goodbye again

mom died at 3:15 in the afternoon on friday, september 1st, 2006.

the funeral director at the cremation society said she died at 3:30 when i met with him the next day. i argued briefly, insisting it was 3:15. i knew, because i was there. he seemed oddly uncomfortable that i would protest this point, and oddly uncomfortable with the whole situation. his name was warren and he smelled like carnations and old closets. he looked nice in his proper dark suit, but he was colder than i had expected as he ushered me into the conference area and told me to have a seat, that were just a few things we needed to go over regarding the death certificate and her cremation.

we sat at a gothic dining room table in a sun drenched room with a large box of tissues in the middle. out the sides of my eyes i saw sample urns, burial tombs, flag cases and memory books, all on display as if in a hallmark store. i felt so tight all in my core, breathing only deeply enough to get breath and nothing more. just enough to get through this.

warren handed me a tiny yellow envelope with a ring inside and said "she was wearing this, would you like to have it?" i took the envelope and clutched it in teary hands but did not open it.

he then explained that the time of death was recorded at 3:30 because the attending physician at the nursing home was the one who “called it”, and apparently he didn’t get to make that call until he answered his page and arrived in room 305, bed A, where she lay dead and that was at 3:30 p.m. on the 1st of september. warren didn’t understand why it mattered, as this piece of information was only for the death certificate.

but it mattered a lot to me.

it mattered because if she really had died 15 minutes later than she did, i am sure i would have acted differently at her passing. if there had been another 15minutes, i would have tossed off the awkward discomfort and terror of watching her die, and instead i would have leaned in said all the things i am thinking today, 2 years and 26 minutes to the moment she left.

we were a great team mom, you and me. quite misunderstood by the rest of the family but it hasn't mattered, has it, not in the four years since you moved from delaware to 8 miles from me. we understood each other most of the time, frustrated each other some of the time, and as hard as it has been to help you live, i am here to help you pass. i will love you always and please mom, don't ever leave me. love to dad, so much love to dad. have fun and promise to watch over me. i am sure there is pepsi in heaven.

that is what i would have said in an extra 15 minutes, but there were no extra minutes when the last words of her life were written. and when 3:15 came all i could say was

i love you mom.

and off she went.