A Break in the Clouds

I rose slowly and turned away. My tears drying swiftly in that
bitter wind. It was at that moment she chose to answer me, as the
clouds parted and for the first and only time that day the sun broke
through for an instant bathing me with a warm and soothing glow.

**************************************

It's not a catholic past time, visiting graves. We're supposed to say
our goodbyes at the time of internment and then let our dead go to God
without feeling tied down by our selfish grief. But then it's been a
long time since I followed the teachings of the church religiously. I'm
not sure if I ever did really.

It's been at the back of my mind for a long time. But it wasn't until I
was passing a shop last week and saw all the mother's day cards that I
really considered it. I bought one of course, just as I have every
year. I bought it, wrote in it and put her name on the envelope. It was
when I came to address it that I drew a blank.

How do you send a card to someone who's dead?

I thought about just writing Heaven on it and posting it anyway, but
I'm not six years old anymore.

So. Her grave then.

The only option really.

That's her address now after all.

Only trouble is that's 50 miles away and I don't drive. It took a week
of organising. One LONG week.

I changed my mind a dozen times. I've taken a walk down memory lane
several times since she died. Sometimes by accident, a chance find of a
note or a picture. Sometimes deliberate, a cathartic journey into
masochistic recollection. The last time was when I visited the hospice
where she died. I just stood and looked at it,
remembering.....everything.

But this. This was different.

To visit her grave, the eternal memorial to her life. No. To her
death.

This was harder. Much harder.

I was very cold this morning. Raining on and off, the clouds thick and
unforgiving. Perfect for my mood. I got up very early, unusual for me,
but then I hadn't really slept. This day had been on my mind for a
while, like an exam. Needing it to get where I wanted to be, but
dreading the process required.

We started out just before lunch. Sunday. My boyfriend's day off, he
was driving. Good thing too as my sense of direction is terrible. He
was very kind really, cause I was in a touchy mood. But I guess he
understood.

I wish he'd know her. They only met the once. But then how do you
introduce someone to your dying mother? What kind of situation is that
to put people in? She didn't want to be seen like that, and what could
he have possibly said?

Still, I would have liked her to know the man who's become so important
to me in these last difficult months. Still if wishes were horses wise
men would ride isn't that what they say?

About halfway there I thought about flowers. People do that don't they?
Take flowers to graves. I hadn't really thought about it before but
then suddenly it became extreemly important to me. Daffodills.

Her favourite flowers are doffodills.

I made my boyfriend stop and check every garage, but there were none
around. Strange it IS spring after all.

I nearly stopped and picked some but in the end I just gave up.

We found the cemetry. The rain stopped briefly which I was glad about.
I didn't really want to be fighting off the elements as well as my
emotions.

I had a map of the graveyard and I knew the plot number. 11048. Funny
it's one of those numbers that sticks in your head, like your date of
birth or telephone or the hospital number they always used to state
before they gave her a shot of morphine.

You know it's incredible. I remember every second of the day of her
funeral. I remember having a sly fag behing a huge oak tree before they
buried her and I was sure I could find her grave with my eyes shut.
Funny thing though. I couldn't.

They all look the same. And there's so many of them.

She doesn't have a head stone yet, the ground hasn't settled enough or
something. I saw the tree I had a smoke next to, or maybe it was that
tree..or maybe....

I must have looked at a hundred graves before I found it. I tried to
make light of the situation.

"Put you hand up if you're my mummy"

That sort of thing. My laughter sounded hollow in that quiet
place.

But then I saw the spot. Such a small patch I thought. Hemmed in like a
sardine. It didn't seem big enough to take a child's coffin much less a
full grown woman's. But it was the right number 11048.

Even without that I knew it was the place.

A kind or eerie calm came over me as I stood and looked at my mother's
final resting ground.

I didn'd know what to say. One thought came into my mind. How do you
talk to a hole in the ground?

The grave behind hers had a pot with some daffodills in it. I didn't
steal any. But one had blown across. It was batterd and windswept. One
of the petals browned, but I placed it on the muddy mound. It seemd
fitting somehow. Like fate.

And then it hit me. I can't talk to her because she's not there.

My mum always used to say that when people are dead their body's are
just a shell because their spirit's are free. Now I know what she
meant.

I've been searching for my mum. Not just here in this cemetry. But
everywhere. Only I'll never find her because she's gone.

She's dead. Truly dead and I've only just realised it. She exists now
only in me and in my memory and those of the people who knew and loved
her.

But no-where else. No-where on this earth.

And certainly not here. Not in this cold, peaceful dead place.

Not in a hole in the ground.

I crouched down and placed the mother's day card on the patch of earth
and rock that is her grave. Anchored it with a large stone.
Not because I thought she might read it, but because I didn't know what
else to do with it now.

Then I rose slowly and turned away sad because I hadn't been able to
speak to her, to contact her at all. My tears drying swiftly in that
bitter wind.

It was at that moment she chose to answer me, as the clouds parted and
for the first and only time that day the sun broke through for an
instant bathing me with a warm and soothing glow.

It made me smile.