It hasn't gotten any easier. The funeral provided some closure, as funerals often do, but the ache in my heart hasn't gotten any smaller. If anything, it's gotten larger.
The funeral home was PACKED for both viewings. The line to offer condolences and see my mom one last time snaked around the perimeter of the room we were in, down the hall, and out the door of the funeral home. So many people came. I knew that my mom knew a lot of people, but I wasn't expecting this. I don't know that any of us were. It seemed that every student from the school at which she taught came by, as well as some graduates. There were people she had helped through RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) and marriage prep and baptism prep from her time as Director of Religious Education at a local parish. There was of course family. And many of our friends came out to support us and offer comfort.
The funeral Mass was also huge. In addition to the parish pastor, about six Spiritan priests (who know my dad) as well as the priest my mom used to work for con-celebrated the Mass. We picked songs that we thought she'd like, even though they weren't all typical funeral Mass songs -- Amazing Grace, How Can I Keep From Singing?, Morning Has Broken, Lord of the Dance (which dad kept referring to as Lord of the Rings), and a Polish hymn we knew she liked. The church was disgustingly hot, which we laughed about, because mom was always cold. And it was a full church.
Today, mom was buried. She and my dad had talked about burial in the veterans cemetery in Pittsburgh, so that's what we all agreed to. I couldn't stay for that. There were rules to it -- only two cars allowed, no grave-side service, you couldn't really get out of your car -- and even though Erik told me that I could certainly stay if I wanted to (he had to get back for work), I just couldn't do it. My dad, my sister, and her husband sent me pictures.
But like I said, it's not getting any easier. Now, that doesn't mean that I thought that once the funeral was over that my life would go back to normal and I'd be fine and happy again. I didn't believe that. But I didn't think the pain I felt could get worse. Michael and Jacob do a pretty good job of keeping me distracted, but there's still an emptiness inside me, and I'm not fully engaged in anything I'm doing.
I think of all the things my mom won't be here for. I started to cry this morning because it's about that time of year to be getting mums. And we were going to take my mom to this local flower wholesale greenhouse to get some, because she'd love it. Jacob starts soccer at the end of the month, and mom was so happy that dad wasn't video-taping a local high school's football games, because that meant they'd be able to leave Friday afternoon to come down here for a weekend and to see Jacob play. Jacob hasn't been feeling well today and developed a fever. All I wanted to do was call her and ask her for advice on how to bring it down.
I just wish that this was some kind of dream. I'll wake up tomorrow morning and she'll be fine. And this will all just go away.
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| Playing at the water table with baby Jacob |
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