The moments

Friday morning around 4:15 am my mother took her last breath. My father was by her side, watching as the life escaped her eyes. One second she's there... and the next, peace. And an empty shell, left behind.

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Today, I found myself going through all of her bags, sifting through each little compartment for all the various toiletries and sundries she was known to carry with her... if you needed a tissue, chapstick, advil, a quarter, a stick of gum, a mirror, a brush, a pen and paper, you could always count on her to have something on hand.

When I opened her purse, the familiar smell of... well... "mom's purse" drifted up and hit my nostrils. And for a moment, I could feel my throat begin to grow tight.

And then I let myself fall into moments of memory... her hands unzipping the purse to dig out a piece of gum for me. The way she balled up barely-used kleenex and stuck it back in an inner compartment for later use. The way she would laugh and grimace simultaneously and say "ewww, Melia!" when I would reach my hand over her shoulder from the backseat of the car and say "present!" to hand her a significantly-used kleenex or a candy wrapper or some such other piece of trash.

The other day, I watched my niece pull this same move on my brother. Watched pieces of myself, reflected back at me.

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Yesterday I played through a good handful of the instruments in her collection. It made me feel warm. Held. Connected. Peaceful.

Music is my deepest connection to my mother. That will never change.

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I flit from room to room, looking for ways to occupy my brain, my hands, this limited time that I am down here. Organize, dust, wash dishes, write emails, make phone calls, read facebook comments, wonder what I'm forgetting, remember what I'm forgetting, get sidetracked, eat food, talk with dad, answer a text, pack a box, wipe a table, muse about finances, set aside books to sell back. And not feel.

I am my mother's daughter.

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I check facebook incessantly. Searching for a connection to a world outside of this one. I look outward, not inward. And what do I find? An invitation to join Jordan's meditation group... using Facebook to help motivate that inward stillness through virtual community. I sigh. Maybe this is what I need. Maybe if my inward practice is supported by my outward addiction, I might be better able to carve out that space.

As long as some one else is holding me accountable.

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I am convinced that I'm holding back, building barracks, to muscle through these days of details. Who knew death required so much bureaucracy? Closing accounts, changing over names, starting memorial plans, writing emails, sitting on hold with the medical equipment rental company, donating clothing, throwing out meds, delegating tasks, paying final bills, deciding what to take, what to leave, what to jet.

I keep telling myself... the feelings will come later. In waves. I promise.

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The feelings will come later. But I must remember to make room.