Interrment
In the immortal words of Professor Henry Higgins:
"Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn!"
In other news, my dad emailed today asking when I am planning to be in Minnesota next, as it is now spring and time to plan the interment of my mom's ashes. My dad, of course, called this 'internment' which I don't think is what he really meant, but I'm going to leave that one alone for now.
This means I will need to make a trip there sooner rather than later, though at least it will be a relatively short trip for perhaps a 3 day weekend or something at the end of this month or beginning of June. (Or such is my hope, since I want to go for longer in August to spend some time at Markham with my cousins).
I wonder, sometimes, how to deal with the topic of her death in conversation, especially in those conversations where people talk about what their parents are like because well, we all have parents so discussion of them seems to be more inclusive than many conversation topics. To mention it feels a bit morbid at times, yet how exactly does one speak about death without beinbg a bit morbid? And how do I talk about my mom completely in the past tense without eventually having to acknowledge that yes, she died? If I speak about it frankly, I am branded morbid, if I speak irreverently, I am deemed to have a somewhat sociopathic sense of humor (or at the very least to not be showing proper respect for my mother's memory). Yet being close-mouthed about it has a way of causing people to feel that I am uncomfortable with the subject. A fine conundrum, to say the least.
I'm not "over it," really, and I suppose I never will be -- there will always be things that I want to tell her, and sadly, I can't. But, generally I am continuing to adapt to life where I can't tell her this or that, and am continuing to discover and appreciate how wonderful so many of the people in my life are. The 3rd mensiversary (I prefer luniversary as a word for month-incremented anniversary, but apparently mensiversary is the technically correct word for such a thing) of her death came and went on Monday, uneventfully this time, without the somewhat lengthy surrounding period of feeling disconnected and disjointed that I had to contend with at one and two months. Progress.
"Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn!"
In other news, my dad emailed today asking when I am planning to be in Minnesota next, as it is now spring and time to plan the interment of my mom's ashes. My dad, of course, called this 'internment' which I don't think is what he really meant, but I'm going to leave that one alone for now.
This means I will need to make a trip there sooner rather than later, though at least it will be a relatively short trip for perhaps a 3 day weekend or something at the end of this month or beginning of June. (Or such is my hope, since I want to go for longer in August to spend some time at Markham with my cousins).
I wonder, sometimes, how to deal with the topic of her death in conversation, especially in those conversations where people talk about what their parents are like because well, we all have parents so discussion of them seems to be more inclusive than many conversation topics. To mention it feels a bit morbid at times, yet how exactly does one speak about death without beinbg a bit morbid? And how do I talk about my mom completely in the past tense without eventually having to acknowledge that yes, she died? If I speak about it frankly, I am branded morbid, if I speak irreverently, I am deemed to have a somewhat sociopathic sense of humor (or at the very least to not be showing proper respect for my mother's memory). Yet being close-mouthed about it has a way of causing people to feel that I am uncomfortable with the subject. A fine conundrum, to say the least.
I'm not "over it," really, and I suppose I never will be -- there will always be things that I want to tell her, and sadly, I can't. But, generally I am continuing to adapt to life where I can't tell her this or that, and am continuing to discover and appreciate how wonderful so many of the people in my life are. The 3rd mensiversary (I prefer luniversary as a word for month-incremented anniversary, but apparently mensiversary is the technically correct word for such a thing) of her death came and went on Monday, uneventfully this time, without the somewhat lengthy surrounding period of feeling disconnected and disjointed that I had to contend with at one and two months. Progress.