The first visit

I knew it would happen, and I was trying to prepare myself for the first time I was going to visit my Mom. Since it’s only been a few months since her death, I was not sure what would be greeting me when I walked up to the spot where I last said “goodbye.” I had to obtain my bearings as I was not exactly sure where she was buried. I knew she was next to my Aunt, but that did little good amongst the tombstones that lined the rows and rows of so many other people’s loved ones.

When I arrived, the flashback of that warm November day was still alive. This time there was another family who was going through the same scenario ours did just a short while ago. One big difference, and this says so much about my Mom and Dad, were the number of people present this spring day. There were likely a third of the people at this funeral in comparison with my Moms; I am not saying death is a popularity contest, but the last day I saw my Mom, there were hundreds of people saying “goodbye” to their good friend, Barbara Rosenbaum. She had loads of friends---and now at that moment in time, as I stood on the same ground where I wept, I had a feeling of calm.

I am confident my Mom knew I was there; it was probably difficult for her not to ask me to take off my shoes so I wouldn’t track dirt on to her space. Sorry Mom, but the area that will one day be grass, had yet to grow any. But I promise, the next time I visit, I will take off my shoes. What was really interesting was how difficult it was, and is, to grasp that this is where my Mom is right now. I wasn’t expecting for her to communicate with me---but as I explained to my sister last weekend, when I was in the house, I could still hear her saying things. I am not going nuts, I really didn’t hear her saying it out loud, these were the memories speaking to me from so many years of living with her.

I realize I am not the first person who has visited someone so important in one’s life---but then again, it was my first time. The funny thing about it, it didn’t feel weird or odd; for me, it was just like always, having a conversation with my Mom. I am somewhat relieved that I didn’t actually hear her voice; I am not sure anyone would have believed it, and I would have ran as fast as I could to my car looking like a complete fool. Yes, I do get startled easily.

The photo above is of my two Grandfathers. The frame is not only old, it is cracked; when I look at both of them, it seems like yesterday when I last saw them. They were really good men. Yes they had many different traits, but they had similar ones as well. Both were in the grocery business, both came from other lands far away, and most important, they are responsible for my Mom and Dad being here---and without them, there would be no “Snap.Shot.”

Thanks for stopping by.