My friend MariJo died today. She had been fighting cancer for about 9 years, after riding the roller-coaster of successive remissions, clean bills of health and relapses. Traditional methods, prayer, alternative approaches, special Native American healing beads, meditation, chemotherapy, psychiatric support, radiation, special diets, surgeries upon surgeries -- you name it. Her family (2 daughters, one son..the youngest in high school) and her husband have been tireless in their devotion and care for her. When Ron called me today, he said it was the 40th anniversary of their meeting.

"She lived through Mother's Day," he said, "I don't think she wanted to leave us on that day. After a few says in a coma, she was in and out of consciousness on Mother's Day, opening her eyes and acknowledging us all."

Losing a mother is just so hard - especially if there is a good and close relationship in place. I know Mari Jo did hang on for one last Mother's Day. For her, it would be a gift of love to her children -- to not have to forever know Mother's Day only as the day their Mom died. Ron and MariJo were deeply faithful people, and Ron is comforted by the fact that he knows his beloved wife is with G-d. That she is not here anymore does not mean that she is not anywhere in some form. It is to that faith that this family clings and finds hope.

Everyone grieves differently, handles the time of mourning differently. Not only do we bring our own set of complex feelings to the event, but we interlace it with our national, cultural, ethnic and religious beliefs and traditions.

When my friend Binh's mother passed on (they are Vietnamese Buddhists), the rituals associated with passing were quite different - with the whole family involved in various ways to help the soul cross over into the afterlife. The family held a 24 hour vigil at the funeral parlor, so that if the soul should emerge during that time, it should not become frightened or disoriented, as loved ones would be nearby. The family gently prepared the body for burial, being careful not to move it much at all, so as to not jostle the spirit in any way. The utmost reverence was employed, as the family performed a number of rituals to help the soul across.

We westerners do not really have similar rituals that seek to involve us directly with the soul of the departed as it moves through time/space. We focus more on our own grief, rather than the transition period of the departed. I saw how comforting that was to Binh's family -- to have something to do that felt helpful during a time of such sorrow.

When my own mother passed away, the grief ripped my heart out. But I also recall saying "It could be worse; she could be really dead." I know that she is somewhere, beyond here. In a place I cannot describe or know. But that she is I have no doubt.

Those of you who are mothers, or who have lost beloved mothers will understand me when I say that my own mother hovers to this day. Odd things happen to a few of us who were close to her in this life for which there is no rational explanation except her presence.

So I bring all of this on the road with me as I will drive to MariJo's wake, a few states from here.

I will remember the sound of her voice when last we spoke -- about a week ago -- when she sounded both fragile and hopeful, but very tired, beyond an exhaustion I had heard before.

I will tell her family that I believe, as do they, that she is with G-d. I will whisper to her soul tonight to not be afraid, and to know that good things will continue to unfold for her and for her family. And I'll cry.

I'll cry for her and for my Mom and for the shared grief in everyone who has ever lost a Mom.

And then I will take a deep breath and move forward in hope.

------related blogs---

Patricia, in her blog Seeing for Myself describes her experience of grief from the perspective of Transcendental Meditation.

AnnDroid who works in two prisons, speaks of the notion of Disenfranchised Grief and how it differs from 'normal' grief. This is quite interesting and well-written. Here is a brief excerpt:

Disenfranchised grief screws up the normal processes, though. Disenfranchised grief has been defined as grief that isn't openly acknowledged, isn't socially accepted, or isn't publicly mourned. The relationship, the loss, the griever are unrecognised. The mourners are cut off from social supports and don't get the chance they need to do that grief work, to express their grief, and reach a resolution stage.

Charlene in Good Grief and a side of Scrapple recalls her own mother's funeral:

The next day as I watched my nephews, now husbands and fathers, carry their
grandmother’s coffin, I could still see them as toddlers who needed to be shielded
from the reality of death, and I was struck by the magnificence of authentic grief
– not the reductive sadness over what was taken away, but the painful transparency
of mortality and the cycle of life, and the significance of every connected
existence. And for the first time, I understood her. Even from her grave, she was
silently taking care of me, reminding me of what was important.

Pauline in her blog, Writing Down the Words, says:

Life on earth is at best a chancy thing. You cannot know the exact moment when you will leave the land of the living or if your dreams will die before they've been fully lived. One thing is certain—if a loved one leaves before you, whether by accident or design, you will travel to the strange land of grief and you will go alone. The winds of change will swirl about you, pick you up, transform you forever, and set you down in another place.

Mata H, CE for Religion & Spirituality blogs her soul out at Time's Fool