Reub's journey

15 April 2015

One bright morning

One bright morning when this life is o'er, I'll fly away. I'll fly away, yes, I'll fly away.


On the brilliantly sunny morning of April 12, my mother passed away quietly. 



It was not an unexpected death, and she lived a long mostly happy life during which she worked hard, raised a family, administered sound advice, cooked well, and looked good.  She would have been 94 in May. It wasn't until her last few years of hearing and memory loss that she began to slip away, and even then she could put up a pretty good semblance of normalcy.




 
I am glad I was able to see her in February, as she waited her life out in a small home for patients with memory issues. With the utmost seriousness she took my gift of a springer spaniel stuffed toy,  stroking its ears as though it were yet another of the many dogs she had known over the decades.





As an adult child you know you will lose your parents. It has finally happened to me. I find myself in a little boat of my own, where I've been dozing. But the slender rope that used to attach it to the pier? It's come loose and I'm strangely afloat.



12 comments:

  1. What a lovely way you have with words. I miss your mother and never knew her, but I can feel her spirit in you and know that you are carrying bits and pieces of her into the world each day. I hope my children feel the same way about my passing when it is my time. So sorry for your loss.

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  2. oh, i am so sorry. it doesn't matter at what age you are - or they are - when they pass, you do feel suddenly unmoored. when my mother died, it was like the hub of our family wheel was gone and the spokes started pulling apart - not in a spiteful way. just in a drifting, going-your-own way.

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  3. So sorry to hear of the loss of your mother.

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  4. Sorry for your lose. You will see a lot more of your mother, in yourself. It may be a laugh or a way to tell a joke, but she is always there in you.

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  5. sorry for your loss. it sounds so trite but... we all become orphans eventually. it is a weird feeling.

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  6. A beautifully written piece. I'm so very sorry for your loss. Hugs!

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  7. Your gift of the plush spaniel was inspired and sensitive. It must have given her so much pleasure, without being demanding or confusing. It shows how close she was to you, in your thoughts. I'm sure she will remain in your memories. I found that, after a while, my recollections of my parents were those from younger days. I now rarely think of them in their decline. Take care of yourself now. Warm thoughts are with you.

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  8. This was a beautiful post, and it was a treat to see a picture of you.

    I relate to your closing metaphor both because both of my parents are dead, and because I live 2,500 miles from where I spent my first 37 years. Just yesterday, I said to Peggy, “You know, even after 29 years, I still can’t believe I live in Oregon,” and she said that she had the same feeling.

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  9. You will miss her forever but you will love her forever, too. After awhile the missing doesn't hurt as much but the love never fades.

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  10. Sorry about your loss. Beautifully written piece and photo.

    Greetings from London.

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  11. As always your carefully chosen words resonate. Yes, we expect to lose our parents as adults but when we do the unmooring visits in unexpected ways. My sincere condolences to you at this time.

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