Over the bridge and far away

Saturday 11 October 2008

Today marks the eighth anniversary of Mommy's passing. At some time in the wee hours of the morning of the 11th she sat up in her hospital bed, caught my father's hand, and said aloud, 'I see stars!' And with that she proceeded to our loving God who submits even all things unto Himself. When Jessy and I awoke that morning Daddy was leaning over the bed-- for we had slept together that night for being so anxious about how she was doing-- and he told us that Mommy was 'out of danger'. Having both seen 'Sense and Sensibility' we knew how most people would have taken that line, but we knew also that in his faith Daddy meant it entirely another way. Mother (our nanny then) wrote that day calling our reaction The Wailing. 'I do not know how it could ever stop,' she wrote. And it did go on, if not as a sound of tears then as a cold empty pit in our souls, for quite some time till we realised what she had actually prayed for, that there could be some form of happiness without Mommy, not in spite of her absence nor because of it, but along with it. Mommy abides in Heaven, and we abide here, and we are both happy because we simply must be. There is no life without hope, and as Gran says, 'As long as there is life, there is hope.' The two are interrelated, because that's the only way life makes any sense.

I spent a little time in prayer this morning before I actually got out of bed, because I had slept through the actual moment that marked the event and I have promised myself I will never begin an October 11th without remembering her. I know this does not matter to Mommy. She is happy where she is and smiles down upon us all with confidence that we will all be all right. As Daddy has often reminded us, mourning is for those who are left. Pity for the one who has gone on is pointless-- she is the happy one, happy at home in the arms of God, and we are left to carry on in the cold cruel world.

Sometimes, even here, where Mommy never lived, I will walk in to the kitchen and for a moment imagine her standing there in her church dress and apron cleaning carrots or mixing cake batter and I will get a sudden pang down inside when I realise it's only what I might like, not what will ever be. And then I worry that I will forget her smile, or her scent, or the sound of her voice. I know Jessy believes she already has. But then we will watch her on a home video, look over our photos and revisit some of the toys and dolls she gave us, and we know her all over again as we always have. Those who leave us in the body do not leave us in the heart. This is why we call our stepmother 'Mother', like Maria gets called in 'The Sound of Music' (which is where we got the idea) and never 'Mommy' or 'Mum' like Lisa calls her instinctively. Mommy is not replaced at all-- indeed we live on with her, all of us, even our stepmother who loved her like an older sister or even a second mother... as Jessy and I love her in turn. Without Mommy having been what she was to each of us, none of what we have now could have been possible. It is really this profound-- even Mother when she was still our nanny wrote, on the day of her engagement to Daddy, that Mommy was her own saviour, the perfect sister, wife, mother, and friend, a lamb without blemish who suffered a painful and incurable condition and at age 33-- if you can believe that symbolic coincidence-- died to allow us all a new life.

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