Sucker-punched. I know I've used this expression before, but that's the best description I've found thus far that fits the gut-wrenching blast that seemingly comes out of nowhere to jolt me into melancholy. These sucker-punches always come just when I think I'm starting to get a handle on this grieving stuff.
Today was basically a good day due in part, ironically, to the bad weather b/c I was able to spend the afternoon w/ my daughters. We did some shopping here in town, one stop being printing pictures. When we returned home, my older daughter showed me a picture of her seated b/w my mom and dad w/ our Shi-Tzu on her lap. They all three were seated on the loveseat on the four-season porch where Mom and Dad spent many happy hours during the last 13 years. Mom was wearing one of my grandmother's aprons that always reminds me of a paint shirt that I wore in Kindergarten. You know the kind w/o sleeves that snaps shut in the front to protect your good clothes. Under the apron Mom was still dressed in her Sunday best. As I looked closer by the sunlight from my kitchen window, I noticed this was what Mom was wearing Sunday, November 29, 2009, when we celebrated our family Thanksgiving. That meant this was the last picture taken while Mom was alive. Eleven days after the picture was taken, Mom was gone. I remembered that weekend very well b/c I was a little disgusted at how my niece was snapping all kinds of pictures of Mom w/ her children as if this would be the last time they would be photographed together. Turned out it was, and I was in denial. And as a result, I'm not in any of the pictures w/ Mom that weekend. My niece was actually quite thoughtful w/ her picture-taking b/c she was working on a memory book that Mom got to enjoy for the next week-and-a-half.
Today, having the sun illuminate this picture and the memory of that day brought that raw pain back. I didn't succumb to the gasping sobs that would've crippled me two months ago, but the tears came quietly. I asked my daughter in a high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like me, if I could have a copy. Then I walked downstairs to put away the last of the groceries.
Dad has been going through the photo albums that Mom compiled as well as all the loose pictures that she never got around to organizing. I know this is a huge step for him, especially since he never really seemed to get much pleasure out of looking at them when Mom was alive. But those pictures, which I've perused hundreds of times, have made their way into pleasant memory while this picture today was too new and too fresh. Because of its recency, I was caught off-guard. No matter how much we try to prepare ourselves for death, the reality of it still feels like a sucker-punch to the gut.
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