There is no right way to say goodbye to a departed loved one.....

Renewed Connection

On the day of her mother's funeral, her legs and feet were numb from the cold as she made her way to the funeral home. She had booked a meeting with the funeral director for ten o'clock and arrived just as he came out of his wood-panelled office. He was quiet and sombre-faced, dressed in the regulation black suit, white shirt and black tie -  the typical undertaker wardrobe. He was soon to discover that nothing about her mother's two p.m. afternoon funeral was going to be typical. 

She waited, tense in her straight-backed chair, for him to consider her request. She knew it was an unusual one, but knew, also, that it must be answered. It was what her mother wanted, and she must honour her mother's request. As must he. She assured him that her mother's instructions were very clear. She watched him read her mother's letter to her, as he wet his lips, but she knew he would agree - after all, customer satisfaction was his bread and butter.  She handed him the zippered garment bag - the  purple dress had been freshly pressed; the red hat was in the hat box; the patent leather shoes were wrapped in white tissue paper.  She informed him that the one hundred pots of daffodils would arrive by noon and were to be placed down both sides of the centre aisle and circled around her mother's coffin, and a sole daffodil was to be placed in her hands. 

After the service was over, she knelt at the open casket. In the twenty-four hours since she had last seen it, her mother's face had changed. The essence of her mother had departed, leaving the death mask behind. She whispered in her mother's ear that she was sorry that she didn't get to know her better - said she had honestly tried. She waited  a few moments, half expecting a response. There was none. The mask remained intact, hiding the secrets they shared. She consoled herself with the effect her mother's outfit had had on all who had stood at her coffin.

The room was empty when she stood  up and reached for the tote she had brought with her. She removed her mother's handbag from the tote and leaned over her still body. She positioned the purse below her folded hands, slid the straps under her left hand, and pulled it through. She knew very well that her mother would never have left her house without her handbag. Inside the purse she had placed her brush and comb, her lipstick, and her change purse. She also added a black velvet box containing a letter that she had written to her mother - her long overdue words of love and farewell, full of truths that had never been spoken and now never would be - but she knew in her heart that they had both forgiven each other and that her mother could now, with all the requested necessities she had provided, continue on the last leg of her journey. "There you go, Mom " she whispered, touching her stiff, cold hands. "You are all set. There is nothing more that I can do for you." She stood still for a moment, then backed away, slowly turned and walked out of the funeral parlour room.