Grieving the Death of a Mother by Smith Harold Ivan

Author:Smith, Harold Ivan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fortress Press

RECEIVING THE VISITORS

Visitations provide a way for the children to interact with those who come to pay respects.

There’s something about a visitation that does a heart good!

Hugs from those who normally do not hug.

Tight hugs from generally “lite” huggers.

Stories of graces received, burdens shared

kind “let me know if there is anything I can do’s”

and the promised assurances of “better days.”

Those moments remembered years later,

send me to visitations

for friends whose moms have died.

I received, so now I give.

Art Linkletter made a name for himself with the phrase, “Kids say the darndest things.” Well, condolence bearers can say the darndest things, too. One experienced mourner advised, “You have to overlook them—they don’t know any better.” Some callers sling old, tired, worn out platitudes.

“She’s in a better place.”

“She’s out of her suffering.”

“You wouldn’t want her back; she was suffering so much.”

In the grief groups I lead, we laugh as participants recall the faux pas that evoke groans and moans of, “I cannot believe they actually said that to you!”

A visitor might even arrive with an agenda. My sister, brother-in-law, and I had slipped out for dinner with my friend Dale, who had driven two hundred miles for the visitation. (My sister could not believe a friend would go so far out of his way.) As we walked back into the parlor, my brother approached me, “There’s someone who wants to talk to you,” pointing to a woman standing at mother’s casket. I walked over and said, “I am Harold Ivan, Mary’s youngest …”

“I know who you are! You put all that filthy sex in your books!” I was incredulous with this attack on my book Singles Ask. Who was this woman?

“Please,” I interrupted, “not in front of my mother.” (My mother was not timid when someone criticized her son, “the author.”) I stepped back from the casket and the woman followed, never missing a beat: “Filth! Sex. Sex! Sex!” Was this someone’s idea of a joke? I saw someone I wanted to talk to and excused myself. What made this woman think my mother’s visitation would be the appropriate venue to express her disapproval of my writing?

Despite this unique and disturbing occurrence, my mother’s visitation made me a believer in wakes. Considering mother’s age and the depletion of her social network over the years, I was surprised by the large turnout of old friends, neighbors, extended family members, and parishioners from mother’s church who came bearing condolences and wonderful stories.

Some come bearing eloquent eulogies to a life lived.

Even the strugglers who fumble over words,

offer the gift of presence. A simple sentence like,

“I thought a lot of your mother” is packed with meaning.

Sometimes elegant phrases

come from individuals you wouldn’t expect to compose

such welcomed wordgifts.

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