You know your Italian when you realize there is a difference in the way we live, the way we express ourselves, the way we love like no other. I wrote the following about my mother who just passed away ten days ago as a way to deal with the way she passed and the pain that hasnt. Please feel free to read it. My Mother’s Journey to Heaven- Fleeting thoughts, darting eyes, functionless limbs, reality and dreams intertwined, consciousness to sleep, from memories to the present she existed. Confusion. Then from somewhere deep within her mind her face would emerge as if she were beneath water coming up gasping for air. For a moment there was clarity of thought, for a moment her expression would change from confusion to realization, her eyes focused on my face, she called out my name, for a moment then gone. Slipped beneath the surface into the depths of her mind once again - gone, leaving me to drown in my sorrow. Her heart had went into arterial fib in mid-November, four days after leaving the hospital she had a stroke, she then went back to the hospital, went to acute assisted care, went to live with my sister and two weeks later went back to the hospital after suffering a second stroke. The second stroke brought about dementia but clearly as her mind closed to this life, her eyes were opened to another. As I understand it; communication had been disrupted between the neurotransmitters in her brain which in the past had fired their commands in well-directed chorus. It’s like a large church choir discovering the director is gone and everyone is suddenly singing a different song. Of course I am not a doctor and don’t pretend to know the complexities involved. As time progressed, memories of her past co-existed with her sense of the present. At first her memories were like pieces of fabric which were sewn together in her mind, much like the joined uncommon pieces of a patchwork quilt. As days progressed, it was as if a door had been opened and her entire life had spilt into one room. Measure of time, life and death no longer existed. With a decreasing number of words and ability to speak she talked of events years ago as if they recently happened. She talked of my father, whom she loved deeply, and of relatives long gone from us in this life but who visited with her daily in the present. In her mind and through her eyes, these long past loved ones continued to gather around her. They continued to step forth once again from their eternal peace into her world and existed as phantoms at the edge of my own. I grew to wonder were they there? I stood alone by her bed, alone perhaps, perhaps not. I watched to see her eyes gaze across the room then gained focus, looking to a place somewhere just beyond our veil of reality. She talked to people whose voices were silent to my ears and whose body I was blind to. Ghosts to me. It caused me to reflect on the events of the days gone by and it forced me to question my own sense of reality. Amid the tears, pain and my own confusion I realized my family had been given a great gift. We were given time to be with her and time to tell her how much we deeply love her. Precious, most precious time. We had been given a chance to hold her hand just a bit longer as it slipped from ours into the hands of the loved ones who had gathered. Then she was gone. I pray my father and they, the loved ones, gave her comfort and guided her to Heaven where I know without a doubt she is now. While we on earth know no greater sorrow and distress, in my heart I know she knows no greater happiness and peace. In my mind I see her smiling. In my mind she’s no longer 86 years old but a young woman again beside my father smiling, laughing. Only in this thought can I find some comfort of my own. Perhaps, when my turn comes they will come to gather once again to comfort me and to guide me to Heaven. When my hand slips from those I love around me and I pray, into the hand of my mother. Her loving son, Joseph
Posted on: Mon, 27 Jan 2014 03:44:06 +0000
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