The Native Iowan

Time sleeps for no one.

The wheels constantly turn. Churn. Burn.

No flame is eternal.

Some lights burn bright and fast. Others burn long and slow.

After 1142 months of life, of existence, of burning bright and warm, my Mother has passed-on.

After 95.16 years and thousands upon thousands of miles, Mom’s trip is done. Her destination achieved.

Of course, as with all deaths, all passings, we the living mourn. Of course, the mourning is more a selfishness, a self centeredness…. we mourn our “loss”, rather than celebrate the moving on, the arrival, the departure.

Of course, the passing-on of a loved one is a powerful reminder of our own mortality.

I am by nature a nostalgic sorta guy. I also possess an evil memory. I claim that I remember everything. I know that I can scan my memory banks and find just about any memory. I have written about this, and how I exercise my memory. Keep it fit and healthy, just like you would exercise a muscle.

I remember being very small. A baby. I can find the point in time where I gained language. I claim I remember the womb.

Of course, of course, my Mother looms large in my memories.

And nothing will change this.

Ever.

My life experiences have given me a number of “hands-on” death opportunities. Its something the Solomons has given me, a rare gift of learning how to touch, handle, respect, and appreciate Death.

In a number of my experiences Death arrived after a long, arduous, pain filled illness. Sitting with, living near Death, knowing Death is “coming” can be quite stressful.

I have found that Death’s arrival can be a release, a reprieve, a relief for all involved.

My Father-in-law, Boaz, Mother-in-law , Flory, Bro-in-law, Jimmy, niece, Barbra, indigent old man and friend, Ron, grumpy old fart, Paul…

Each of them died after long, long, painful, stressful illnesses.

Of course, of course, the “accidental deaths”, the surprises, the unexpected passings are more traumatic. We didnt have time to prepare. To accept. It came as a surprise. Caught us off guard.

A Mom Story…

I was maybe 16, it was the middle of winter. Bro Monk was home on leave from the Navy. He and I had gone out to the bars in Independence. I was a big kid, and easily passed for legal-age. We shot pool at The Spot. Hung out at Joe’s. Ended up as the night was failing at The Shamrock.

I vividly recall leaving The Shamrock at 2am as the bar closed. I recall walking outside into a winter’s gale. Cold cold wind blowing hard. As we walked across the bridge it was bitter. We were facing the howling wind. Tho only 5 blocks from the bar to the house, it was a cold, long walk.

I dumped Monk on the couch, went up to my bed. We’d both been drinking but I was still a kid and didnt drink all that much. Not as much as Monk.

Early in the morn my bedroom door bursts open, Mom is damn mad. pissed. Angry… “Monk pee’d on my new couch”.

Well hell. The world had ended. Mom’s new couch now smelled of drunken piss. She was not impressed.

She made us both get up and do what we could to remedy the situation. Wash the cushions covers, air the cushions, spray cleaner and freshener, do what we could.

But the stain, the discolouration on the covers never faded. Mom would often growl at me about the event. Remind me of my mistake… I should have made Monk take a leak before I put him to sleep. I should have put a diaper on him. I shoulda…

And the world goes on.

Without Mom.

Smiles through tears…

More later