The "Aftershock"

Aftershock, aftermath, trickle down effect, meltdown - call it what you may, they produce the same result.

You run on adrenaline during all the prep and busyness of funerals. Details about what you have to do keep your mind from dwelling on why you're doing it. So it was with us. I can only speak - and have only spoken - for myself here.

You wonder about the cause, the why, the timing - you name it, you wonder about it. Some questions are easily answered while others you will never have clarity on.

So begins the "aftershocks" of death. For me, one was waiting. Waiting for an autopsy report that would come weeks later. During that waiting period I wondered if she had felt any pain. If her death was quick or slow. What caused it? I know these sound like horrible thoughts, but when you don't know - you fear. You fear that it will be what you don't want it to be. You fear it will be something that is hereditary. You fear because you face your own mortality.

When the report finally came, some fears were put to rest. It wasn't what we hoped it wouldn't be. It was however, scary. Mom had a massive heart attack as a result of hardening of the arteries. And tho it may have been swift, it is my opinion that it was very painful. Knowing that my mom had suffered from rheumatic fever as a teen and that she drank heavily, kind of ruled out the hereditary portion - in a way. You can still inherit cholesterol problems, but she fueled hers with bad choices. Her heart was probably not strong as a result of the rheumatic fever, so drinking excessively surely didn't help. It just deposited  fat in her veins and around a heart that may have already been damaged.

My mom and I watched "The Soaps" - usually not together - but in our respective homes.  When something sketchy, or devious, or heart-stopping would happen, we immediately called each other to discuss the "situation".   A major shock came for me one day when I was watching "The Soaps".  I don't remember what happened, but I immediately ran to the phone and called my mom.  Why isn't she answering? What is she doing?  Then, quicker than a wink, reality hit me.  She wasn't going to answer.  Not now, not ever.  That's the last day I watched Soap Operas.  The very last day. 

It's funny how some things stay with you - the impact of tragedy - down to the smallest, most unimportant detail.  And how some things just fade with time.  I'm supposing it all has to do with your "psyche" and how you're equipped to deal with such things.  I think it's for your sanity - what you remember and what you forget - what you hold on to and what you let go of - what you did and what you wish you could do over - what you had and what you have not - and what was and what you wished it could have been. 

Life is wonderfully quirky that way.  It is a beautiful blend of joy and sorrow. 

So. . . I say . . . "Hit the high notes if you dare, hold on to them as long as you can, but never tarry in the valleys!"