Ashes to Ashes.

The beautiful strong body that my mom was able to live a rich vibrant life in for sixty eight and a half years was privately cremated this morning at 10:01. Along with the brain tumor. Along with her most loved head wrap, most worn cashmere sweater, warmest pants, a pair of her favorite socks and soft leather shoes. I honored my mom's body when she passed. I've honored my mom's wishes with a caring respectful cremation. I'll forever, every day, and many days -- every minute, honor the spirit and love and memories and dreams and force that was, and is my mom. Today, with some loving help, I worked in mom's garden. Tended to her roses. Cleared off the stone pathways. Raked fallen leaves. Got my hands deep into the earth and imagined my moms hands tending to this very dirt many many times before. It's a completion to one piece of mom's end of life. It's all just as it should be today. I feel some small earthy peace today.

No Words.

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.

Death Protocol:

Nobody told me & I don't have experience...but im learning...things...like people are waiting for information...so they can plan for mom's service, donate in her memory, send cards, support me. I know I'm allowed to go through the days however I need to...but I'm learning that there is love & support on hold a bit...waiting for me to communicate. Maybe w big families others know this, maybe do it for the person grieving the most...but its just me now...my other half is gone. I know this & yet maybe why I haven't followed or learned the death protocol is b/c death & dead can't find a place in my reality. The words are too unimagineable to feel...

Unimaginable.

Log fire in mom's fireplace brings much needed warmth & also bittersweet memories of just over a week ago...it seems so far away. Holding mom's hand seems so far away. Her home is quiet...all I want is to hear her breathing as I did for months of nights past. Being in the world w/o my mom feels like being in a world w/o the earth or sky or ocean...it's so very unimaginable. I struggle trying to write a legacy piece for my mom. An obituary for mom. An anything that uses words like death, passed, gone. I will keep finding the light. Mom lived in the light her entire light. If she couldn't find it she would be it. I have her light in me forever & I understand this unimaginable void is only b/c I was so fortunate to have been loved and cared in unimaginable ways by my beautiful mom.

Last exhale.

At 5:45pm, December 3, 2011, next to my mom, pressed against her slender warm body, holding her cold hands that stopped receiving circulation, her weak head cradled in my arms, I whispered to her that I would take over breathing for her, that she didn't have to keep fighting, and I told her, I promised her I was going to be OK. A few more labored intakes and sigh-like exhales and my beautiful, loved so deeply and completely mom took her last breath as I took over her breathing. I am numb and still I feel myself drowning in heartbreak.

Transitioning Hours

Watching your changing breath by the light of the Christmas tree and fireplace. Giving all I have to honor your transition...morphine to relax your lungs, soft magical music to nourish your soul, the loving touch of my hand...I'm breathing w you...I'll take over your breath when you are ready...such beauty and deep grief ...and in these final hours your strength, serenity, and your never-ending love for me still carry and help me to finally carry you. No love could be deeper...that love we will both carry for eternity.