The Work of Grief

My mother died last Wednesday.  At least we think it was Wednesday.  I had been trying to call her that afternoon and getting no answer, so I got in touch with my cousin, who got in touch with the police, and they got into her house to find her lying on the floor between the kitchen and den.  One of the officers said it looked to him she'd been dead between 8 and 18 hours.

I packed quickly (and poorly, it turned out) and got up there that night.  Since we have only one working car right now, Briton and Hannah had to cobble a trip up;  they arrived Saturday night.  Visitation was Sunday night, burial was yesterday (in a dismal rain.)

Mama had asked for a graveside service only, and had chosen the person from her church to say a prayer.  I read from Proverbs 31 (A Virtuous Woman), and it was done.

I'm thinking now of all the paperwork I will have to do when I go back up next week.  And I am overwhelmed.  And, I imagine, only now feeling all the sadness and loss that adrenaline and arrangements-making covered over until now.