This morning, my sister and I made the decision to have our mama taken off of life support. It’s the hardest decision I've ever made. She’s my best friend and the most self-sacrificing mother. I only hope I can be half the mother she was.
I was wondering if you could write something about grieving?
Thanks so much,
GRIEVING FOR MAMA
I was at a gas station a few mornings ago, in Holt, Florida. The sun was shining. I sat on my tailgate, eating a honey bun.
My father liked honey buns. I never cared for them when he was alive. Everything changed when he died. I changed.
Two weeks after his death, I walked to the service station a few miles up the road. I was twelve. On the walk, I kicked dust. I hummed to myself. I felt guilty for not sitting in my bedroom and crying.
That’s grief. You feel guilty for doing things other than crying.
I had a pocketful of cash. I wanted to spend it and be happy. I wanted to
smile—even if only for a few seconds.
I bought Coke and salted peanuts. Something came over me when I saw the honey buns. I bought nearly every one in the display box —$.35 per bun.
I carried them all home and never ate a single bun. I couldn't bring myself to.
Until the other day, I hadn't tasted a honey bun in years. Usually, when I walk into a gas station, I’ll only glance at the mass-produced pastries, then walk on by.
But a few days ago, when I wandered into the mini-mart to use the little cowboy’s room, I saw them. A big cardboard case. $1.69 per bun.
Inflation has really done a number on honey buns.
I bought one.
It was impulsive. I haven't bought a honey bun since age twelve. I peeled the plastic. The…