My youngest grandmother is 89 I believe, and age has finally caught up with her. I am not particularly close to her, but I do love her and have fond memories.
Something that really set me into tears this week was the unexpected call from my mom. "Honey, grandma isn't going to be around much longer. Maybe not even the year. Please come visit her so she can see you all one last time. I'm losing my mom" my mom mumbled as she choked town tears and ended in a fit of sobs.
Sure. I have dealt with death before, when my mom lost her dad. But I was four, so the guy that put beets in his salad and had a green lawn was suddenly gone. I remember my mom getting the phone call and putting the receiver down and crying but it was all foreign.
Suddenly hearing my strong mother turned weak, and being a mother myself...I felt like I was the mom trying to soothe her fears and dry her tears and yet there is no bandaid for this. I can't fix my mom's tears and when grandma goes, I can't bring her back. I am suddenly the daughter soothing the mother, and I am not sure how to do it. I want to just hug my mom and make it all better but it isn't that easy. I can't work a miracle and it is playing with my psyche.
Also, it makes me peek into a deep dark part of my mind I keep under lock and key- my own parents' mortality. What do I want to do, give, share with my parents before they go? What will I regret? How will I cope with their passing? Who will try and dry my tears?
Last night, it all came to me in a dream. Okay, my dream didn't give me any answers or fix a darned thing but it gave me some solace. It was a simple but symbolic dream.
A path led through a mountain peak, the path and everything covered in sparkly white snow. It was silent out, that almost deafening silence of a deep snow at dawn, before anyone is awake. I was walking with a few silhouetted figures in the daylight, and saw to my left, strewn along the path, white fake roses with icy dew, laying atop the snow. I asked no one in particular why they were there, and was told that they were there to honor the passing of my grandmother. I was filled with a contemplative silence and a gentle warmth just knowing this.