Right now I'm sitting on the bed in the room in my parent's basement we affectionately call "the cave," although rumor has it that this room used to be the study for Elder Dallin H. Oaks. (previous owner of this house)
And I'm listening. Listening for the footsteps of my mother overhead. But I can't hear them.
This is the first morning of my life without my mother. She passed away suddenly yesterday afternoon. Of course we knew it was coming, and in our own self-important way, we were discussing our arrivals to the family home to assist my dad. But she surprised us all by leaving quickly. The nurse thought that it was a blood clot in her healthy lung. She had taken a turn for the worse over the weekend and we knew that angels were near and the veil was thin.
But I didn't get to talk to her yesterday. I'm sad. I spent the whole day making her a comfort quilt and she left us about the same time I finished it.
I've not shared much during this time because I've felt like I've had my own little package of grief that I didn't want to open and share with the public.
For the time being, we will be together as a family and plan how to honor this woman who, in the sense of the world, made little impact, but was our whole world.