I can't get words down, can't make words work. I am trying. I think I'm trying. Pencil. iPad. Moms laptop. Thinking. Pondering. Doodling. Nothing...nothing can sum up my moms life and end in death and feel good. A page. A fucking page to wrap up a life all tidy and succinct. Start with the "I'm saddened to say"...perhaps the hallmark "lost their battle with cancer", continue with the born here, grew up there, married, babies, career, picket fences and loyal dogs, toss in a few hobbies or proof they contributed to the world, then of course "survived by" listing blood family only, and if it's in the writer of this masterful one page life a nice "never to be forgotten" to close it out. This feels like forced crap. A template for beautifully unique lives. My mom's rich compassionate light filled ended too soon life. I respect the need for this...for formality. For tradition. For communication. For history. However, my block, resistance, pain, anger, judgement, fear, denial, along with some strong tugging unwillingness has produced another wordless day for mom's obituary. I actually feel sick to my stomach typing the word obituary. I notice that Ive been trying to call it anything but.
If tears were words I'd have a novel by now.
I am so sad and lost. I want a different ending. I HATE the end of this story.
I HATE HATE HATE it.
For me, the words that come out when you claim that no words come out speak so much more than the protocol. The chair in the garden, your hands in the dirt,her picture taking in the lights, your being suffocated when you felt her faculties slipping away, all stand as the most eloquent tribute to her beauty. I can't look at photo of a dancer without thinking of you two.
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