Today is my mother’s first anniversary in heaven. I have counted the weeks since she passed away last year, celebrating each Sunday. But as the anniversary approached, I wondered if it was a good idea to continue counting. Was it a reminder to grieve? However, there are other signs in the universe that don’t make me forget to think about her.
Two days before she died, I was in the emergency room for paralyzing pain on my left side. The doctors said it was a chronic condition that I would have to live with. Twenty minutes are leaving the hospital, I got the call from my mother’s hospice worker that she was unresponsive. Right now, I have that pain, and I relive those moments each time I have a flare-up.
But the weirdest place where grief has hit me is in the frozen food section of grocery stores. Mom and I loved ice cream. The freezer at home was never without it. Back in March, the latest offerings from Breyers, Turkey Hill and others were on the shelves, and I kept finding new flavors that I thought Mom would like. I was so just to the fact that I couldn’t have Eddy’s French Silk ice cream because that was Mom’s favorite. There could not be competing containers in our household. I stared at all the tantalizing containers and could not make a rational decision.
Has buying ice cream gotten any easier? A little. I tried to buy some yesterday. In my cart was a bouquet of purple and pink flowers I wanted to decorate for her urn table, a tradition I’d like to carry every year of her passing. Despite the store’s sale on four kinds of ice cream, I left empty-handed. I was looking for one of Mom’s favorites — rocky road. It’s a fine flavor as it had two important things on Mom’s checklist: it must have chocolate and nuts. Unfortunately, there were no discounted containers. I thought about getting a fruit-based ice cream, but that triggered another memory. Shortly before Mom was admitted to a nursing home, I bought Turkey Hill’s Banana Split ice cream, not knowing that Mom would not be returning home. I kept the containing in the freezer as I hoped that she would be back, but it never happened.
Today is about celebrating her life and her love. I’ll watch “Young Frankenstein” because she loved Mel Brooks movies and Teri Garr. The flowers will brighten the room, and I will complete the kitchen altar that so far has one of the chargers used for the visitation and a jar of candies (besides ice cream, this house was never without chocolate). I will also read one of the notes left by visitors in a glass bowl as a guide for meditation. I finally worked the courage to read them. I’ve wanted to do so for a long time. Having people check on me has been great, knowing that I belong to a club no one wants to be a member of, but they are happy to help others in their position.
There are days where I don’t think I’ve had a chance to grieve. Work, bills, social media and our changing political climate take up so much daily space. But this morning, I woke up at 8:22 a.m. without an alarm. My mom died between 8 and 8:30. Sometimes the universe reminds us that we’re doing our part anyway.
Tamara Dunn 