Carol Unger, 1931 - 2003

Memories of Mom

The most recient memories are strongest. After her death I found I remembered her as she was in the last weeks and days of her life.

At the memorial service many friends spoke of my mom and much earlier times of her life. Many of her childhood and early adult years. I both heard new stories and was reminded of many aspects that were not fresh in my mind. After the memorial my memories of my mom were more jumbled than ever. I have images of her from all through out her life and find it difficult to join these to my mother as I new her these past years, weeks, and days.

Cleaning House

On the second day of cleaning Kate and I come to the conclusion that we can finish by tomorrow if we want and that there are many good reasons to. In the afternoon as I clean the house I realize that this is the last time I'll see most of this stuff.

My mom has a couple draws stuffed full of tools, tape, glue, spare nuts and bolts, and other junk. Some of the stuff is good and some just junk. I sort through to see if there is anything special, then I close the drawr. After we leave someone we hire will come through and remove all these posessions. Towels we leave in the bathroom will be gone. Cups my mom used to drink from will be gone. The chair she sat in will be gone.

This is another point of leting go. The house will soon be empty. A month or three later it will be sold. The era of this house is coming to a close. These are the last days that I'll have access to this era.

Normalicy

Back home, my house is cluttered with furnature, files, and boxes of stuff. It is a reminder. I'm ready to return to normalicy. I'm ready to feel that my life is flowing again. Back in order.

Selling the House

We hire Barbara Bogart and she activley takes charge of getting the house ready for market. Soon it will be empty, then people looking at it, then a sale, then very likely a remodel. If all goes well, within six months that house will no longer, in any way, represent my mom's space in the world.

She dies, her posessions are divided, her house is sold. Physical traces of her existance are being scattered and reshaped. She was here, now she is gone and the inevitable changes wrought by time erode the imprint she made on the world.

Strangely, I wish she was here to see this. Would she approve? Her approval is not important to me, but I would like to know what she thinks of this.

The Archival Impulse

For the service we put together an album of photos from Carols life. Debbie did the same for Jacquie's funeral. In the months after Jacquie's funeral I got a lot of e-mails from Debbie with scaned images from Jacquie's life. Now that my mother has passed away I understand this: it's the Archival Impulse. I want to preserve the memory of my mother in an archive.

When we put the photo album together I was appaled that there were so few photos available. How could a whole life generate such a paultry photographic record? Didn't we have more. While sorting through the garrage Kate and I discovered the mother load of photos. They were in a box in the garrage. It was sealed with duct tape from when my mom packed her house in Michigan in 1993. It traveled cross country to her rental and then to this place where it lay forgotten in the garrage gathering mold.

So, after my mom's death I was struck with the Archival Impulse. I was greatly releaved to find the box of photos and appauled at their condition. Kate and I are working to sort the photos, put them in better albums, and get good digital scans of them all. I want to preserve some record of my mother's life.

Strange Echos from the Past

While sorting photos I'll see pieces of furnature or photos that I know. I grew up with many of these, they were in my mom's house when she died, and Kate and I have split them up. I have a print of a Dancer at Rest (find link for this) and also see this hanging on the wall in a picture of my dad holding me when I was just months old. Strange echos from the past.

Disconnection from Time (7/28)

Sorting the old photos has brough an interesting relationship with time. I'm always living in the present. I may remember the past and anticipate the future, but my awareness is always in the present. My strongest impressions of my mom were always as she appeared when I was with her and my recient memories. Her change over time has been slow - almost inperceptible. So when I think of her I think of her as she is now or has been reciently. Of course this is true of anyone I know.

But now I'm looking at photos from her whole life. From early childhood through her death. Each one is a frozen moment - a frozen now. I know that the people in those photos have most of their attention in that moment just as I have my attention in the present, somewhat remembering the past and unaware what the future will really bring. But now I look through the window the photo provides to that moment and see it as one of many along the arc of my mother's life. She traveled along the arc, moment to moment, probably only occasionally aware of the context surrounding her present. Now the whole story is complete and I can look back over the arc of her life and see it all.

This makes me aware of a different way of viewing time. Not now, now, now, but that now is just a point moving along the arc of my life. That this arc may, in some way, already exist in it's entirty. Perhaps every picture I take creates a window into my present moment through which a good friend is peering as they review the full arc of my life.

Visiting the House (November, 2003)

Aware that the house may soon sell Marie and I go back to visit it. Barbara has had it cleaned in side and out. She lifted the livingroom carpet to find beautiful soft wood flooring. I want to see what it looks like now.

Somewhat to my surprise I don't find my Mother's house empty of everything, but a good little house ready for new people to move in and make their life there. Marie and I sleep on the livingroom floor where we have a great view over the water. We sit on the deck and walk the customary routes. The era of my mother living here is truely gone.

Selling the House (December, 2003)

After some negotiation we accept an offer from two women from the Washington DC area who would like to retire to Port Townsend. They were concerned about limitations on remodeling to make the house large enough for them, but had fallen in love with the setting.

It is time for new people to come. I know that once they remodel and move (it will be a couple years) the house will be completely different. But I don't want my Mother's memory to be completely lost. I write a letter to the buyers and select a few photographs. I imagine leaving these in the house for the buyers to find as they are moving in. Turns out to be more practicale to mail the letter to Barbara who forwards it to the buyers.

Regrets (Winter 2004)

It may not be possible to have a loved one pass with out regrets. From the first week I thought of things I wish I had said to my mom. Did she know the accident was not her fault? I don't think that I said that. Did she know how completely I accepted who she was? I told her many times that I love her, but don't know that I said that all was forgiven and accepted.

Spending Time (Spring 2004)

Marie's father is developing Altheimers. She spends a lot of time helping her faimly but all too often it is a struggle. Different oppinions about what is necessary and how to do it. I see them often lost in the details of doing, partially in conflict. I am reminded of the importance of spending time. The last days with my mom, when all that could be done was, were purly spending time. But before that we were often caught up in the doings of the moment, some times in conflict. It is very natural for me to loose myself in doings and not be aware of the context of spending time.

Conversation of Out Time (Spring 2004)

I am not sad that my mother died. Death is part of the cycle of life. The time of her death was a special and irreplacable part of our relationship. But I am sad that I can't talk to her now and then. I think that I would most like to sit and talk to her of her life with her no longer in the context of living her life. And, for that matter, with me out of the context of being her son. I imagine a free flowing conversation, unhindered by any of the emotional baggage we had together, ranging over her life and relationships. I would like to know her better.

Sending Love to My Kind Mother (Winter 2006)

I have been studying Buddhism so it is in the language of Buddhism that I express this thought. I realize that my mom is probably reincarnated somewhere out in the world. I send my love to her and the desire that the Buddhas wrap her in love and give her the opportunity for great joy in this life and the opportunity to studdy dharma and have insights into life.

In other words: I wonder where my mother is now. I hope all is well with her. More than that, I hope she is finding love in her life. I wish I could be there, not as a human for our time together is over, but as a spirit to guide her life. Since I'm not able, I pray that God will watch over her with all his love.

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