June 14th, 2015. Flag Day--45 years later.

When I went to the store today, I saw all kinds of red white and blue items, which reminded me it was Flag Day.  It was a Sunday, Flag Day, 45 years ago, on June 14, 1970, and something was up.   Angel was wailing and screaming at my father.   Lisa and Charlie were clearly upset about something.  And then I remember me and my two younger sisters were sat down by my father, and he told us that "your mother has gone to heaven."

I was 8, about the age Lily is now, and was in second grade at St. David's Parochial school, so I instantly knew what that meant.  I immediately started to cry.  My sister, Lorraine, was 7, only 11 months younger than me,  and Lynda was just 6, and neither of them understood.  I remember my sisters looked at me, and I whispered to them "Mommy is in heaven.. That means she is gone....to be with Jesus."   I couldn't bring myself to say "dead."  Slowly, I think largely because I was crying, they started to cry.  

I don't remember much else about that day, but I do remember my Aunt Lucille coming over with my cousins, David and Ottilie, and bringing a dozen Dunkin' Donuts.  I was always happy when she came over, even on this day.  She knew how to make a child feel better for a second.  

A few days later, there was her funeral.  The viewing was the night before.  Her 6 children were ages 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11 on the day she died.  I remember walking up to see her in the casket, and not liking it.  She was wearing a pink chiffon dress.  That is when I decided I was going to have a closed casket (and no "viewing" at all.  Just a service with some pictures of me and my family.)  

 I don't remember how long we stayed.   I remember people saying 38 years was too young to die.   To me, I didn't really understand.   38 was really old...wasn't that time to die, after all?  I know we left early, and when the children left,  we lined up, and the crowd formed around us.    I said goodbye, and on my way out, I turned to peek, and my Uncle Kenny, my mother's younger brother was at the back of the ring of people, uncontrollably sobbing.   I remember wondering why he was so sad.

A few days later, after the funeral, we were polishing the silverware on the floor, and the Evening Bulleting was on the floor, and the pages spread out were the Obituaries.  I remember reading my mother's obituary while polishing silverware, but trying not to let my sisters see it.  I think someone should have tried to be a little more careful.

I don't remember much more about the day that my mother day, but I remember lying in a bed by myself that night, and thinking, "this is the first day for the rest of your life, that you will not have a Mommy."  I remember thinking I wouldn't have a mother on my wedding day.   It was just unimaginable.    It still is.