It's been almost four weeks since Mom left this world. It's been ten days since we officially said goodbye with two memorial services; one here near where I live and one in the hometown. Planning these services was tricky. My sister and I had no idea how many people would come to a service here in the Indianapolis area, and no idea how many people from Hebron would be able to make it. Add to that impossible to predict weather, and we were just up in the air.
The first service was officiated by the hospice chaplain. He was able to share some of her joys and fears she expressed as she neared the end of her life. The service was well attended, with the funeral home staff bringing in more and more chairs. One request Mom had made of me was to sing the Hymn of Promise. During an earlier hospitalization, again on too many drugs and confused, Mom was insisting she was able to see the future. She said everyone told her what a wonderful job I did in singing. No pressure there, right? So when the time came, I took a deep breath and sang. The tears did not come until after I sang. Truthfully, that ranks right up there with one of the most difficult things I have ever done.
After that service, the family went back to Mom's house. My Amity UMC family brought enough food to feed the DeKock army. Not only did my Ohio cousins come, so did their spouses and part of their kids. My daughters had not seen these distant cousins since they had been children playing at the Indiana Dunes. It was the kind of party my mother would have enjoyed.
The service in Hebron was wonderful as well. Again, Mom would have enjoyed it. The Hebron UMC ladies prepared a wonderful lunch. Pastor Kathie offered me the opportunity to sing again, but she read from my earlier blog postings. I've never heard these words read aloud before. It was a humbling experience, to be sure. And the tears flowed. There was no way I could have sung a note.
Having not been in Hebron for awhile, the entire experience has a sense of the surreal. I was able to visit with friends I have not seen in years. I was able to chat with a former teacher--Phyllis Franzman. Mrs. Franzman, or Foo Foo as we called her, taught me how to write in a clear manner. As I put these feelings to paper (or screen) this has been such a great blessing and relief for me.
And then I came home. My sister and her family have returned to their lives. My sister and I are dealing with the estate and bureaucracies inherent in this process. I was craving normalcy, and wanted to jump back into work. My work family has been everything I expected--loving, nurturing and caring. And while I am there or talking with a family, life is normal. When I leave the office or head back to the far Eastside from wherever I might have been, I have the urge to call Mom and tell her when I will be there. I have the urge to call to tell her what has been going on. When I come across something I know would interest her, I sometimes forget I can't just tell her. And then the realization hits me again. I cannot tell Mom about the latest adoption. I cannot tell Mom what I would like to be doing this summer. I am seeing cards for Mother's Day displayed now. I won't be buying her a Mother's Day card. I will have to pay respects another way. Instead of flowers for her patio, I will have to buy flowers for her grave.
I guess the bottom line is simply that I miss her. I miss her smile, bright blue eyes and wit. I miss knowing that she has my back. I fear wasting my inheritance, but I fear I will not be the woman she raised me to be. I miss her encouragement. But I try to keep living normal. I carry a piece of her with me in my heart. I hope she has influenced you as well.
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