It was time to go pick up Ariana at the airport. Since I didn’t live in the area, I wasn’t sure how long it would take to get there. I wanted to leave a half hour earlier than Google maps and my GPS said I needed to. I didn’t want to be late.
But somehow we didn’t leave when I wanted. Everything moved so slowly. Neither of us could think well about practical matters. Like someone with OCD, I kept checking to see where my keys were every few minutes. (I’ve been known to lose keys so I was a bit paranoid.) Then I’d forget where I put them so I’d remember them. Then I kept brushing my teeth as I rather callously tossed Bill's electric beard trimmer and toothbrush into the trash can. I don't know why that seemed important at the time, but it was. It was as though I had to get his personal items away from me because they were too painful to confront. There was still too much life there, and I couldn't face the overwhelming incongruity of it all.
Finally Barb and I were on the road and sat mostly in stunned silence on the 45-minute drive, listening to NPR for a sense of normalcy, then turning it off to randomly comment about the day:
I wasn’t sure about this. There was a part of me that wanted to keep everything very simple and controlled so it was just the girls and me. But I understood their need. I was worried, though, about how bad Bill would look. He looked horrible by the time we’d left him at the hospital. What would he look like the next day after having organs and skin removed? I prepared them for the worse. They were coming. Hell or high water, they were coming.
I was also concerned that my mother-in-law’s emotion would be too much for me. She overwhelms people with her emotions in normal situations. And she was from a place where people filed by and kissed the corpse as a regular part of the funeral ritual. Would she throw herself on him in grief and refuse to let go? If so, I wouldn't be able to take it.
After hanging up and expressing some of these concerns to Barb, she asked, “Do you want me to call Greg, [a local pastor we both knew well], to meet us at the funeral home?”
Yes! Brilliant idea. It would be after church services for him. And having a stranger there would ensure that the family would behave. She made the arrangements. I was relieved.
We were within ten minutes of the small airport when Ariana called. Her flight was down early.
Drats. She might have to wait for us. Outside baggage claim where I’d pick her up curbside like a package or something. I wanted to meet her as she got off the plane, wrap my arms around her, hold her, and never let her go. I wanted her to know how much I love her and would do anything in the world for her.
Instead, we pulled into the terminal, and there she was standing all alone inside the terminal, looking out the window, talking to us on the phone. She was in shorts, and it was 40 some degrees out. Through the glass, there was something waif-like about her that was unsettling. Yet she waved and smiled and came out to greet us.
Barb and I left the car on the curb, got out and overwhelmed her with a group hug. I cried out of sheer relief in having her there. Then we lugged her suitcase into the car and carried on.
All my children were now together. I could spread my wings and protect them as they nuzzled under my arms like they did when they were babies and I read to them each night.
We drove home through the beautiful midwestern landscape with the moon rising in the dusky haze of the day's demise. It was a peaceful, glorious sunset, transferring into a full moon rising. Bill and I shared a love of travelling through landscapes. He would appreciate this, I thought, and the silenet tears began to flow again.
We filled Ariana in on everthing on the way back to the hotel. Later, after soup and vegging out in front of the TV, we huddled together on my bed, and my daughters did nuzzle down in my arms as we opened the prayer book for evening prayer:
But somehow we didn’t leave when I wanted. Everything moved so slowly. Neither of us could think well about practical matters. Like someone with OCD, I kept checking to see where my keys were every few minutes. (I’ve been known to lose keys so I was a bit paranoid.) Then I’d forget where I put them so I’d remember them. Then I kept brushing my teeth as I rather callously tossed Bill's electric beard trimmer and toothbrush into the trash can. I don't know why that seemed important at the time, but it was. It was as though I had to get his personal items away from me because they were too painful to confront. There was still too much life there, and I couldn't face the overwhelming incongruity of it all.
Finally Barb and I were on the road and sat mostly in stunned silence on the 45-minute drive, listening to NPR for a sense of normalcy, then turning it off to randomly comment about the day:
He didn’t take his salt restrictions seriously.Then Sherry called. She and her husband Mark were on their way to my mother-in-law’s, a seven-hour trip for them. They were going to spend the night there and then make the four-hour trip to us in the morning to view Bill before he was cremated.
Do you think he really didn’t wake up?
I think he was dead when they put him in the ambulance, which is why they weren’t in a hurry.
I have no idea what life insurance he had.
I wasn’t sure about this. There was a part of me that wanted to keep everything very simple and controlled so it was just the girls and me. But I understood their need. I was worried, though, about how bad Bill would look. He looked horrible by the time we’d left him at the hospital. What would he look like the next day after having organs and skin removed? I prepared them for the worse. They were coming. Hell or high water, they were coming.
I was also concerned that my mother-in-law’s emotion would be too much for me. She overwhelms people with her emotions in normal situations. And she was from a place where people filed by and kissed the corpse as a regular part of the funeral ritual. Would she throw herself on him in grief and refuse to let go? If so, I wouldn't be able to take it.
After hanging up and expressing some of these concerns to Barb, she asked, “Do you want me to call Greg, [a local pastor we both knew well], to meet us at the funeral home?”
Yes! Brilliant idea. It would be after church services for him. And having a stranger there would ensure that the family would behave. She made the arrangements. I was relieved.
We were within ten minutes of the small airport when Ariana called. Her flight was down early.
Drats. She might have to wait for us. Outside baggage claim where I’d pick her up curbside like a package or something. I wanted to meet her as she got off the plane, wrap my arms around her, hold her, and never let her go. I wanted her to know how much I love her and would do anything in the world for her.
Instead, we pulled into the terminal, and there she was standing all alone inside the terminal, looking out the window, talking to us on the phone. She was in shorts, and it was 40 some degrees out. Through the glass, there was something waif-like about her that was unsettling. Yet she waved and smiled and came out to greet us.
Barb and I left the car on the curb, got out and overwhelmed her with a group hug. I cried out of sheer relief in having her there. Then we lugged her suitcase into the car and carried on.
All my children were now together. I could spread my wings and protect them as they nuzzled under my arms like they did when they were babies and I read to them each night.
We drove home through the beautiful midwestern landscape with the moon rising in the dusky haze of the day's demise. It was a peaceful, glorious sunset, transferring into a full moon rising. Bill and I shared a love of travelling through landscapes. He would appreciate this, I thought, and the silenet tears began to flow again.
We filled Ariana in on everthing on the way back to the hotel. Later, after soup and vegging out in front of the TV, we huddled together on my bed, and my daughters did nuzzle down in my arms as we opened the prayer book for evening prayer:
O Lord, support us all the day long until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then, in your mercy, grant us a safe lodging, and a holy rest, and peace at the last; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.Then I gave half an Ambien to Ariana who rarely sleeps before 2:00 a.m., took the other half and finally went to sleep with the History Channel on in the background because we couldn’t bear to go to sleep in the face of dark silence.
No comments:
Post a Comment