The night between my mother’s death and funeral I hardly sleep. But I don’t worry about it. I don’t lie there thinking about how hard it will be to function tomorrow without sleep. No one expects anything of me tomorrow. I don’t worry about how I’m getting behind on sleep and I don’t know when I will be able to catch up. I have a week of doing nothing ahead of me. I don’t stress about why I’m not sleeping. I know.
Somehow, it’s very freeing. I feel light, unanchored by worries. What is there left to worry about after all.
I wonder, on a normal night when I can’t sleep, or stay out late, or get woken up by the neighbors in the night, does thinking, or worrying, or stressing serve me in any way?
I’m going to be tired in the morning, if I worry or not. So why? Maybe I can learn to be free every night. Why shoot myself with the second arrow?
Maybe I knew this before. I don’t remember. But a friend reminded me. I’m exempt from morning prayers. From praying at all. Until my mother is buried God doesn’t need me to worry about them. I missed morning prayers earlier this week, I was sick with a bad cold, so I got up, walked and fed my dog, went back to bed and missed the rest of the morning. I felt off all day. Like something was untied and needed to be fixed.
Today I don’t really notice. I think about it, but I don’t feel it. Does worrying about it help me on a normal day?
We’re missing a number on a piece of paper. I call my uncle at my parent’s house and have him Whatsapp me a picture of my mother’s ID. Then I forward it to the clerk and she signs into Whatsapp on her computer, downloads the picture and prints it out. Was all that really necessary? Turns out it was. Because I left the paper with the number of the man who arranges the transportation of bodies to the graveyard at her office. Fortunately, I now have the clerk’s number in my phone, so I call her from the morgue while my father officially identifies my mother’s body and she sends it to me.
I can say the sentence “My mother died late night” with no problems. Haven’t managed the word morgue. I’ve said “somewhere else”, “a colder room”, “where we see the body”.
The morgue is the worst thing so far today. But I’m touched by how nice they made the smoking area outside. I don’t smoke, but if every anyone should have a nice place to take five, this is it.
We are exempt from all religious obligations, but the dog still needs to be walked. And I need air. Two people with deliveries of food ask directions to the house of the mourners. That was surreal. Also, how badly can people need directions? There are maybe 150 houses on this moshav.
This is officially my least favorite funeral ever. But my friends are amazing. 10/10 would befriend again.
One woman there lost her mother a few years ago. I know many of the older people present have lost their parents, but this woman is around my age, and it feels very different. I grab her hand and don’t let go. She is my lifeline. I have one other lifeline right now. Another friend who lost both her parents in the last few years. She can’t be here now but she has been walking me though this step by step.
People fight for the right to refill my water bottle, and I am being nearly force fed a granola bar. Maybe I shouldn’t have said I feel faint.
My mother’s friends bought out a whole bagel shop. Supper is covered. No one feels much like eating.
The community has set up a tent in our yard for the prayers and visitors. Volunteers are trying to get a heater working. My mother’s dog has not left the mourning tent since it was set up.
Photo albums are brought out. The ones from the early years, before my mother got sick, and then worse and then worse, are works of art. She loved photography and the photos so much.
I have offended someone with a comment about a cookie. How will we make it though this week?
I have pounding headache. I resolve to be more compassionate towards people who suffer migraines. I don’t think I’ve been bad, but surely I can do more.
Our friend and guide offers her words of wisdom.
“I don’t know what to do next!
And someone has just handed me a muffin!”
“Eat the muffin.”
Beds (and sofas) are made up. Food is put away. Phones are silenced.