It's 10:15 p.m. I've been sitting on the couch, variously watching TV, falling asleep, and trying to work up enough enthusiasm to pull another rabbit out of the NaBloPoMo hat. I sat down after supper, intending to regale you with a funny story about a man and a horse that the OC told me at lunch today. I know I've said this is not that kind of blog.....but after yesterday, I'm kind of on a roll......
But first I checked my e-mail and found a message from Rise. Without a funny title. It just said "Dee." Oh-oh. I felt a tiny flutter of panic. Dee is our aunt; our father's younger sister. We were both close to her through the years, each in our own way. She didn't have children of her own, so always took a great interest in us.....
Rise's message said that Dee had broken her hip and was in the hospital and things were not looking good. She wrote about it today and wanted to warn me before I read it on her blog.
Suddenly I lost interest in writing about the man and the horse. Suddenly I didn't want to write about anything at all. Suddenly I missed all the people who have died: my parents; my uncles; my grandparents, some of whom had the bad judgement to die before I was even born; my mother-in-law; and a friend, my own age, who died earlier this year. And not a one of them has sent me a postcard! So what was all that lovely stuff the nuns filled our heads with about heaven? How we'd all have wings and halos and a big party to welcome each new loved one who bit the dust? And yet not a glimmer of communication from beyond to give us hope? How come I have this bleak feeling that that may be all there is.....Dust? No party, no big reunion? Just dust. "As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."
Two aunts are all that's left from our parents' generation. Dee is one of them. The other is our Auntie Bid, our mother's younger sister,[thus dubbed when I couldn't get my childish tongue around Bridget] who is still alive, but seriously bewildered.
Depressing.
It's not the dying I object to; it's the inexorable fading away.
8 comments:
Granted. Death holds no fears for me. It's dying that seems so tedious.
Change comes quickly to some, agonizingly slow to others. It's hard to see a purpose in it all which leaves little room for easy acceptance. Scrap the nuns and their heaven and just wring every ounce of enjoyment out of life that you can.
Aw, Molly. Your post brought tears to my eyes. I'm so sorry to hear about your aunt. And I completely agree -- that fading away is the worst. part. ever.
"It's not the dying I object to; it's the inexorable fading away."
I feel the same way about both my own and others' deaths.
I'm so sorry about your aunt. Do you have some stories about her and your other loved ones? Let us all help keep them from fading away.
Ah Molly, your blog sure touched me. I lost my mother to cancer 9 years ago the day after thanksgivng. I miss her everyday and still shed many tears when I just can't call her up and talk.
Not long after my mother's death my youngest son was graduating from basic training in the army. I had to attend this ceremony with only my other son as I had also gone through the ending of my 22 year marriage in divorce that same year mother passed.As I stood up for the entering of the soldiers for the ceremony I felt a tapping on my shoulder and a voice that said " I'm here". I immediately turned to see who it was and NO ONE was there I mean NO ONE the chairs were empty for 3 rows behind me. Then I remember my mother saying to me before she died " I will come back and tap you on the shoulder". I got goosebumps all over and teared up because of course my mother would come to this ceremony because it was very emotional in many ways for me. So even in death my mother was still standing behind me being supportive.
Molly I have never had a experience like this one before or after but this one experience was enough to make me believe that we live on even after death. I hope this helps.
Hugs to you,
Jeanne
prayers for you and your aunt
Molly it isn't postcards you should be watching for. I wrote a post yesterday about my niece's 3 1/2 year old smelling all the flowers at the cemetary - artificial flowers - and thinking they smelled wonderful. My mother loved birds with a passion. Ever since her death birds come and sit on the screen on my bedroom window. Never happened before. Never. Now it's every month or two. Maybe the birds are my artificial flowers but I choose to believe it's Mother saying hello. And isn't it all in what we choose to believe? blessings, marlene
Prayers for your aunt. Another misty-eye post...
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