September

I really can’t believe we’re already in the throes of September. I know that seems like a tired old sentiment, but it really is true. Weren’t we just celebrating the New Year?! I suppose it’s a mark of maturity, or maybe just old age setting in, when the days, weeks and months between January and December seem to become shorter and shorter. Will the process reverse as I get older, just as it seemed to be the opposite when I was a child, bursting to get out into the world and be whoever and whatever I was supposed to be? When you make that transition from a dependent child to a self-supporting adult, does some sort of instant osmosis occur that makes the warp speed of time set in?

September has come to mean so many things for me. First, the approach of autumn is here and with it comes a welcome respite from the burdensome heat of summer (don't you just feel lighter when the weather's cooler?). It’s the demarcation point for the seasons; a time of year I really do love, signaling just a bit more to go before the holidays will be upon us. Of course it’s also become the anniversary month for the event forever etched in our memories as ‘9/11.’ I read so many great posts and comments on this last week, each taking that moment out to remember and all reminding me to see the big picture. I sometimes look beyond this when I’m lost in the minutiae of the day-to-day, but tell myself if I still have the ability to sit back and see that panoramic instead of just my own close up; if it’s not completely wiped from my view, no matter what might be going on that may seem overwhelming at the time, I’m still okay.

I think up to this point of my life the most important part of September for me is that it’s the month during which I lost my Mom, three years ago on the 30th. I’ve been thinking a lot about her lately, trying to keep my mind completely open so she can send me a sign, a message, something, but nothing comes. I’ve thought about maybe covering my head with aluminum foil to increase the vibes (Does that work? Or is that only for communicating with aliens?), but haven’t tried it yet. My Aunt, her sister, often tells me she talks to her. I guess I do too, and while it’s mostly in my thoughts it’s also sometimes out loud, but I don’t ever expect, or hear, any response. It’s during these times I wish I was clairvoyant, or possessive of a sixth sense, but it’s just not there.

The Sunday before last my friend Liz called me in the morning, the first time I’d spoken to her in months. The first question I asked her, because I knew she hadn’t been well, was “How is your Mom?” There was a silence from her I knew could only mean one thing, and when she finally replied with, “You don’t know?” I immediately felt a sinking feeling in my stomach and couldn’t help but start to cry. Her Mother, someone I’d been privileged to know since my childhood, had passed away in late July, and I hadn’t known. Liz thought I would have heard and as she hadn’t really been up to talking with anyone, had not called me. I hadn’t heard, didn’t know, and felt that much worse for not being there for Liz, who’d lost her Mom, and her niece and my friend Amy, who’d lost her grandmother. She assured me they’d had a very small private service for family only, but I was still left with this horrible feeling for not knowing. Shouldn’t I have sensed something? Shouldn’t I have just known? It struck me how the delicate balance of life really isn’t so delicate after all, as not even the end of a life will stop the inevitable movement of the everyday. While those of us who were part of that life do stop to a certain extent, and change our courses accordingly, everyone else just keeps going.

Liz was one of the first people I called the morning my own Mother passed away. She knew my Mom had been sick and after my brother phoned to let me know she was gone, I picked up the phone, not really knowing who I wanted to talk to, but dialing Liz on instinct. It was very early, but I knew she’d be up getting ready for work. I called, but then really couldn’t make any words come out of my mouth. I was sitting on my bed, trying to steady myself for that first wave of grief I knew was about to hit and while I didn’t say anything for a few minutes, she knew. “Is it your Mom?” she’d asked me. I eventually regained enough of my composure to form a sentence or two and while I don’t remember exactly what we ended up talking about, maybe the details of when she had passed and when the funeral would be, it will always been a conversation, or lack thereof, I’ll remember.

I think this is what hit me so hard when I learned her Mother had passed; not only because she was a great lady, someone I’ll miss and of whom I have fond childhood and adult memories after knowing the family for so long, but because in that one instant it brought back everything I'd felt that morning my Mom had gone, when it was me calling Liz. And even though all of us experience loss in a very singular way, just as my brother, sister and I have probably felt the loss of our Mother in different ways, I really did understand what she must have felt.

So now almost three Septembers have passed and it has gotten easier. Maybe easier isn't the correct word; I think different is probably more accurate. It's not as sharp, it's not as close, not as mournful, but it's still, and always will be, there. Right alongside the surprising resiliency of the mind, and the heart.

I am keeping a list of questions for my Mom, things I should have asked her while she was here, but maybe they'll just have to remain unanswered until I see her again. Or maybe I'll try the aluminum foil on my head and with Divine Intervention will adjust the cap just so and hit the right channel at the right time . . .

[image © ViaCreativa]