Well, probably. We'll see.
It has been six months since my mother died. Since then I have blogged only twice, once a tribute to her and a few weeks later about my discovery of a photo confirming a long held but questioned memory. Since then I just have not felt like it.
It would be convenient to say that I have been busy, too busy to do this blog justice. True. I have been VERY, VERY busy. It would also be logical to assume that mother's death affected me, launched me into one or another of those stages of grief one reads about in self-help books. And that would be true also. But that is not the entire story.
Mother lived a long and blessed life. She died at home, as she wished, well looked after. She was in no pain and suffered about as little discomfort as is possible for an 87 year-old in declining health. She was frequently visited by her family; she knew she was loved. She was the last of her generation in my family. Her death was sad, not bad. I was determined to remember that.
But her funeral was for me the latest of about a dozen I had attended over the past three years. I had taken to keeping funeral clothes in the trunk of my car. The cumulative weight of these occasions finally just wore me down. So I have been becalmed with my thoughts turned inward, reluctant to share my thoughts about darkness and light. My generation are now the grown ups. The elders have gone; long live the elders.
We elders have responsibilities. Among those is reminding those around us - friends, family, and the odd stranger stumbling across a blog - how wonderful life truly is. And as Warren Zevon once advised, we should "enjoy every sandwich." It is spring tomorrow and it is time for me to take up those responsibilities.