Sigh.
by Laura
Will there ever come a day when I don’t notice things that would make a great gift for my mom? No? Okay then. That’s what I figured.
The Grieving Atheist
A Blog
Will there ever come a day when I don’t notice things that would make a great gift for my mom? No? Okay then. That’s what I figured.
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The Grieving Atheist 
I relate to the position of being in a shop and finding something lovely for a Mom who has died. As a pragmatist I’ve tried to understand this disconcerting experience without being melodramatic or maudlin; it’s more than a little bewildering. The physiological response of ‘realization’, is akin to a sensation of icy water rumbling from your head to your toes. It’s a strange swirl of emotions first touching on delight but quickly following by panic, sorrow and regret. Just yesterday I was hit with a momentary sense of joy when discovering a charming bonsai tree in a gift shop. For a moment I even imagined where Mom could set it in her condo. After all, I’d just gone to the grocery store for eggs and bread, after fighting the flu for several days. On an impulse I’d decided to pop into an adjacent gift store, one I hadn’t been to in years. That would have been the best part of getting the bonsai tree, the ‘back story’ for Mom. Telling her “this just called my name” which had been her favorite explanation for whenever she surprised me an unexpected gift. In the end the pretty bonsai tree stayed at the store and there is no Mom to tell the story to. I abhor those that are too effusively sentimental and religious notions smack of sentimentality. To allow religion to encompass, guide or otherwise ‘own’ my grief is unconscionable. Therefore, in good conscience I strive to understand grief and bare it in a way that is authentic, honorable and strong. That is my biggest task, one set before a grieving daughter who just happens to be an atheist. Alas, the tree would have been lovely on Mom’s granite counter . . . .