Photo: Rich Ruzewski
The last few days have been quiet. Even when surrounded by family over at my brother Mike’s house, there is a subdued atmosphere where there is usually raucous laughter, chattering voices and music. Music. The ever present feature to life that Mom taught all of us to love. I started picking music that will play during the wake on Thursday after all the services and funeral are concluded. That was far more difficult than I realized it would be.
People say my voice has changed the last few days, they comment on how quiet I am. I guess I have been less than my usual boisterous self since she passed. Mom gave me energy when I had none, gave me my voice and my sense of humor that I rely on. I’ve not felt the same energy or felt like laughing very much. Everything is a little more grey and tastes a little less flavorful. It is the subtle sadness you only experience in these kinds of times.
I’m getting ready to head to the funeral home soon for the first day of calling. It’s going to be quiet there too. I really do not like the funeral home. I cannot get away from all the well wishers and barely recognizable friends and distant relatives who know who I am but whose names I can’t recall in my grief. I appreciate their condolences, I shake their hands, I kiss their cheeks or give a quick hug but it doesn’t help me as much as it helps them. I am the dutiful son who does what his mother would want him to do despite what is going on inside of my mind.
