The Last Milestone

When we walked the mile or so to our newspaper box up the road this morning I rejoiced to see so many wildflowers blooming along the way. I scattered the seeds for these more than a year ago in honor of the passing of the mother of one of my friends, and now they are flourishing in tiny bursts of yellow and blue and white. I think of this area as Trudy's place.

Nearer to the house I tend the small orange tree we planted in memory of Ray, our neighbor for many years, who lived well into his nineties. I have memorial plants all over the place: some were given to me by the people who have died, and the plants live on. Others have been planted in honor of people I have known who have passed on. My mother-in-law, my old best friend, lives on in a tree planted in her memory on a Connecticut hillside. Betty's tree.

I made a decision many years ago that I could not attend funerals for the parents of my friends. I think I am better at planting trees or wildflowers in their honor, or maybe just spending time looking at the stars on a clear night, knowing that one of those stars is the essence of the person who has lived and died.

This seems to be the season of the end of life for the parents of many of my friends. I have been through this season a few years ago because I was a late child of an old mother. My mother died at a ripe old age and I was privileged to be present in her sweet last days. She died in the west, and we had a raucous musical memorial there, but her last wish was to be buried next to my father in North Carolina. So, I dutifully accompanied the casket across country (with two changes!)

On a cold wet day in November, colorful leaves plastered to the ground, my daughter and I witnessed her burial next to her husband. All my tears had been shed.

Every death is different, and yet has common elements. Right now I am cheering on the mother of my best friend, who has such life force, despite being eighty-five and on dialysis.

We willingly take on the responsibilities of caring for our parents in their last days. What we don't know until the last of our time with them is how much it means to us to have these moments with them as ours.

After your parent dies you quickly get over the grotty details. My mother told me such a lot of things about our family and who she was and a lot about the books she read and funny stories. I would not ever have missed this time with her! We laughed a lot. I never think much about the moments of turning her in her bed, bringing the bed pan.

I am not attending funerals and memorials. I am planting things and thinking about how much these old people have contributed to our life, not to mention life itself.

After the death of a parent, after the raw grieving, there comes a time to think or say, "Mom said.. Mom thought.. Dad used to.." And then you know that generations pass along, you're just a part of it, and it's up to your kids.