ONESIXEIGHT HOURS

Jolted awake in the wee hours. I decided that I might as well travel to the bathroom and glanced at the clock across the room, which is not visible from my bed. It was exactly one week since my mother had died, to the minute. Eerie. Peed, returned to bed and cried myself back to sleep.

“No, you won’t need to pack
You’ve got a reservation
But you don’t have to wait
If you don’t want to
And you won’t feel a thing
All your friends are there already
Once you’re gone
You’ll never want to live again.”
Lyrics from Jeremy Messersmith’s perky song, “Deathbed Salesman,” keeps echoing in my mind. He is very talented at singing about rather somber subjects in a gleeful manner. I’d like to have him perform at my final celebration.

A week after Mum’s burial and I still felt tired and irritable. I continued to cry several time per day. Depleted physical and mental resources. My friends have invited me over to their homes but I am not ready to interact. Spoke with Roopa, she was very understanding about my meltdown on the night of my mother’s death. It is taking all my energy to survive a busy time at work. Thankful that there were few problems during my absence from the office.

Doing the bare necessities at home. Exhausted after running a few errands. Much to do outside/inside to prepare for winter and no chutzpah to do it. Picked the remaining herbs from the garden but was too late for some. Finally unpacked and bummed that I lost one of my favorite earrings, which I wore to the funeral. Searched the luggage, floor, auto, and called both my Dad and Betty to see if they found the earring. It is a simple elegant dangling silver teardrop by Monet, which I procured in the mid-1980s.

Worried about small skin scabs on the cats. I can’t afford to take them to the veterinarian. I had run out of the anti-hairball food so perhaps its because their bodies don’t like the new cat food. Odd that both felines present with the same allergy. I made a special trip to the pet store to purchase some of the no barf food. I hoped that the sores would heal but there was no alteration after almost a week. Their behavior hasn’t changed but Zozo has scratched off hair around the crusty sore between her shoulder-blades. I tried placing balm on it but she went wild and scratched it off reopening the wound. I will have to let it be and hope for the best.

Warmed by the heartfelt response of people leaving messages for me on my phone and Facebook. Tom, a Cree-Ojibwa Shaman, who is the spouse of an acquaintance of mine called me for three days to pray. I am of Dakota heritage but it meant a lot that he was so thoughtful. My employer and others donated in my Mom’s name to the Alzheimer’s Association, designated to research. Wrote thank you notes to my friends who got off from work, traveled a long distance to attend the funeral, gave me cards and gas money. Wrote notes to people who donated to other charities and helped me in other ways. Mom always emphasized the importance of thanking people. I will honor her teaching.

Disappointed that none of my neighbors gave me a card or dropped off food, which is the custom in rural Minnesota. I had done that for at least three neighbors who had a relative die and they did not return the gesture. What is wrong with city folk? I am friendly with all my neighbors. Since I don’t feel like cooking, a meal would have been greatly appreciated.

Sister #1 emailed to say that each of us owe $415 for the cost of Mom’s gravestone. I can’t afford that right now. I spoke with #2 and she doesn’t have the funds either. #2 wants to disperse Mom’s clothes and jewelry. I guess that I should of taken Mom up on her offer for jewelry back in 2011. My siblings will ensure that I get nothing of value.

Healing takes time.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved