It's been a little over 2 months since my mother Irene passed away. I've been reading books about orphaned adults, the death of one's mother, and Kitchen Confidential. Hey, I need some diversions.
Irene had been on hospice care for about 6 months. On the day her passing seemed imminent, the nursing home rolled a cart into Irene's room for my sister and me with enough coffee, tea, juice, water, muffins, snacks, fruit, and cookies to feed a small army. Or, as I like to call a small army, me. Hospice brought us a booklet called When Death Is Near. To be honest, we enjoyed the cart much better.
After their morning visit,the hospice nurses told us that things were progressing along. They asked me if I wanted a harp. I was surprised because I didn't think you could serve beer in a nursing home. Then light dawned over my Marblehead and I realized they were talking about an actual harp, the instrument. How strange I thought. Yes, this day is not quite sad enough. Please bring in a harp, a chorus of war orphaned children in wheelchairs, and several homeless pets set to be euthanized in 24 hours. That's the ticket.
I declined the offer. I don't think Irene would have liked the harp. However, I know she loved the Elvis hymns we played at her visitation and funeral.
I've seen butterflies twice since Irene's passing. One landed on my hip when I was visiting my parent's grave sites. I've read that our loved ones, once passed, can channel their energy into small creatures like butterflies and birds in order to pay us a visit. I believe it. And I'm enjoying the company.
**Please note: The hospice team at my mother's nursing home was awesome. Truly. Except for the harp ; )