The Summer of Loss

The First Summer Without My Mother

My mother left this world on the evening of June 6, 2017. The rest of June was a painful blur. My son was away on a school field trip. I was completing y first year as a middle school teacher. I was trying to find a way to get the hospital to operate on my mother to ease the build-up of fluid in her stomach and lungs. But then, I received the phone call that shattered my soul. The hospital, Boston Medical Center, informed me that my mother was gone.

We buried my mother about two weeks later. I remember seeing my closest friends and some of my mother’s coworkers at the funeral home. My son was dress in a shirt and tie. I had asked those in attendance to wear bright colors. Mom wouldn’t want people dressed in Black. Her burial outfit was a brightly colored dress with a light white sweater. Her hair had been brushed. Her lips painted a deep red and her nailed trimmed. She wore her favorite walking sneakers.

Mom’s casket was a rose gold color. A thick, heavy metal with sealant to keep out the insects that would want to feed on her body. My brother and I placed momentoes in the casket. I left her some poems I had read at the eulogy. My brother, Mike, gave her something from his military service. My son had placed a picture he had drawn and one of her stuffed animals. Mom would not be alone in eternity. Her head rested on a satin pillow and a white blanket was placed over her form. I kissed her forehead one last time before the casket was closed.

As the summer continued on, I worked at a local high school instructing teen boys in all things English Language Arts. My mind was in the work, but my spirit was numb. My body felt heavy. It was an ache within me that tingled around my grieving form. I moved with a heightened sense of anxiety and fear. I imagined death around every corner, waiting for me or my family.

My poetry, a source of comfort, had slowed to a crawl. I wrote inconsistently. I attended one local writing workshop but spent most of my time at work or at home. I didn’t feel like doing anything. Luckily my son, handling the loss of his grandmother much better than I, had me take him out to the community pool, the local beach, or a shopping trip.

We also visited my mother’s resting place. It’s a beautiful cemetery. Her spot gets plenty of sun and trees line the entryway to her row. Four years later, my mother still needs a headstone. I was reluctant to get one at first. The headstone would be the final piece that declared my mother was gone. But, in the past year, I realized I was doing a disservice to my mother’s memory. She deserved a headstone. A beautiful marker for a beautiful woman. Besides, I know mom is somewhere in the great beyond fussing that she doesn’t have a headstone.

So, I selected a headstone and now I’m paying it off. I wasn’t ready the summer after my mother’s passing. It took me three years to get ready. But I’m doing it now. I hope to have it paid off by her five-year anniversary. In the meantime, my son and I have decorated her resting place with artificial flowers, colorful stones, and a wire fence. A small tribute to my mother for all she has done for us.