Sept. 9: I’m sure that times will come when I am more sad, but since the funeral on Friday, I’ve just been tired. So very sleepy. I feel like the pool that is my well of energy had the plug at the bottom pulled out, and I am calmly feeling the water pour out. I’m almost looking forward to it all draining out, leaving me languid and limp. Or maybe that’s already happened. In any case, it’s going to take me a little while to physically, mentally, and emotionally recover from the last month.
I already miss Mom lots. I just changed my American Girl, Kirstin’s, clothes from her summer to her fall outfit, and I have a painful pit in my stomach knowing that I can’t talk to Mom about it. She always liked hearing about what clothes Kirstin was wearing. On the other hand, maybe now I don’t have to tell her. She just knows in whatever way she is right now.
Maretta’s future mother-in-law, Marilyn Zilic, sent me the following prayer when we were at HospiceCare. I had heard it before, and it is a nearly perfect interpretation of where I feel like Mom is right now:
Hopi Prayer
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there.
I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on the ripened grain.
I am the gentle Autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there.
I did not die.