I don’t remember if I woke up late and she was just there or if it was that one of my sisters woke me. I remember being freaked out that it was so late in the morning, about 10:00 or 10:30 a.m., I think, and I was late for school. I remember my sister saying not to worry about it because we weren’t going to school that day but I don’t remember which sister it was. It may have even been my brother. I just remember them leading me downstairs to the living room where the whole family was gathered. My dad was sitting in the rocking chair to the right, my siblings on the couch and chairs to the left. I remember smiling while I scanned their faces for some trace of what was going on and thinking that maybe there was some big surprise in store for me. I was only seven, after all. I was about to find out that there was, in fact, a big surprise in store for me, but it was not to be the good kind.
My father called me over and I went to him. He put his arm around me and sat me on his lap. Then he said the only words that still enable me to hear the sound of his voice “You may have been expecting this, but your mother passed away at 4:30 this morning.” WHAT? My first instinct was to laugh because there was no way he could be serious. Instead, I looked up at the faces of my siblings and saw them looking back at me and I instantly knew that this was not a joke. I wasn’t quite sure what passed away meant, but I was pretty sure it meant died. I just sat there and tried to take it in when my dad said “It’s okay to cry if you want to.” Now honestly, I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I couldn’t even fathom this, but I did cry because I gathered from his prodding that it’s what I was supposed to do.
I knew my mom was sick. She’d been sick for what seemed like an eternity in little kid years. In grown up years, it was two and a half, which is still a long time to be sick, but it never occurred to me during that time that she might die. That was never presented to me as a possibility and I was seven, after all. Goldfish die when you’re seven, not your mother. I remember wondering briefly who would take care of me but then I quickly supposed my father would. I remember being angry that I didn’t get to see her again before she died. Hospitals were stupid like that in those days. I remember suddenly feeling utterly disconnected and lost. It’s only now that I can put words to those feelings. At the time, it just felt like a gnawing longing in my gut that wasn’t there before he said those words to me. Before he said those words to me I was the safest and happiest kid in the whole entire world.
I wasn’t allowed to attend the wake or funeral. I don’t think I really knew what a wake and funeral was at that point in time, so it didn’t really upset me. I did feel kind of left out because everyone else was there, but only in the way that seven year olds always feel left out if you exclude them. I vaguely remember the funeral party. I remember all manner of people bringing food to our house, casserole upon casserole over the next couple weeks. I remember not having to go to school which was the only part of my mother dying that was remotely positive. I remember feeling like I was in a haze and that life was now completely different and somehow the same and trying to get used to it.
After two weeks at home with my family I guess it was time for us to get on with our lives and reintroduce some normalcy because we all had to go back to school. I remember being apprehensive about going back, but I think it was because I hadn’t been there in so long. On my first day back, all I really remember is the joke Bennett, who was a kid that completely got on my nerves, cracked to me about five minutes after I found my seat. He said “Now when you wake up crying in the middle of the night you can cry ‘Mummy’ instead of ‘Mommy’.” Wow. Kids really can be awful. I always knew I didn’t like that little bastard for a reason. I remember running into my first grade teacher in the hall on my way to the bathroom a few days later. She got down on her knees so that she would be at my eye level and began telling me what a wonderful woman my mother was and how sorry she was with tears in her eyes. I know she meant well, but I just wanted to smack her and run away. My best friend’s mom had done the same thing the first time I went to her house after it happened. I know they meant well. It was just too much for a kid who just lost her tether to the earth to have grown people blubbering on her shoulder about it. I knew it sucked. I was living it every day.
My father called me over and I went to him. He put his arm around me and sat me on his lap. Then he said the only words that still enable me to hear the sound of his voice “You may have been expecting this, but your mother passed away at 4:30 this morning.” WHAT? My first instinct was to laugh because there was no way he could be serious. Instead, I looked up at the faces of my siblings and saw them looking back at me and I instantly knew that this was not a joke. I wasn’t quite sure what passed away meant, but I was pretty sure it meant died. I just sat there and tried to take it in when my dad said “It’s okay to cry if you want to.” Now honestly, I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I couldn’t even fathom this, but I did cry because I gathered from his prodding that it’s what I was supposed to do.
I knew my mom was sick. She’d been sick for what seemed like an eternity in little kid years. In grown up years, it was two and a half, which is still a long time to be sick, but it never occurred to me during that time that she might die. That was never presented to me as a possibility and I was seven, after all. Goldfish die when you’re seven, not your mother. I remember wondering briefly who would take care of me but then I quickly supposed my father would. I remember being angry that I didn’t get to see her again before she died. Hospitals were stupid like that in those days. I remember suddenly feeling utterly disconnected and lost. It’s only now that I can put words to those feelings. At the time, it just felt like a gnawing longing in my gut that wasn’t there before he said those words to me. Before he said those words to me I was the safest and happiest kid in the whole entire world.
I wasn’t allowed to attend the wake or funeral. I don’t think I really knew what a wake and funeral was at that point in time, so it didn’t really upset me. I did feel kind of left out because everyone else was there, but only in the way that seven year olds always feel left out if you exclude them. I vaguely remember the funeral party. I remember all manner of people bringing food to our house, casserole upon casserole over the next couple weeks. I remember not having to go to school which was the only part of my mother dying that was remotely positive. I remember feeling like I was in a haze and that life was now completely different and somehow the same and trying to get used to it.
After two weeks at home with my family I guess it was time for us to get on with our lives and reintroduce some normalcy because we all had to go back to school. I remember being apprehensive about going back, but I think it was because I hadn’t been there in so long. On my first day back, all I really remember is the joke Bennett, who was a kid that completely got on my nerves, cracked to me about five minutes after I found my seat. He said “Now when you wake up crying in the middle of the night you can cry ‘Mummy’ instead of ‘Mommy’.” Wow. Kids really can be awful. I always knew I didn’t like that little bastard for a reason. I remember running into my first grade teacher in the hall on my way to the bathroom a few days later. She got down on her knees so that she would be at my eye level and began telling me what a wonderful woman my mother was and how sorry she was with tears in her eyes. I know she meant well, but I just wanted to smack her and run away. My best friend’s mom had done the same thing the first time I went to her house after it happened. I know they meant well. It was just too much for a kid who just lost her tether to the earth to have grown people blubbering on her shoulder about it. I knew it sucked. I was living it every day.
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