This morning marks one year since Mom's demise. Demise that not preclude her being uncannily present. For several weeks, I've felt her 'nearness'. I've found myself spouting her turns-of-phrase more than once and heard myself giving those utterances the same emphasis and intonation that she gave them. I'd hear myself and say, "Yeah, Mom, you are here and you are putting words in my mouth." I've felt her presence almost daily. Hovering. No, not hovering. Permeating my world. In a good way.
One year ago, my sister Kate and I arrived at the adult family home minutes after Mom took her last breath. We'd left Mom's bedside the evening before, telling her we were tired and that we'd return in the morning. Did she hear us? We'd sorted jigsaw puzzle pieces all day on a card table beside her bed as she slept (?) or was consumed in a sort of pre-death coma. We included Mom in our conversations throughout that day and knew she'd be the best at fitting those puzzle pieces together.
It was my sister who told Dad that Mom was 'gone'. We watched her hand become waxy and I saw first hand (an unintended pun) that the spirit does indeed depart the body.
Mom - Doris Bain Thompson - was a beautiful and wise woman. How were we lucky enough to become her children?