I love Mother’s Day. I get to celebrate that I am a mom 😊-
my favorite identity in the world, right up there with being David’s wife, of
course – and am thrilled to have yet another occasion to indulge in
reminiscence of my own mom.
She had lots of great qualities, with approachability high
on the list. For a kid like me who ruminated excessively, I appreciated how
willing she was to listen to whatever I was miffed about, view it from multiple
perspectives and create some kind of plan to improve my situation.
There had always been something about her presence when I
was conflicted that was, in a word, transformative, and when she passed, I
wondered how difficult it’d be for me to get through life without it. However,
as days became weeks which became months, I got used to the new reality, until
I realized that I could still have her nearby, in one way or another.
It just so happened that my mom had told me before she
passed that she wanted to be cremated. My dad had been buried, and when I asked
– without thinking about what was important to her – “Don’t you want to be with
Dad?” she said she would like some of her ashes sprinkled around his grave but
that she also wanted to be spread in her favorite place in the world – the
outdoors – on a mountain and/or in the ocean.
When it came time to talk with the funeral home about her
wishes and we told them what she had said, the question was asked, “What about
the rest of her ashes? Do any of you want an urn to have at home?”
This was a surreal conversation obviously; just a couple of
days before, I was visiting with a very alive albeit unhealthy mom, and now we
were talking about my bringing her ashes home in an urn. The thought of her
stationed in my house in this manner was at first bizarre, then it was more bizarre,
and then it was...amazing...too good to be true even given that that was the
only way I could still be close to her. I jumped at the chance.
I said “Sure, I’ll take some,” as if I was talking about
leftover cake, and my sister said the same thing. Next, we picked out our urns
and then waited several weeks for our mom to be mailed to us.
When we received the package, I was too weirded out to take the
urn out of the box. When I finally did, I wasn’t sure where to put it. I
decided to place it on the piano, because she loved to play and was terrific at
it too, and I was always excited when I saw her walking toward the bench in my
childhood home. Her fingers were fast and powerful and would belt out “Mother’s
Prayer” like nobody’s business. She inspired me to play too, but I never
developed the finesse that she displayed naturally.
Mom has now been sitting on the piano for over 8 years. On a
side note, I just realized that my iPhone wallpaper is a photo of her sitting
at a piano.
While it can be unnerving to know she’s hanging out in my
living room, I have caught myself looking for her when I’m passing by. I always
smile to myself thinking she’d be so happy to know that she’s where her great-grandchildren
are, as they often bang away on the piano and sing loudly and have lots of fun until
someone shuts the top onto someone else’s little fingers.
It may sound creepy to have my mom’s ashes in my home, in
such a prime location too, but the truth of the matter is that I’ve learned to
find joy in this rather unconventional scenario. I appreciate the ease with
which I can communicate with her; I don’t have to drive an hour to get together
or call her on the phone. She really is more accessible this way.
I’ve gotten so accustomed to it that it feels like old times
when I ramble on about the craziness of life with her sitting there quietly. While
I find her as patient as ever, she’s surely quieter than ever too, so now I
really have to don my thinking cap to speak intelligently to myself.
Even in this different form, she continues to comfort me.
