First Day Of Spring

As the sun settled down for the night marking the close of the first day of spring, my aunt drew and exhaled in a whisper, her last breath.  Snuggled beneath her comforter, surrounded by the vibrant colors of spring flowers my mother and she had bought earlier that day, she settled into eternal sleep. A gentle, merciful escape.

 I like to imagine the strong, loving arms of the creator pulling my Auntie Gayle's tiny body into his protective embrace and holding her gently as they ascend into the heavens. I like to imagine the physical and emotional pain releasing from her body not slowly but in great gusts, with immense force. I imagine her skeletal body transforming and radiating with health. I see God slowly open his arms as they reach that holy place beyond and with more energy than she has ever possessed, I see Auntie take off running out of God's arms and into the vast fields before her. Her bare feet touch down on soft, sweet green grass and the fresh scent of wild flowers fill her senses. No tears, no pain, just pure joy and unexplained peace. Auntie once again at one with the outdoors that she so revered and loved. That is what I imagine.

Friday morning I stood up, one foot still resting on my shovel, I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my dusty glove. Surveying my progress thus far, I felt satisfied. There was so much to be done. I could become overwhelmed easily and at times I let myself. In those moments I tried to remind myself that it was a process. I would not and could not get all the yard work done in one day. In fact, it may not get where I wanted it to be this summer. It may take a few seasons. Like many things in life.

My mind wandered often to earlier in the week when Jerrie and I had visited auntie Gayle at her apartment. She was dying of ovarian cancer. My mother had informed me just a few days earlier of the seriousness of my aunts condition. I should have known but I did not. My once outgoing, at times opinionated and multi talented, favorite aunt had slipped away from me.

Fifteen years earlier my uncle left and my aunt was never the same. She just could not overcome his betrayal and find reason to go on. It was devastating to watch and no matter what anyone said or did, she continued to decline in health and in spirit. In the beginning, I tried to rally her. I encouraged her via phone calls and cards and letters, but my immaturity and my limited experience in the cruelties of life left me impatient and not nearly compassionate enough. Eventually I drifted away.

It has not been lost on me the similarities of the way my husband of twenty years left me and the way my uncle left my aunt. In fact many times as I buried my head in my hands, drowning in my tears my thoughts were of my aunt. I wondered if this was how she had felt and I thought how tempting it was  to just give up. To crawl into the fetal position and to just let life happen around me...

Over the years from time to time, I asked about my aunt and my mother would fill me in. On occasion I would see her out in front of her apartment smoking a cigarette and I would pull in and say hello. But I never really tried to get to know her again. I guess selfishly I wanted to  protect the memories I had of her from 'before'.

Time may be a great healer but it is also the great slayer of human life. No one escapes the choke hold of Times death grip. When it is time for you to go, Time takes you. End of discussion.   

I dropped to my knees that morning, cell phone jammed against my ear, tears flooding my eyes. All I could do was repeat "No, no" over and over. "Lorinda, come to auntie's apartment. Your mother needs you." My fathers calm voice on the other end shook me to my senses. My mother needed me. I had to go.

I am not sure what I expected as I stood there holding my mother's hand, the cold wind blowing hard against us. I guess  I was struck with the unceremonious way in which two men carried my aunts body down two flights of stairs and rolled it into the back of a mini van. The van doors slammed shut and my aunts body was gone. The end.

 About an hour earlier, my mother, father, cousin and her husband as well as the woman from hospice and a woman from DSHS had crowded into my aunts tiny apartment bedroom and bid her farewell. I knew as I looked down at her withered shell, too small and nearly lost in the big bed of blankets and pillows, that she was long gone. This body was not her at all. It hadn't been for years. Too many years.  But that did not prevent my heart from breaking inside me. It did not prevent the tears from running down my face.

My mothers grip on my hand was almost painful. Here we were again, my mother and I. I remembered how just five years earlier she had pressed her head into my shoulder and cried helplessly as my grandmothers ashes were lowered into the ground. As the oldest child I have always been closest to my mom. I have always felt a great sense of responsibility and desire to be there for her. I try to be the kind of daughter to her that she was to my grandmother. I fall short, but I continue to try.

As I drove my mom home to her house, it weighed heavy on my heart the distance that had grown between her and I since I had come out to her as gay and married Sandy. Sure we talked nearly every day at the gym when she came in to workout, but the conversation was surface. We were pleasant and every once in a while I received what felt a very heart felt 'I love you' followed by a hug. But I longed for more. I desperately missed our old relationship. That way we just understood what each other was thinking before we said it. I missed hanging out with her. I missed my mom.

I know the timing may not have been right. I realize that I acted out of selfish fear but what I did I did because I love my mom. I love her so much that the thought of living without her in my life makes me literally gasp for air.

 I walked my mom up the stairs of her house, I grabbed her hand as she reached for the door handle and blurted out, "That could have been you in that body bag today." Tears started to fall down my face again and I swiped them away. "What would it matter then, mom, if I was gay or straight? Who cares? I want to see you. I want things to be the way they were with us before you knew. I'm still me."

My mom was crying too. She shook her head defiantly. "You have changed, Lorinda. You may not see it but you have. I'll never accept it... you being gay.."

 "Then don't'", I hear myself saying. "I'm not asking you to. But don't shut me out. We are going to die, too. Someday. Why waste what time we have left because we don't agree on this? I love you. I want to spend time with you. I miss you."

By now my mom is sobbing and she has embraced me in a hug. She tells me she loves me and that from here on out, we will start again.

A week after the funeral, six months after I've married Sandy and four months after we've moved into our new house my mother pulls into my driveway for the first time. I answer the door and she holds a pot of sun shiny daffodils and purple hibiscus. A smile spreads across her face and she says, "Beautiful house, Lorinda."