Years ago, late at night in her Chicago hospital bed, after some struggles, some dementia-fueled trips to an Old Russia she never visited, Momma died.
I was on her right side, Cousin Miriam was at her feet, and my ex husband Paul held her left hand.
As her last breath left her body, all three of us looked up at the ceiling, expecting,I believe, to see her generous spirit float and fade in a graceful whisp above us, a gentle gesture, to see her off to her next adventure. Our chins lifted in unison, as if choreographed.
Looking back down at Momma, I remember thinking “ She is sooo not in that shell of a body anymore….she is sooo very gone.”
“Bye, Momma.”
Our family tradition was when you reached a destination, you called to say you’d made it home safe. That call of reassurance was expected.
On returning to my Chicago hotel room, after Momma departed, my room phone was flashing. I called the front desk to retrieve the call. I was told there was no call, and that they would turn off the flashing light.
But it never turned off.
It flashed all night.
Momma had made it safely home and of course she had to let us know.
Momma was light ,finally…….. Gently flashing and bright.