End of the Innocence, Part Two

My mother came in late Tuesday night. This was the first time I had seen her since she started her chemotherapy treatments. Her head is covered in white and gray fuzz, and she’s getting hints of her eyebrows and eyelashes back. Her face is still young for her age and her color is good, but she looks undeniably frail. Old. It is too stark a reminder of loss yet to come. Her arrival is a relief to me, a changing of the guard. Soon, though, it becomes obvious that her hair is not the only thing the chemotherapy has taken from her. She’s scattered, forgetful, easily confused. In a painfully frank conversation, she admits that I will still have to manage and direct, that she can only really handle a few concrete tasks at a time.

The constant stream of visitors and phone calls needs some coordination. I take trusted friends up on their offers to stay at the house while we are gone, both to receive phone calls and to prevent any problems. The county paper has picked up the story on their website. Not only is news about the tragedy traveling like wildfire, but a few people have chosen to use the comments on the article as a forum for motorcycle politics. B drives back to the office from her house to check the site and call the editor for me. As she and I pursue the practical, MH decides to respond without reservation to the offenders. His comment and the inappropriate comment are both pulled, and witnesses start to post their stories and condolences.

My sister receives a name and number from the neighbor- a lady who was with Mark when he died wanted to make sure my sister knew that he didn’t suffer. I have to help her contact this woman, to know what she can know, and then comfort her as she processes this new information and runs through a heart-crushing and seemingly endless stream of alternate scenarios.

The night before the service, my sister had to put some thoughts and memories down for her contribution to the eulogy. I had to pester her about this several times, and I prayed each time that she wouldn’t ask me to help her. What do you say to the world about losing your partner, your best friend, your lover- your forever? The things that she’s written are proof that in many ways, she is stronger than I am. I don’t know that I could keep my voice to write a eulogy for MH. What we have is beyond words, to capture it fully, anyway, and to do it justice would have required too much of me at that point.

Mom wakes me up on Wednesday morning to get ready for the service. I’ve had about two hours of sleep each night since Sunday night, and I have to fight the short temper and sharp tongue that lack of sleep inspires in me. We gather in the kitchen in black dresses and waterproof mascara, trying to choke down donuts and putting extra kleenex in our purses.

The church parking lot is overflowing with family and friends. My sister’s friends, Mark’s friends, the people who have fed us and watched the house and laughed and cried with us all week- they’re here to hold her and surround her as she enters. I am awed and humbled by the affection, commitment and generosity of these people.

Apparently, my sister is more charming than I am. Interesting revelation, that.

Part Three

Epilogue

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