The day before my mom died, I left.
We had all been gathered in Durban, but my husband and kids were flying home to Cape Town, and both kids (then 2 and 4 years old) were sick and needed their mom. I also needed some space to grieve what I knew was about to happen… And my mom was so far across the morphine bridge between life and death that I didn’t feel I had to be there for the final steps.
Which didn’t make it any easier when my eldest brother called the next morning at 8am, to tell me our mom had died. I collapsed on the ground at the foot of my bed, and howled. Howled. I remember I was wearing my favourite (only) grey F&M sweatshirt, and that my kids rushed in to hug me, but not much else…
This week we start renovating our house (eek! Yay!) and this spot, at the foot of my bed, will no longer exist. It will be replaced by something new – a new part of our lovely home.
And I keep thinking that the way this spot will be folded into our new home is the same way grief has been folded into my life… It’s still there, you just can’t see it any more.
That feels like a pretty big gift, considering where I was 5 years ago! Thank heavens for Time.
Be First to Comment