It’s Christmas, 2015. There is a full moon, the same as the one in total eclipse of September 27, not quite two months earlier. Mom had died that morning, happy to the end, surrounded by many, by no means all, of those who loved her. She was 92.
Today, I woke at 2 a.m. and, unable to go back to sleep, I got up to go out with Toby, our rescued earless cafe-au-lait miniature poodle. When we emerged from the apartments’ entrance, that gobsmacking moon pooched me back to that night in Colorado. I was a night that followed a day of loss and gain, tears and laughter, purposeful plodding forward and spinning aimlessly in a haze of unbelief.
Nearing the end of it, with family members and friends of all ages, we gathered on a wooden bridge in the Fort Collins greenbelt near Mom’s now-vacated apartment, the same one she had shared with Dad until his own sudden departure a decade earlier. There we stared and saluted and drank her godspeed. All toasted the darkling moon, each in our own way.
My chest filled with pride as I listened to our daughter offer a gracious, articulate and well-deserved tribute to my sister, whose management of the complex, inexorable progress to the finale rendered its sequence endurable. I watched and listened as Mom’s two great-granddaughters raced back nd forth along the path under the stars in the two now-orphaned electric carts that remained of the three Dad had bought as their years advanced and mobility deserted them.
To the memory of my parents, and to all of our consanguinal, affinal and embraced kinfolks, past and present, living or dead, and to all the Human Family, I dedicate this site.