Change.

Although we know it’s inevitable, we never know how we’ll react or how it’ll impact us until it happens.

One very early morning, after a long and emotional day, I walked with my brothers out of the ICU, clutching a small vial containing a printout of my Mom’s last heartbeats. I watched her take her last breath, my hand in hers, with her and my Dad’s wedding rings held between them.

No one can truly describe the numbness that takes over your body. I understand why people do out-of-character things immediately after a great loss because your mind can only focus on what’s missing in the future and what you could do to try to recover it, even if you can’t.

The numbness helped me in a way. I was able to ignore things that might have set me off and solely focus on the task at hand of ensuring she was laid to rest. It was the second time in my life that I had to buy an outfit for someone’s final rest. How do you explain to the salesperson when they asked if you found what you needed that you’ll never truly have all that you need ever again? You can’t. You smile, say thank you, and carefully carry out something you wish you could’ve seen them wear out to dinner or just because, and love it.

I chose something light blue. Something I knew she’d love. Nothing in her closet felt right, and I knew it would match the blue pin-striped suit my Dad wore. I knew it would have brought out her beautiful light blue eyes, which she got from her Dad. Sinatra blue. I knew it would have made her happy.

I wrote an obituary, planned a meeting with the funeral home (and ended up with the same wonderful person who did my Dad’s service 12 years prior), ordered flowers she loved, wrote an eulogy, and then delivered it, although I had to stop a few times to catch my tears and breath.

After she was laid to rest, from the farmhouse where my family gathered, just a couple of miles away from the church where she and my Dad were buried, I gazed out and noticed a rainbow that ended at the church. She seemed to be telling me that she had made it and was okay. In that moment, I felt a sense of relief and a release of emotions.

At that time, I didn’t realize that the glue had dissolved. Naively, I thought that we could somehow keep it together. However, I also had to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t my responsibility to become the new “parent” in the family. It was something that we all had to strive for.

I miss what my family had. I never realized how much my Mom and Dad did to ensure that we remained a united family, not just as blood relatives, but as a chosen family as well. Perhaps that’s part of the change—evolving the definition of family and who it includes.

No matter what happens in my future, there will always be an emptiness where my parents belong. I truly believe that you can only truly understand something once you experience it firsthand. It’s indescribable; you just feel it. Perhaps that’s why the glue dissolved. Because we can’t fully overcome the absence of what is missing to bond back together what remains. However, love will always endure, regardless of the outcome.