But the world did not stop, it took no notice at all, and as Morrie pulled weakly on the car door, he felt as if he were dropping into a hole.
Now what? he thought."
I recalled a friend saying that he'd read the book Tuesday's with Morrie after the loss of his own father. He said it had helped him.
I didn't give that too much thought for a while.
Last Sunday I drove away from what is now "my mother's house". Each time I've left that house in the past, both parents stood in the yard and waved goodbye with smiles. Then they would turn, kiss and head back into the house.
This time - only my mother stood. Chilled, frail and alone in front of that house. No smiles. No kiss.
A thousand "I love you"s and "Don't leave me"s in her eyes.
But I had to go.
On the evening of my return to Dallas, my husband and I went to the grocery store to pick up a few necessary items for the coming work week.
My husband walked down the magazine isle and I followed - my brain in a fog.
Out of the corner of my eye it caught me.
At least 100 copies of Tuesday's with Morrie sitting on the best-seller rack. I thought, "That book is at least a year old. Why would it be there and why so many?"
And then I knew....it had been willed there. Karma brought it to me.
There was no reason for that grocery store to have 100 copies of that book the week after Christmas. And yet, there it was.
I reached out and resolutely picked one up.
I looked up to the sky and said "Thanks." to whatever forces help us through these times.
Love to all of you. In case you missed my last comment - take a moment and just look quietly at someone you love. Think about why you love them. Think about something good that they are in your world. Even if that's the cat, the dog or the goldfish. Appreciate them each and feel lucky.
6 comments:
"Think about why you love them." I'm going to do that now.
You're doing the best thing, Agnes, in my opinion, talking, telling us also how you feel. After my brother died, I don't think, my father would have coped, if it were not for the fact, he expressed every single feeling. That's about all I can offer, not having felt what you are feeling, unlike many of the others that visit here. That and my love and hugs, x
Agnes, I have a poem somewhere, I have no idea where it is amongst my many many files of paper, but I'm going to try and find it at some point in the next couple of days and give it to you here - from what I remember, I think, it may be nice for you to read at this time.
x
Autumn, I look forward to that poem. I am an emotional person. I have ALWAYS worn my heart right out on my sleeve. There are many times I regret that and just as many that I don't. My father was the same. He had healthier boundaries because of it...I believe.
My mother, God bless her, bottles up so much. I fear the day this backs up on her. I wish she'd say more.
I can't imagine losing a brother any more than I can my father. I am learning that getting older means coping with losses like these.
I still want that rewind button.
Tracey - I am so very glad you rambled. I am having much the same emotions and I hold dear the thoght that I am not alone in them.
63yrs is too young. What took my father was a genetic time bomb. It would have happened no matter if he'd never smoked or eaten right or exercised more. It happened to every man in our family before him - as far back as we can trace.
That leaves me with the notion that I have actually passed mid-life. That my brother, two years older has also.
That also leaves me with the realization that I have not been "Living life to its fullest and making the most of each and every day". This thought is sinking in deeply.
As you can tell, the "taking for granted" is not an option now as well.
I don't want to waste any of my life angry or unhappy. When I come out of this mourning stage I hope to be much more agressive in my persuit of happiness.
I am also learning that I will not heal but will always live with this hole. I know that my father would want me to be happy. That helps a bit.
Tracey, my father ALWAYS told us he loved us. He told us and showed us and made sure we knew he was proud. He told all of his kids, and all of our cousins that we were beautiful or handsome. "How'd I get such good lookin kids?" he'd joke. He was all about keeping our self esteem at an all time high. If we ever doubted ourselves, he never did.
When you say you tell those people you love how much you appreciate them, I think that he showed us.
My sister was upset the week before he died, because I was here and he was in Houston.
I told her "I don't need to tell Dad goodbye. Dad and I are square. We both know exactly how much we love one another."
I never/he never doubted that. We learned unconditional love from my father.
I sincerely hope that you and your family find comfort soon. This is an impossible time and while you'll never be the same...I hope things get better. Your father would have wanted you to find peace.
Linny, that very thought crosses my mind at every turn. My father would not want us to suffer. He has so much joy in him. It seems disrespectful to be sad sometimes.
Also, I know that this seems to drag on - as if time has stopped for me.....but then I realize, it has only been a week. 7 days since the funeral. It seems forever ago.
Maybe I'm doing better than I think. Maybe 7 days from now I'll be better. Maybe soon I'll be the old me and I'll be able to share other people's joy and laughter again. I want so much to know that people are still out there laughing and living. :)
Love to you.
Agnes, tried so hard to find that poem and it just seems to have disappeared. If I ever do locate it, I will give it to you. I did however find the card we sent out to all who attended my brother's funeral and in it is another poem. I believe it is well-known and you may have heard it many times before, but here it is anyway.
Miss me - but let me go
When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me,
I want no tears in a gloom filled room.
Why cry for a soul set free?
Miss me a little - but not for long.
And not with your head bowed low,
Remember the love that we once shared,
Miss me - but let me go.
For this is a journey we all must take,
And each must go alone.
It's all part of the Master's plan,
A step on the road to home.
When we are lonely and sick at heart
Go to the friends that we know,
And bury your sorrows in doing good works.
Miss me - but let me go.
Perhaps if we could seethe spendour on the hand,
To which our loved are called from you and me.
We'd understand.
Perhaps if we could hear the welcome they receuve
From old familiar voices so dear,
We would not grieve.
Perhaps if we could know the reason why they went
We'd smile and wipe away the tears that flow.
We'd wait content.
Miss me - but let me go.
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