.

    George was the closest I had to a real father. I cried a hell of a lot the first several months, then it kind of leveled off by the end of that first awful year without him.

    But even now, over 16 years after he died, once in a while, I’ll hear a song, or think of some long forgotten memory- and the tears come.

    I do my best to remember all the good times.
    They are what make me smile. πŸ™‚


    • songdogmi says:

      I’m kind of looking forward to those songs or whatever that trigger a memory. Even if there are tears, it’ll be nice to visit with Mom again in those moments.

      • maxauburn says:

        “Even if there are tears, it’ll be nice to visit with Mom again in those moments.”

        And in that way, a part of her shall live on within you. πŸ™‚

  2. Anonymous says:

    Max speaks a lot of truth. Grief has its own timetable. Going on autopilot while getting the details squared off is part of it.

    My moment with for my dad came several weeks after his passage. I was holding his hand when he let go, yet it took time for it to hit me.

    As you may remember, he loved to cook and grocery shop. A new supermarket had just opened in my neighborhood. As I was shopping there, I thought that it would be really fun to take him there during his next visit. Then I remembered. I went totally rigid and stayed that way until I walked in the house. I just lost it. I think I cried for two hours nonstop.

    It will come in its own time and in its own way. Many hugs are being sent, as are pats and leans.

    (”’) Fran and Oakley (”’)

    • songdogmi says:

      Awww… *hugs* Yeah, I can see that it would come for you that way. It could be something like that with my mom, too, or maybe something bird-related. Who knows. I know it’ll come when it comes. And I know it’ll be OK.

  3. kishenehn says:

    Must sending some more good thoughts.

    When my Mom passed away, the big cry for me actually happened before it was all over …

    • songdogmi says:

      Thanks. πŸ™‚

      The big cry for my father was facilitated by a couple of songs, one in particular. I haven’t found one for Mom yet, oddly enough. It’ll probably be something totally goofy and unexpected like Henry Mancini’s “Baby Elephant Walk.” πŸ™‚

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s