My mother.
My mother left on December 27th, 2024 at 11:40 A.M.
When it happened, I was sitting right next to her on her left side. My elder brother was sitting on her right side. We were telling her we loved her and that it was okay for her to go. I sang to her. Her eyes were closed. Her eyes opened wide. We saw that moment of awe and we, too, were in awe.
This was three days before a New Moon. The lovely Balsamic Moon was at 11.3% in its waning crescent stage. It rose that day at 4:27 AM and set at 2:58 PM. We didn't see the moon that day, at least I don't remember seeing it that morning. The moon was in Scorpio and Void of Course on its way towards Sagittarius.
The Sun was in Capricorn. Mars was retrograde. The constellation Lyra was overhead with Vega as its brightest member. We didn't see any of this because it was 11:40 A.M.
Whether any of these celestial situations meant anything, I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. Mom was a Scorpio. I find it symbolic, maybe appropriate, that her sun was in Scorpio when she was born, and her moon was in Scorpio when she died. It's tidy somehow, like bookends.
I wanted to remember details about the 10-day period of her dying. I wrote things down--quotes from the conversations we had and her strange murmurings when she seemed to be speaking to Others I couldn't see. They will stay in my journal.
Mom had a friend who never said that people died. Instead she would always say that the person changed addresses. My mother said she was ready to change addresses. And, so, she did. It would be nice to be able to mail her a letter about the ways her absence surprises me daily even though it's not possible to forget that she's gone. There would be poems, confessions, apologies, and many thank yous. She would read it and nod knowingly as if she expected all of these words. She would expect it all, of course. She was 91 years old and nothing surprised her anymore.
Her new address is unknown to me, however. She's in my DNA and in my memories. She echoes like rippling rings of water in a pond. She's everywhere and nowhere at the same time. But wish as I might, I can't send her this letter.
My mother.
Hearfs