Still Stinging

One month's worth of digging up photos for my mother's video, and I overlooked this one of Mother and Harold and me on my wedding day. Found it the other day while scrolling through blog history.  

Darn! I thought.  That would have been a good one.  A similar photo appeared in the video:  a big tall Willie on his wedding day, towering over Grandpa and Grandma.  

That one was meant for the video, I've decided.  This one can appear today.

I was thinking about this date, which is getting a lot of play today cuz it's Friday, the 13th. Walking under ladders, however, was not on my mind.  

My mother was. 

I wonder if writing about her today, exactly two months from the day she died, would seem a little crazy. 

Whether or not something seems crazy is not always a factor in my decisions.  More often than not, I opt for crazy.  So, maybe I'll write about her this morning, I thought, still with a tinge of ambivalence. 

Then, I sat down at the computer.  The time in the lower right hand corner read 7:13 a.m.

Yes, I'm going to write about Mother.  Often some of the things I write about seem directed by someone other than myself. 

Seeing 7:13 a.m. and with my mind immediately connecting to 7/13/13, I knew what to discuss in today's post. 

I've never publicly stated how I learned of my mother's passing.  Seems today is a good time to share that.  

I was announcing a horse show at the fairgrounds.  It was going to be a hot day, as it has been so many times this summer, and the bees were out early, as they have been so many times this summer. 

I had already used half a can of spray up in the announcer's stand by the time my cell phone rang about 9:15 during the morning classes. 

The voice at the other end told me that Mother had experienced an uncomfortable night and that the doctor had authorized a pain medication for her. 

First pain med ever, I thought.  

"Just wanted you to know," the reassuring voice from Life Care said.  No apparent alarm.  No real concern. 

"If we don't call back, everything's fine," she added. 

I thanked her and went on announcing the show. 

Twenty minutes and about three bee sprays later, my phone rang again. 

I put it next my ear.  A sharp, pricking pain on the side of my head.  A bee was stinging me and would not let go.

As the bee clung to the side of my face, bad words came flying from my mouth.

"Damn bee!" I yelled.  It held on.  

A slap finally released its hold. 

I apologized to whoever was at the other end.  

"I have some bad news for you," she said. 

The staff had gone to administer the pain med to my mother, and she had passed away. 

I don't know if that bee sting could be considered a symbolic message that a bitter, life-changing event had just occurred, but I'll stick to that story.

It still stings two months later, and after we've had a freeze and all the bees we've cussed all summer go wherever mean, hungry bees go, it will still be stinging. 

Life has gone on these past two months in many wonderful ways.  Our family has experienced love and concern and support and all the stuff caring people do to soothe the loss of a loved one. 

We have all filled up our days with activities, not only because that's what we do anyway, but also to dull the sense of sadness. 

In this time since Mother died, I did hear about one rather insensitive comment uttered to a friend.  She needs to just get over it, the person said. 

That was about two weeks after Mother died.  

I can not imagine how one "just gets over" such a profound loss in the matter of weeks, let alone a lifetime. 

Well, two months has passed on this Friday, the 13th.   Life is going along well.  I'm adjusting gradually and probably better than expected.   

Still a deep pocket filled sadness, where intense feelings associated with loss wait for opportune moments to escape from within. 

I've heard all the wisdom from friends and family about such losses and have become a believer of virtually everything they've said.  

We can fill up our days with a myriad of distractions,  and, with discipline,  we can keep those deep feelings bottled up and out of the public eye.  

Nonetheless, some emotions remain as raw as the day we first experienced them.  

As for me, I can't help but think of the relentless sting that preceded the life-altering message I received that day.  

I got rid of a nasty bee but will probably always feel the sting of my mother's death. 

That's how it is, they say.