Today would have been Adriana Dillon’s 97th birthday. It has been 14 years since my Mother left us.
Amazingly, though I spent many years remembering the dénouement, I am not sad thinking about her loss. In fact, I don’t think of her as being absent from my life the way I did when it happened. In many ways, she is ever more present than she ever was.
As my Mother was leaving this world, I emailed my children, who were not at her side, what their Grandfather, Aunt and Uncles and I were going through:
We have spent a lot of time laughing and crying together with her. We have rosaries blessed by John Paul II and pray our Our Fathers and Holy Mary’s and St. Francis’ prayers… and then we will make jokes and laugh …
We are at peace, and know that Grannie is better off going to meet her parents, the Pope, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Thackeray, Balzac, Victor Hugo, and all her beloved authors.
Grannie always said she knew God would keep her in this world until we no longer needed her. She needs to know now that we are strong enough to let go of her.
Reflecting on those last moments, I realize how lucky we were to be able to mix laughter with the tears, and to share until the very end the strong family bond that was at the heart of my Mother’s life.
I also realized then, after a full year of her death, the meaning behind the tradition of wearing black for mourning. It was a way to let the world know that the mourner was going through a stage in his/her life that required others to understand, at the very least, his/her constant void and woeful sorrow.
I once wrote that “not all women who give birth are good Mothers, and many women who do not have children themselves make formidable Mothers. For the essence of Motherhood is in giving of oneself in a selfless manner.” My Mother was the most unselfish person I have known.
Two years after her death I embarked on a new venture, one that would take me to Afghanistan, something that I found exhilarating and approached with trepidatious anticipation. How I wish I could have shared with her my discoveries of Afghanistan’s history and poetry and art. There was enduring beauty I came across, despite the incessant danger and sadness of a war-ravaged place.
Her constant reflections and wisdom are my ever-guiding principles. God’s mills grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly small was one of her favorite quotes. In my own experience, it is absolutely true.
She also made the best scones and empanadas one could ever dream of, and her High Teas were a feast to behold, like Babette’s.
I am grateful that she was spared the biggest viscissitudes that some in her family have encountered since her death. I miss her physical presence, her big eyes and warm smile. She left an indelible mark that withstands the ebb and flow of time.
Since death is inescapable, one of these days we will all be with my Mother again. She was an incurable romantic. What I would give to watch Pride & Prejudice with her one more time.
If only I could leave a minuscule fraction of good will for my children to reflect on, I shall leave this world like my Mother said, when God no longer thinks I am needed around.
Dum Spiro Spero 