Memorial Day 2020

"The dead soldier's silence sings our national anthem." ~ A. Kilbourn

Logic on Lockdown

I traveled last week, from west to east, to bury my mother. What I experienced during my trip has convinced me that the entire COVID-19 parlor game needs to end. One might say that the idiocy of "staying safe" has been "unmasked."

For all the power-crazed politicians and government officials playing emperor with our lives and livelihoods, I have a couple of questions. Why is it "safe" to shop and stand in line for a half hour at Lowe's with several dozen strangers, but "unsafe" to have a funeral in a church with relatives and friends? How is it "safe" to sit within six inches of a total stranger for several hours on a crowded airplane, but "unsafe" to stand within six feet of your siblings for ten minutes at your parent's graveside?

When we got back in our cars after leaving our mother's grave, we ripped off those masks. When we arrived at my brother's house, we hugged each other. Outside, on the patio, we sat close to each other and talked all afternoon. We visited with each other for several days after Mom's unceremonious burial--nieces, nephews, aunts and uncles all together, no masks and no distancing. No one in my family has been sick. 

My mother lived a full century, and she deserved a better tribute at the end. Mom was always all about her family. She had a multitude of relatives that certainly would have been part of her final earthly events, had they been allowed to be present. The lockdown's ban on funeral gatherings is cruel and stupid--two detrimental elements that often go together. The illogical, arbitrary rules of lockdown prevented our extended family from being together at a time when we needed to be with each other the most. It was a time to celebrate a life well lived, to share happy memories, to lend comfort to each other, and to reinforce the enduring bonds of family. 

Mom was not fond of wakes or funerals, so I can comfort myself with the knowledge that she would have been fine with the way things unfolded. I'm the one who's hurting; I've never felt so cheated in my entire life.

Considering all the ridiculous contradictions in "staying safe" that I saw during my travels, I'm wondering in hindsight. Perhaps I should have inquired about holding Mom's funeral service at either Lowe's or the airport.

The Queen's Speech

Queen Elizabeth II of Great Britain marked the 75th anniversary of Victory in Europe (VE) Day at the end of World War II with a brief, uplifting speech. She is living history, the only head of state in the world who served as active duty military during WWII.

She has been Britain's monarch throughout my life. I've always liked and admired her for her own qualities, among them her stately graciousness, keen insights, unflagging devotion to her country and to her countrymen. At age 94, she is an impressive and inspiring example of our precious Greatest Generation, those who endured through such calamities as the Great Depression and the second World War. Among her many roles, Queen Elizabeth serves as a symbol of triumph over adversity. We could all use such a good example in the many challenges we face today.

Queen Elizabeth II, left, in uniform - May 8, 1945

Nobody's Child

Anyone we love is too young to die. 

~ Unknown

My 100-year-old mother died last night. Her passing certainly was not unexpected. But one lesson my old companion Grief has taught me over the decades is that we are never ready to lose a loved one. We are perhaps especially ill-equipped to lose our mother.

The mother-child relationship is at the very heart and soul of our humanity. A good mother is the woman who loved us, cared for and protected us, many months before we were even born. Her life revolves around us at any age, expanding in time to embrace her grandchildren with equal fervor. When it comes to her children, there is nothing that is too much to ask of a mother. It is from her love, selflessness, devotion, and tireless work that we learn the values to carry forward into our own families.

I was blessed to have a good mother, and all that she taught me by wordless example is one of my most priceless treasures. While we enjoyed each other, we did have our struggles at times; mother-daughter relationships can be complex. But the underlying foundation my mother had built for us was strong enough to withstand occasional storms. We knew we loved each other; that truth always triumphed.

In recent years, my mother has needed full-time care in a nursing facility. She had mentally retreated to long-ago days, to a time in her life when she was most happy. Although she did not seem to know me or my siblings specifically, she easily recognized the familiarity of love when we visited her. Her diminished mental acuity in her final years does not minimize our loss. My siblings and I remember her strength, bravery, and perseverance throughout all of her life’s many trials. Despite dementia’s inroads, we know who our mother was and the vital, cheerful, loving presence she brought to each of our lives. We understand with painful clarity who we have lost.

My life as a daughter is done. With a sense of desolation, I realize that no one ever again will fuss at me to put on a sweater or to finish my vegetables. No one will lie awake at night as she so often did in years past, fretting over some personal problem I was facing, whispering prayers for me into the quiet darkness. No one will ever care for me as my mother did; no one possibly could.

As of last night, however long or short life’s path remaining before me, I am nobody’s child. My mother is dead. Now there is a piercing new meaning to the word “alone.”