I wasn't well this morning, and so didn't go to work. Was so cold in bed last night - just shivering - but too tired or sleepy to get up and get the comforter at the foot of the bed. Woke up dizzy - cold head all night is always bad, but who thought it would be so cool in July??
Couldn't shake the vertigo this morning so decided to go for a walk down to the park. It's a stunningly beautiful day here, but a bit windy. I walked and walked, and I walked all the way down to the lake. I headed down to the footbridge and looked back up at the loops of highway - the Lakeshore divides off the Expressway there and there's a sharp bend in the road as it follows the lake. I thought suddenly of an incident many, many years ago when my mom was driving me into the city and coming around that bend suddenly a dead dog was lying in middle of the expressway. It was a very large animal, maybe a Great Dane, and pretty torn up by the cars that had not been able to avoid it. I think I must have gasped as we drove by its carcass, and moved away and covered my eyes. On the passenger side, it was so close to me - I'm leaning to the left now as I type this, leaning away from that memory.
My mother tried to comfort me. "Death's not pretty," she said. I thought of all the dead things she's seen in her life, growing up on a farm with hunters and trappers around, the slaughtering of animals, or the deliberate killing of pests. Deer hunting and old regal stories of grandmothers who 'got their buck' in unusual ways. But for me, growing up was a suburban affair, with barely a baby bird scattered about, or a flyswatter close at hand. She knew this, and was peering at me out of the corner of one eye. Studying me.
Mom died July 14th and walking my way out of vertigo today, down by that spot in road, I remembered that morning. She asked me not to tell you, Loose Chicken, and it was the hardest thing to do.
At her memorial I handed out cards to visitors that had her birthday and date of death (it's hardly 'passing' as the current euphemism goes - she died). A friend came and read it over. "Your mother was born on St. Jean Baptiste Day, " she said, "and she died on Bastille Day." In and out of the world with a bang, in some places of the world. Mom would have liked that, I think. She would have liked it very much.
It's gorgeous out today, Mom. Thanks for visiting!! I love you.
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Got up this morning and looked at Mom's grave. You know the Oak she wanted to have her ashes scattered in front of has grown tall and strong looking. I remember there were three Oaks there when we scattered her ashes. The middle one where she is grew much bigger than the ones on either side. I used to plant flowers there but the tree is so big now it protects that spot nearly all day from the sun.
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One of the motivating reasons for building this cabin is because she wanted something here. I miss her a lot.