I don't think I ever appreciated what the word vigil means on an emotional level until last week. I spent hours in my Mom's room at the nursing home , reading with one eye on Mom or hand sewing with one eye on Mom. By Saturday night, when my sister and I went to see Mom for what would turn out to be the last time, I think I hit my own personal wall.
I felt dissolved inside, looking at her face, feeling her being pulled into the next life. I suddenly just couldn't deal and stood up, pacing around the room. My sister was in the same shape. When we left, it took quite a while before we could move onto the next task.
The next morning, when no one else was in the room, Mom stepped out with Dad.
As much as I want to be home, spending time with my siblings is just the right thing to do now. No one else can share Mom memories quite the way we do.
The Hakala tribe has a pronounced tendency to laugh while crying. On Sunday when my sister, my brother-in-law and two of my brothers were in the room--with Mom lying on her bed--we were alternately weeping, hugging and then, as we tried to put an outfit together for her to wear, we started telling Mom stories and gently laughing. She was still there with us because she would have joined right in.
I drove to the beach today after I dropped a clothing donation off at a thrift shop in Falmouth. I went down to Woods Hole and then circled around on Nobska Road to the town beach, stopped, took some pictures and thought about Mom and Dad.
I feel OK but a bit strange, off-kilter, relieved and sad all at the same time.
I guess that's just about right.
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