“Hello, is Marilyn there please?”
Five little words bring my morning to a screeching halt.
“M m m marilyn?” I stutter after a long pause.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“This is (so and so) from (some charity I can’t recall.”
“Uh, I’m afraid she’s deceased.”
“Blah, blah, blah”
“Thank you, goodbye.”
Our exchange lasted hardly a minute. It’s amazing what can happen in a minute. I stare off into space after hanging up and then the tears come. Great heaving sobs.
My mother is deceased. Still. It’s not likely the situation will reverse.
It’s been 2 and a half years now and lately I’ve felt the soul wracking grief has softened. Yet all it takes is one simple phone call to make my recent acceptance revert to missing her desperately.
To be honest, I’m not sure why they called my home number looking for her. I haven’t received such a call since immediately after her death. I cannot imagine what it must be like for my Dad. He must field similar calls on a more frequent basis.
The death of a loved one is the gift that keeps on fucking giving!
Rather than spiraling downwards further I begin an art piece for my ongoing Strange Birds collection. I make sure to give many birds the nobly knees my Mom was so fond of.
As always, I am soothed by the feeling of pen on paper. I slowly begin to feel better and soon can scarcely see the phone call in my rear view.