6 March ~2012
I had been over to see Mom twice on February 1st, and went again as soon as I got the message from my sister that Mom had passed away, late in the evening.
I was glad I did, since Mom looked so much at peace. I clearly sensed something of spirit and release when I went into her room.
I talked to the staff for a while, and one of them remarked at how the outside window was opened a crack. She said it was a tradition to open the windows when someone died, so their spirit could be released.
She also commented about how the resident big grey cat had been staying near Mom's room the last day or so. I had noticed that myself the night before, when the kitty was lying down at the foot of Mom's bed while I was there.
I didn't feel like sleeping, and went home and picked up little Mollie, my border collie who loved Mom ever since she was a puppy. I drove downtown and Mollie and I walked the city streets until the early hours of the morning.
There are some times when it is just not right to be alone. I put Mollie into the truck and went into Denver's all night coffee shop (Leela's) to be around some kind strangers. I didn't talk much, but it felt better that someone might be there in case I needed to.
Mom had a hard time the last few months, and I suspect that what I felt that night was the freeing she experienced, in leaving behind the pain and difficulties of her physical life, rising to the goodness and perfection of her core spirit.
Mom and I were very good friends for many years. I told her about my backpack trips, and she often said she couldn't figure out what drew me up there, especially alone. I always told her that on solitary trips to the mountains there are no distractions. You see just how beautiful the trees are, how spiritual and mysterious the night is. You get to witness the miracle and peace of the blackness turning to light, the new day beginning with all its possibilities. I also told her that that I never felt alone up there, with these border collies who enjoy being in the mountains as much as I do.
You find out how much you loved someone when they are gone. During my backpack trip the next week I hoped that Mom was somehow nearby, and that she knew how much I missed her.
Listen to 'Across The Great Divide by Nancy Griffith (written by Kate Wolf) - enter userid of 'music' and password of 'music2012' (lowercase, without quotations)