Monday, November 19, 2007
today is the 20th anniversary of my mom's death. she died of cancer. it started in the breast and metastasized to her lung, then brain, then liver. she died on a thursday in 1987. i was 12.
my brother played in the Valdosta High School football game on friday night. he wrote the word MOM across his taped knuckles.
to the funeral, i wore a navy blue corduroy dress with puffed sleeves and a white cotton collar that my aunt charlene bought me the day before. i didn't cry. i was tired of crying. i was relieved.
i ate macaroni and cheese at the reception. casseroles multiplied like Gremlins those first few days. high-carb condolences.
we had a guest book for those who "called" at the house. i thought that was weird. i still do.
we got a lot of sappy sweet sympathy cards. i hated those. i still do.
i'm not sure i believe in heaven, but if there is one, and i go there when i go, i imagine we'll be reunited. there will be no celestial fireworks. no formal fanfare. no white and wings and halos and trumpets, but running shorts and tennis shoes, her walking through the back door asking me to help with the groceries. Maizey, our golden lab, trailing eagerly behind her.