Catching Idle Butterflies

Saying goodbye

When I found out Maman had died, I didn't weep. My first thought was for my sister, my mother and Claude, more concerned about their reaction than mine.

I knew this was more of a defense mechanism than anything. I always hide my feelings away until I can let them out when no one is around. I don't like crying in front of people. Dave is the only exception, and that's only been true in the last few years.

Anyway, when I hung up after Margaret told me when the funeral would take place, my only thought was the last time I talked to Maman.

I had met my mom at the hospital to visit her two days before her surgery. Mom left for some reason and I sat next to her on the bed while one of her doctor's examined her leg.

One thing about Maman that drove my mother crazy was her materialism. I think Maman felt the only way she could gain people’s love and friendship was through gifts. As the doctor checked the blood flow on her legs Maman turned to me and asked, “When I die, what of mine would you like?”

She had asked me this question before more than once, and I was starting to understand my mother’s frustration. I turned to face her, looked her straight in the eye and said, “How about you. Can I have you?”

The doctor remained silent, and so did Maman, apparently not expecting such a response. Mom returned then, and after visiting a little while longer, we left.

This is part of the reason I didn’t feel too aggrieved. In a way, I had told her how much she meant to me.

Or so I thought. It wasn’t until the dream I had two nights before the funeral that showed me I did have a few regrets for words not spoken.

I entered a dark room, so dark I couldn’t tell how big it was or even the type of room. In the center and with a light shining down on her sat Maman. She looked as I expected, tiny, thin, her wispy hair glowing strawberry blonde from the soft yellow light above, her skin soft and pale.

I walked up and kneeled in front of her. In the shadows behind her, I felt more than saw my mom, my sister, Claude and many others I didn’t know, but waited to take their turn to say goodbye. That’s why I was here. I knew she was dead, yet not dead, as dreams seem to allay all confusion and this was my opportunity to tell her how much I loved her and would miss her.

I took her soft, fragile right hand in mind, her fingers folded into a permanent claw from the many strokes she endured over the last fifteen years. I gazed into her face, and she smiled at me, waiting.

I don’t remember what I said, or what she might have said in return. Nor did it matter. All I recall is waking up and feeling as though a huge burden had been lifted. I did get my chance to say goodbye after all.

Perhaps that’s one reason I enjoyed her funeral. With my grief lifted, I could take in my surroundings and enjoy the things I know Maman would have that day.