When your mother dies on Groundhog Day…
1
When your mother dies on Groundhog Day, her passing is always associated with Punxsutawney.
2
When your mother dies on Groundhog Day, her passing is always associated with Punxsutawney.
You don’t relive the day, not exactly, but it has similar beats.
3
You don’t relive the day, not exactly, but it has similar beats.
In the hospital, you think that she is in great distress, so you ring for help, and a troop of nurses run in before they notice that she has a DNR.
4
In the hospital, you think that she is in great distress, so you ring for help, and a troop of nurses run in before they notice that she has a DNR.
One nurse scolds me, “She has a DNR.” I knew that but didn’t know what somebody sounded like before they died.
5
One nurse scolds me, “She has a DNR.” I knew that but didn’t know what somebody sounded like before they died.
She’s not in great distress; it’s merely the death rattle. Sorry, nurse, this is my first time seeing someone die.
6
She’s not in great distress; it’s merely the death rattle. Sorry, nurse, this is my first time seeing someone die.
Mom passes.
7
Mom passes.
There’s no point in calling your sisters, who are already en route. One of your sisters says, “Oh, she’s sleeping,” and you say, “Umm, no, she passed.”
8
There’s no point in calling your sisters, who are already en route. One of your sisters says, “Oh, she’s sleeping,” and you say, “Umm, no, she passed.”
You have to make decisions about the “disposition of the body,” and you’re annoyed because you’re still in the shock and grief section of the process.
9
You have to make decisions about the “disposition of the body,” and you’re annoyed because you’re still in the shock and grief section of the process.
You all leave the hospital, and you don’t rush to worry about what the plan is for the funeral. We already know what the plan is going to be.
10
You all leave the hospital, and you don’t rush to worry about what the plan is for the funeral. We already know what the plan is going to be.
She’s going to be cremated and buried next to her husband of 50 years in a North Carolina military cemetery.
11
She’s going to be cremated and buried next to her husband of 50 years in a North Carolina military cemetery.
We tell Trudy stories.
12
We tell Trudy stories, well-worn tales about her making a meal, which we have always described as tasting like the green bleaching crystals of the laundry detergent called Oxydol. It was awful.
13
…well-worn tales about her making a meal, which we have always described as tasting like the green bleaching crystals of the laundry detergent called Oxydol. It was awful.
Then we remembered how much she loved Nat King Cole, not just his voice but his looks, and it made us happy that she had this crush on the man who wasn’t our father, oddly enough.
14
When your mother dies on Groundhog Day, her passing is always associated with Punxsutawney.
You don’t relive the day, not exactly, but it has similar beats.
In the hospital, you think that she is in great distress, so you ring for help, and a troop of nurses run in before they notice that she has a DNR.
One nurse scolds me, “She has a DNR.” I knew that but didn’t know what somebody sounded like before they died.
She’s not in great distress; it’s merely the death rattle. Sorry, nurse, this is my first time seeing someone die.
Mom passes.
There’s no point in calling your sisters, who are already en route. One of your sisters says, “Oh, she’s sleeping,” and you say, “Umm, no, she passed.”
You have to make decisions about the “disposition of the body,” and you’re annoyed because you’re still in the shock and grief section of the process.
You all leave the hospital, and you don’t rush to worry about what the plan is for the funeral. We already know what the plan is going to be.
She’s going to be cremated and buried next to her husband of 50 years in a North Carolina military cemetery.
We tell Trudy stories, well-worn tales about her making a meal, which we have always described as tasting like the green bleaching crystals of the laundry detergent called Oxydol. It was awful.
Then we remembered how much she loved Nat King Cole, not just his voice but his looks, and it made us happy that she had this crush on the man who wasn’t our father, oddly enough.
Gertrude Elizabeth (Williams) Green, known as Trudy, was born November 17th, 1927, and died February 2nd, 2011.