Yesterday

August 3, 2008 /

Yesterday I went to Sacramento, to go through mom’s things.  Thankfully, Richard and Kathy had gone through her things up in Alaska already, and only packed what they thought she would really want or need down here.   It’s so expensive to move things from Alaska, that it didn’t make sense to ship furniture and so on…so it’s just personal stuff and books.  It was nice going through her things, seeing familiar items that I grew up with.  I found her photo albums, which was the thing I most wanted to have.  I found her kaleidoscope collection, which I also wanted.  I didn’t get through everything, though, because it was HOT up there yesterday, and as the day wore on, the storage space went from being completely shaded to completely broiling in the direct sunlight. It was 97 according to the paper today.  Whew.  So I’m going to need to go back again, perhaps next Sunday.

Kate came and helped me go through things.  It was nice to have someone there with me…Ted wanted to come, but I was worried about the cat hair and his allergies.  So we talked while we sorted, we laughed at a few things that she had, and talked about how much we would want to keep others.  It wasn’t horribly sad, until the time came for Kate to give me mom’s remains, which she had picked up for me from the crematorium a few weeks ago.  That was hard.  I didn’t go up to see her body when she died…she had wanted to donate her organs, and I didn’t want to see what that would leave behind.  So in some sick way, this has at some level not seemed real.  Seems like a sick joke someone is playing on me, you know?  I told Kate that, and she said that no, she had seen mom, and though she wished it were a sick joke, it was real.  We cried together then, cried for the unfairness of it all, and for the loss of our plans and hopes.  And we talked about the conditions mom was suffering from, and how most likely, she would have had health problems for the rest of her life, and might have gone into a long slow decline anyway.  So at least she was spared that misery, as were we.

But really, that wasn’t much consolation.  Cold consolation at best.

16 Comments

  • Nance

    August 3, 2008 at 10:40 am

    I think it’s in our nature to rationalize the negative (“bad”) things that happen to us so that we can find a way to make sense of them in some way. People of faith do it when they say that God spared their lives in a hurricane, but disregard the fact that it was God who visited the hurricane upon them in the first place.

    It’s hard to just accept, period. Just accept. I certainly can’t do it without running down a list of things to make the thing more palatable. It’s our nature. Cold comfort, indeed. I guess I’d just say “take the comfort wherever and whenever you can find it.” When it is offered, it’s always offered with the best of intentions.

    Take good care, J. I will think of you.

  • Gina

    August 3, 2008 at 10:52 am

    I’m so sorry.

    I have not lost a parent, and so cannot help you with any advice.

    Just know that I wish you and your family the best.

    Hugs.

  • lilalia

    August 3, 2008 at 2:23 pm

    Sometimes those cold consolations do, after a long while, appear very true. Maybe there will come a time when you can feel less saddened by the thought that your mother died when she did. I found your description of you and Kate sitting in the storage area going through your mother’s belongings very touching. I am so happy you and Kate had each other on this occasion.

  • Barbara

    August 3, 2008 at 4:49 pm

    I am so sorry. The process of going through your Mom’s things is emotional. It is good that you did not have to do it alone. I know what it is to lose your Mother. There is very little that can console when you have experienced such a loss. As time goes on the pain is less and it becomes easier to manage.

  • Starshine

    August 4, 2008 at 9:52 am

    It sounds like a mini-memorial service you had yesterday. A mother’s daughter and her best friend remembering her life by going through her favorite things.

    I’m so sorry for your loss and for the pain. I’m glad that you and Kate didn’t have to grieve alone yesterday.

    *hugs*

  • Linda Atkins

    August 4, 2008 at 10:46 am

    Ah, I’m sorry, Julie. That sounds difficult indeed. I can’t imagine seeing one of my parents dead, yet being handed their ashes WITHOUT having seen the body also sounds like it would be very strange.

  • shelliza

    August 4, 2008 at 6:07 pm

    ((HUGS))So sorry you’re hurting but glad that you had someone there to talk and share your feelings with. Hoping that today, tomorrow and the days after will be better.

  • L.

    August 4, 2008 at 7:52 pm

    So sorry.

    I remember going through my grandmother’s things with my mother (my grandmother who raised me) and thinking how surreal it was. I didn’t see her body, either, and wasn’t even able to go to her funeral, so I kept waiting for her to walk in at any moment.

    Sorry I don’t comment so much anymore, but I still read –and my thoughts are with you!

  • Ted

    August 5, 2008 at 8:05 am

    When my father died, we were there to dress him for the viewing, and by the time the funeral was over, there was a real sense that he was truly gone. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, to be sure, but it did help deal with loss. Since you didn’t see your mom after she died, it’s all kind of abstract and, like you said, not real. 🙁

    But on a more positive note…I really liked the photos you were showing me from your mom’s collection. And the book you wrote for your mom when you were in the 2nd grade was priceless! I’m really happy I got to see that. 🙂

  • MsMamma

    August 5, 2008 at 2:53 pm

    oh boy. what Ted said. i’m glad that you’re surrounded by people who love you as much as your mom did. i’m still so sorry for your loss.