In Memory of Johnnie Bailey Anderson Allen

Every year since 1988, when Memorial weekend rolls around, I remember the day my mother died. It was a beautiful day, one of those rare Memorial Days when the weather was being kind to us. I was at home with the kids (Jan had gone up north to help his brother with something) and we were planning to walk down to the lakefront and then do some grilling in the evening. The phone rang and it was my sister with the news that Mom had suffered a massive coronary and died. I remember not shedding a single tear but going about the routine, calling Jan to arrange for him to come home for the kids. He told me he could not come home as he still had things to do for his brother...and still I did not weep.

I made calls to the library to get the full text of a poem that ,the summer before, my mother had said she would like read at her funeral. I went on the outing with the kids and then when we got home I told them what had happened and that I would be gone for a few days.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush.
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

All of the kids from Wisconsin rode down together, doing some bonding as we made the journey, sharing memories and laughter. We all did our part in easing things for my father who had lost his best friend, his soul mate. I remember sharing laughter with him when he came upon my brother and I trying to get my mother's ashes into the urn that we had purchased and his comment of "Okay Johnnie, you said you wanted to fit into a size smaller." Along with my father, I met with the minister prior to the service and talked about what music she had wanted, told him of the reading of the poem at the cemetery, etc. As is inevitable there was some tension among siblings but we made it through it all. The poem was read while her ashes were scattered.

And still I had not shed a tear.

Afterwards we gathered with family and friends and talked about our memories of her. Everyone had wonderful memories of her as she was just that kind of person. And still no tears were shed.

About six weeks later, I was at home preparing a meal for the kids when I thought of a question that I should ask my mother and it struck me that she was not there to reply. I became angry, cursed her for leaving, then collapsed onto the kitchen floor in tears. This is where my kids found me and asked why I was crying. I replied, "because my mother died." and one by one they knelt down and put their arms around me, telling me that it would be okay. And with that I knew that she was still there and that had been her answer. She would always be there for me.