This afternoon I attended a memorial mass for a friend's father, who died 5 years ago. For me, now, any memorial mass for a parent touches very close to home, and I found myself reflecting on Momma's death, too. I saw my friend and her mother in the front pew, and I could tell my friend was crying. I thought of Momma's funeral and my family in the front rows. Daddy, me, Taylor, Vivian. My sister Summer's family. Ray and his family; Bethany and her family. I remembered how good it was to have so much of my family there beside me, feeling our loss all together. It was easier to bear the pain when I could hold Vivian's hand or cling to Daddy's arm. It was more comforting to bury my face in Taylor's shoulder than into my handkerchief alone.
When I first faced the fact that my mother was dying, I thought of my friend, whose father also died from cancer. She is an only child and I remember thinking to myself, "She only has her mother left to remember her father from her childhood." I wasn't judging her or her parents for having a "small" family; I wasn't trying to congratulate myself for having "so many" siblings. It was merely an observation I had at the time, wrapped all about with the coming loss of my mother. I was especially thankful for my siblings, then, and for my nieces and nephews who had known Grandmama while she was with us.
