Mom

Donna Mae Waffle, April 15, 1933 - February 20, 2008

Cathy, a friend of my parents, had brought Chinese food for dinner. Mom was looking forward to the wonton soup, but had no appetite when the time came. She had started needing oxygen the past few days, and didn't have much energy, but managed to greet Cathy. Mom was resting on the couch near the dining room table. When Dad and Cathy got up from dinner, he saw Mom absolutely still, and knew she was gone.

Things were just beginning to get rougher, so he feels it was merciful she went when she did.

marian_w says Nanum was always planning activities for everyone, so she chose to go on the night of a lunar eclipse when we all had something to do. We are all lovers of the night sky, and managed to pause a few moments in our different places and gaze upward—Marian, Brenna, Dad and I. I was with Sylvie, en route to her place to spend the night there again (for the third time in two weeks).

For months I have dreaded going through this time alone. It happens that Danny is on holidays this week and was able to set aside other commitments to be with me for a few days. This means more than I can say.

We will leave in a few minutes to spend the next few days with Dad. He has friends and relatives nearby, and doesn't seem to mind being alone, but I had promised Mom I would go spend time with him when she died. He isn't much of a cook, so I will try to make a few batches of soup or whatever he likes to put away in the freezer.

Many thanks for all the kind comments. I will try to respond properly later.

Emotionally it hasn't sunk in—or maybe I was just better prepared than I thought. I am not sad. Dad seems equally peaceful about it, and we are made of the same fibre. But my nervous system has reacted at the deeper, reptile level. Physical symptoms of panic are creeping around.

I started pulling out photographs last night when Sylvie was here. Then I discovered the worst impact of the flood. A large box of photographs, which I thought had escaped, was mostly stuck together in thick wads. Sylvie pulled out the few survivors (random images from my whole life: family, loved ones, and people I hardly remember) while I dashed around poking through high shelves and opening boxes in search of albums, which were mostly okay. My mind became increasingly scattered. I made a mess of the living room, but Sylvie insisted we put it all away before we left last night.

Later I dozed off with my laptop on Sylvie and Sarah's couch. Several times I awoke and thought I was in a color field painting: my white-socked feet, oval blobs on their square brown footstool against a solid orange background, which later would be visible nowhere. I finally managed to rouse myself enough to shut the laptop down and go to bed. I woke once in the night with a cold start. Today I feel like I haven't slept.

I'm looking forward to a few quiet days with Dad and Danny.