55 years......7 weeks......2 days. Such a mathematical way to describe a life. That's how old my Mother was, when she died - at 10:30 pm on a cold December night when I was 18 years.....6 weeks....and 2 days of age. Around 10:00 on that most horrible of all nights, her death rattle became so loud it seemed to shake the very walls of the ancient hospital room. Frightened, it seemed like all of us keeping vigil pressed our backs to the walls as one. My Father, in a broken sob kept repeating "Breathe Honey.....Breathe....." I couldn't stand the thought that she might die without a touch, so I climbed in the bed with her, and curled my body around hers....one last time. My beautiful, broken Mama....my kindred heart....my touchstone....my best friend....my strength....my everything. She died in my arms. One last kiss, an embrace....I buried my face in her shoulder and breathed the last smell of a Mothers love, before my Father gently pulled me up and off the bed. I fled to the hall and searched out Sarah - my boon companion. She and her Mom had waited there all night, knowing I would have need of them. We stayed at the hospital long enough to see my Mother rolled away by the men from the funeral home, one of whom was my former school bus driver - a mean spirited boy that I detested.
When Dad unlocked the back door of our house, we entered the darkness in a heavy silence. I went to the Silver Chest, lifted the top tray and felt around until my fingers found the letter. The one that had long resided there, nestled in the deep blue corduroy lining. The one whose envelope said "For Kelley Bell. To be opened in the event of my death". I kissed my Father and locked myself in my room and read that letter over and over again. The one that poured out a Mothers love and hopes for my adulthood - one that she had always known she would not see. Adulthood? Not possible. I was certain that I would not survive the night, that in my grief I would just stop breathing. I slept in my clothes. On top of the bedspread. When I awoke, my eyes were swollen shut and my long hair was a clump of mats. The letter, still clutched in my hand. I read it again, hearing Mama's voice in every word...it closed with a blessing for the daughters I might have and the love I would surely find.
How. Would. I. live.....through the day? through the week? Till the very day when I had lived one more minute, taken one more breath than my Mother? On the day that I was 55 years.....7 weeks....2 days and one minute.
That occurred tonight, at 10:31. I am sitting in my kitchen, with a candle, a shot of fireball and Janis Ian keeping me company in my vigil. The little cedar box that holds my Mama's letter open - the letter read and cried over. The daughters my Mother prayed for me to have, both upstairs in bed. Every day of my life since I was 18 years, 6 weeks and 2 days old have been spent with my Mother in my heart, knowing that no one has ever or will ever love me as much as she did. We were lucky, she and I. To have had each other. From a young age I was aware of the blessing that was my Mama, and that our relationship was rare and precious. And, as neurotic as it might sound, many of those days have seen the thought, "How will it be when, God willing, I live one minute, one day longer than Mama?"
And now 37 years later, I have arrived, and in this moment it feels.....cold, and empty, and sad. I had always thought I would feel relief, if I made it to this advanced, important age and milestone. It is not as old as I had imagined it would be....I still feel young (except for my knees....and my back....). Did Mama still feel young? I know the answer is probably not - her prolonged illness certainly took it's toll.
In a few minutes, I will go out the front door and stand in the night. I will breathe in the cold air and look at the stars, and give thanks for my one of a kind Mama. I will go to bed and get under the covers. I will curl around the love my Mother envisioned for me, and I will wake as I did so many years ago, with eyes swollen shut from the tears I have cried. Tomorrow I will be 55 years, 7 weeks and 3 days. I will let my daughters read "the letter"....a legacy of love from the Grandmother they never knew....and then....who knows? Maybe I will cut all of my hair off. Or dye it blue - something slightly jarring to snap me out of this....I will drink coffee and look at the sky, and breathe in the air. I will pick up my last, almost grown daughter from school. I will herd and conduct a passel of excited kids, as they present the Christmas Program that they have worked so hard on...I will live the life that my Mother fought so hard to give me. But for tonight, I am both 18 years, 6 weeks, 2 days AND 55 years, 7 weeks, 2 days and one minute. Tonight, I am me AND my Mother....together again.
