A First Anniversary

Friday marked the first anniversary of my mother's death. I think our hearts really do ascribe a lot of importance to all the firsts of the first year--first Christmas without the person, first birthday, first of my children born who won't know his grandmother, now the first anniversary.

I am a loner by nature who as a single person used to enjoy going days at a time staying home not seeing or talking to anyone. I'm the one whose favorite birthday was my twenty-fifth because I spent the entire weekend alone backpacking into the coastal wilderness. So when I faced this first anniversary my instinct was to desire to carve out hours of time so I could do some meaningful activities alone. I wanted to read some of my mom's writings and letters, see her handwriting, look at photos of her.

But when you have four children six and under and a husband with a we-are-so-grateful busy and time-consuming job, one can't easily "carve out a few hours." I was blessed that Chris was able to keep the children while I went to a Mass being said for the repose of my mother's soul. On the drive there, I listened to the CD of her music when she played in a band when I was small. She played the fiddle and I have such memories of her practicing and she'd treat me to playing Pop Goes the Weasel while I ran in childish circles around her, collapsing in a heap of giggles. I had forgotten that she sings one of the songs on this CD, so when her voice suddenly filled my car, I was a weeping mess: not the safest driving!

I made it to the parish in one piece, was able before Mass to pray an entire chaplet of Divine Mercy (without endless childish interruptions about sitting still, not hitting one's sister, being quiet, and stop being so close to the baby eventhoughIknowyoulovehim).

After Mass and good tears, Life resumed, I met Chris, took back the children, and escorted them to art and gym class. As we drove home, I was disappointed as I tried to calculate how I could "carve out" time to finish the ritual I had wanted of looking at photos of my mom. It was almost time to cook dinner and little tummies don't just pause for Mama to go down memory lane.

It was then that I realized Life isn't going to stop. Death is what stops us, Life keeps going, sometimes meandering down a quiet lane, sometimes speeding like a freight train. This was not one of those times I was going to be able to hand off my children or step away from their needing snacks, diapers, and guidance. So I invited them into my ritual.

I told them we were going to sit down and look at photo albums of Gramma Lisa. (Then came John's fabulous twenty-first century child's question: "Mama, what is a photo album?") I realized that photos and stories are going to be the only way my children know this grandmother of theirs and I want them to know her. We flipped through pictures, I told stories, and it was good (and also realistic: with the children being distracted at times, leaping around, moving in and out of attention). Looking at these photos from three decades ago, there were many pictures of people who have since passed away, which led Mary (4) to ask quite a few fascinating questions about that mysterious subject of death. "But how does the [dead] person know he is dead?"

All in all, a good and typically busy day. I thank you for your prayers for the repose of my mother's soul.