Dogs
I was speaking with my mom today about back in August when on the 20th she had a code blue and after she kept saying José, José – my father’s name. My father died on August 20, 1985. I asked her today if she remembered that and if she had seen him and she said she didn’t remember it at all.
I said, “Well, when you get to the other side could you send me a sign that you are okay?”
And she said, “Sure.”
And I said, “What would it be?”
And she said, “You decide.”
And I said, “No you tell me.”
She said, “A dog.”
I reminded her that when I got Samm in 1989 that we were all convinced he was my father come back to life – charming curmudgeon with wicked eyes.
October 24th, 2009 at 7:01 pm
It’s good you’re having conversations with your mother like that. I think one of worst things is not feeling comfortable talking about dying. I couldn’t talk with either my brother or sister because they didn’t seem comfortable with the subject. There was so much we should have been saying but couldn’t, each afraid of the other’s reactions.
October 25th, 2009 at 2:46 pm
It’s a hard thing – my brother said about me in conversation the other day that I speak pragmatically – but I tend to be a planner and death is part of the plan. I wish as a family we could all speak openly about her death with her, so that she wouldn’t have to fear it and feel isolated from it.