Things have been a bit . . . how shall I say it? . . . different? this year.  And I know that sentence is far from being punctuated correctly, but different times call for different methods of expression, especially if you’re writing rather than speaking.

Last Sunday was Mother’s Day and I know for the vast majority of the population, it was unlike any Mother’s Day that has come before.  Mine has been that way since May 1, 2008 when my mother died.  Now I buy one card instead of two.  There is only one order placed with the florist.  Only one home to visit.  Except this year; visiting homes has been discouraged as have so many other things we normally do to celebrate special occasions.

Folks put on their thinking caps and came up with all kinds of creative solutions that allowed them to honor their mothers . . . from a safe distance.  But it’s just not the same.  It’s impossible for a phone call to replace speaking face to face.  It’s hard for a banner or a card to really tell someone how much you love them and appreciate all they have done and continue to do.  And hugs are simply irreplaceable.  There is no substitute for a mother’s embrace.

Many of you may have shushed that disgruntled little voice in the back of your noggin’ by telling it things will be better soon.  In the near future, you’ll be able to celebrate together.  And surely by this time next year, life will have settled into its new normal and we’ll be able to gather without too much fear and anxiety.  And hopefully, that’s an accurate assessment of what life will become.  But what happens if we do find that new normal and the people whose lives we want to celebrate are no longer here to join us?

This is, quite honestly, a question I wrestle with on a daily basis—and I’m not referring to the arrival of my new normal, but the absence of someone I love.  Occasionally that realization makes me bite my tongue to keep from saying something I know I’ll regret later . . . when I may not be able to ask forgiveness because the person I need it from won’t be here to grant it.  And if I didn’t bite hard enough, then I’ll have to live with whatever was last said, because there will be no making it right.  It makes me go and do when I don’t necessarily feel like either one, because I know I may never have that opportunity again.

But those moments are moments where I’m allowed to choose, where I’m not bound by federal or state mandates or fear of what I may bring to those I love.  How am I supposed to respond if someone I love dies and I wasn’t able to be with them to celebrate one last Mother’s Day, one last birthday . . . one last moment of Life that now has been lost to Death . . . because I wasn’t allowed to?  There are numerous reasons that could happen, including but certainly not limited to a rampant virus, but the end result is still the same.  I wasn’t allowed to. I would have if I could.  But I couldn’t.  How do I accept that I will never be able to again?

I have just raised a question that I can’t answer for anyone but myself.  Everyone will respond differently to those lost opportunities and the grief that takes their place.  But I can tell you what you shouldn’t feel.  Guilt.  Responsibility. Shame.

There will always be times when Life moves beyond our control and decisions we would normally make will be made by someone else.  We need to remember, if we aren’t allowed to shoulder the responsibility then we shouldn’t try to shoulder the blame.  I know; that’s easier said than done and it’s a lesson I need to learn just as much as anyone else.  But if we learn to treat each encounter as though it was our last, then when that day finally comes—whether it’s brought about by pandemics or distance or Death—we’ll know we did all we could.  And that knowledge comes bearing comfort . . . and forgiveness . . . and peace.

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926.  She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.

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