I am at my mother's home now. She had just bought this house but she was never able to live here. She collapsed as the movers were carrying away her furniture. She had lung cancer.
I was with her on that Tuesday morning. My sister had just left to get some badly needed rest and I had stayed with my two of my brothers. She had begun to come to after a long night of rest. This was her final rally. I spoke to her of the morning... how the trees were nearly bare now... how it was getting cold now... how the children were dressed as ghosts and goblins and Harry Potter characters.... I spoke to her of the wind. I told her that the wind was hers.
She tried to speak but she hadn't the breath left to power her words. My brothers assured her that her family was fine and not to worry for us anymore. I told her everything was in its right place now. Everything was beautiful. I told her that she was brave... so brave.
"I'm brave" she whispered back to me. Those were the last words I would ever hear from my mother. My brothers stepped away and I whispered beautiful secrets in her ear.
I knew of her spiritual struggle perhaps better than anyone. Something she confided in me over the last few visits. I told her that she could now believe. She looked at my through her cloudy eyes. "Yes" I assured her.
Her pastor came in and told her some of the same things but in the language of Christianity as if Christ was the most essential element. It is nothing but a brand name. He said Himself that He was the way. I don't believe those that claim He is the goalpost too. My prayers are for the day we can get past these terrible brand names that turn brother against brother. Christians... Muslims.... Jews.... God is Love.... Being.... Void... You... Me.... All.... not some tribal demiurge whose tyranny makes Hitler's and Stalin's crimes look like traffic offenses.
I stepped out for a moment, and when I returned, she was dying. My brothers were at her side. I joined them. I told her that our love would carry her home. We held her when she took her last breath on this earth. I whispered into the fading sparks of her mind.....
"Peace be with you sweet child."
She heard me.
I sat down and closed my eyes. I was overcome with the terrible beauty of her passing. I smiled. Mother had taught her son one final lesson.
Now I stay at her home with the ghosts of her intentions. After the deaths of her second husband and mother she had begun to really live again. She was still exploring her world. She was still growing.
At night when I'm away I leave the light on in her bedroom. I am not ready for this home to be empty. This home is sacred to me. It was the home I could always come to.... where the door was always open... where a table was always set... a bed made.
A month ago I conspired with a beautiful Canadian to have a romantic rendezvous this very weekend. We had been working on this encounter for months. No one could have predicted this would happen. This is the way of things.
She is still coming.
Life is beautiful.