I didn't know which outfit to wear. Sounds petty doesn't it? My husband took me out the night before I left to buy a new outfit for the funeral. I bought two, and so didn't know which one to wear that day. I woke up early. I laid both outfits out on the bed -- one traditional, brown and black, morose. The other one, pink and floral, happy. I felt guilty even considering wearing the pink outfit. It was so mom though, I knew that if she could have picked one, that is the one she would have chosen. She wouldn't want me to be morbid...she would want me in bright, happy colors. So I chose the outfit she would have bought for me, and I wore it proudly.
What an awful morning. It was a Tuesday, and it was a beautiful day. Yet, my heart was the heaviest it had ever been in the whole of my life. Sounds like I am exaggerating, but I am not. Couldn't eat, couldn't think, didn't want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to be left alone, in my own miserably sad world. I hated what was going to happen later today and there was not a damn thing I could do to stop it. Death sucks...no matter how you may look at it, it sucks so much.
The funeral wasn't until 2PM that day. We had agreed to meet at the church at 1:30. Talk about time standing still -- it seemed like FOREVER before we left for the church. I remember everything about that car ride to the church. Every traffic light, every tree, every sound. We were on the way to bury my mother, to say good-bye forever...even now, five months later, the pain in my heart, nothing can describe it.
Well, we were all there...my two sisters, brother and my dad. The only one missing was my mom. But she was there, she was in a beautiful marble box, the best money could buy...sitting on a pedestal. She wasn't there, and wouldn't be either. And that thought rang over my head like a clanging cymbal.
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