I never knew there was so much to organize.
Since Rich’s mother passed, we’ve lived by a list that seems to triple each day – a list that has yet to include “breathe” or “process” or even “fall apart.”
I have fallen apart.
That’s actually not surprising as I’m game to fall apart with a moment’s notice no matter the size of the crisis. Still, it was a bit surprising as my mother-in-law and I had a complicated relationship. No one expected me to be the first one to fall apart. I definitely never saw it coming. I do think that there was a lot wrapped up in the anguish ranging from our complicated relationship all the way to my own mother’s drifting health.
I am still waiting for Rich to fall apart. We are both waiting for our son to fall apart. Our eldest child, like me, leans into falling apart. She grieves with no hesitation. There is no stuffing anything down as all emotions arrive quickly and loudly and bounce rapidly from one form to another. In this moment, it has been difficult to witness though we are in awe of how healthy her process actually is. Our son? I looked at him many times this weekend wondering if he was taking notes on the different options for feeling feelings he really has no interest in welcoming.
I never knew there was so much to organize.
On the afternoon that Rich’s mother suddenly died, we sat staring at her body for hours. Rich noted the exact moment her hand began to feel cold while I reminded myself that she was not going to simply wake up. As the hours passed, aides and nurses and doctors and a case manager quietly appeared whispering questions about next steps. We had no answers. Eventually, the facility’s CEO quietly appeared. It turned out that he (Jim) had lost his mother just a month prior. He understood the blank stare tossed back to that question of next steps.
Next steps? Wasn’t that something the adults would handle? Where were they? Where were the grownups? Could someone call them, please? Could someone call our mom? She would know what to do.
This list. I am so tired of the list.
Initially, once pointed to our path by Jim, we moved frantically as we tracked down the will, called family, and contacted the local funeral home. We talked in terms of days as if this bad dream could be wrapped up within the week. Viewing, service, clean out and sell the house…check, check, and check.
We have since brought it all back to a snail’s pace. This seems to be more appropriate for the business of processing.
We did find a grown-up to guide us and discovered a safety net in my mother-in-law’s church family. I’m not entirely sure that, without them, Rich and I wouldn’t still be sitting bedside waiting for those next steps to magically take care of themselves.
I did get that obituary written. It wasn’t initially my plan to write the obituary but the funeral home’s draft was, well, perfect if it were typos we were celebrating. We organized the viewing. We learned to say “yes” to anyone offering help. That was the trickiest part, accepting help. Holing up and handling every detail ourselves seemed like a much better option until we were asked to pick out that final outfit, provide instructions on makeup, map out a Celebratory Service, and…well, the list keeps growing.
I’m going to share another story that has been told multiple times in the past few weeks as we have worked through that list. While this has been a time filled with grief, if you know our family at all, you know that we also find humor in nearly everything. This can be very beneficial in difficult times. I suppose it’s a form of emotional protection.
When my grandmother died (father’s side), the moment came with very few tears. She was…a bit much. Unkind isn’t a totally inappropriate word. When she died, she was living in Texas with her daughter, and her remains needed to come to North Carolina, where I lived, so that I could deliver her to the Atlantic Ocean where my grandfather had enjoyed decades of silence.
Did you know you can’t just ship human remains? I mean, obviously, but not even if the remains are in post-cremation form. Turns out there is a whole protocol that Fed Ex is happy to handle for a fee. After a few discussions, we decided the safest delivery point would be to my office building. On the designated day, I strolled into work and past the receptionist with a quick mention of my grandmother arriving later.
I thought nothing of it when, a few hours later, our receptionist’s voice crackled through my phone’s intercom announcing a signature-required Fed Ex delivery.
“Oh, great!” I blurted out, “That’s my grandmother!”
The entire office fell silent.
I guess I forgot to tell anyone how she would be arriving.