Which is a question one gets to answer in these situations, apparently. (We settled on "after", by the way.) So yes, life is still surreal.
Also surreal; my brother's and my different memories of one particular aspect of our mother's past. Because of those differences, he had a problem with one section of my eulogy. Because he asked rather than ordered, I changed some sentences in what I wrote, maintaining the core of the message I wanted to give, while eliminating something with which he was uncomfortable. In the privacy of my room, I started to cry and I had to break down the reasons for that before I let it get out of hand. Was I crying because our memories differed? Because in my mind, he wasn't letting me keep the memories I had, or didn't respect them? Because they were wrong? Was I that selfish? Was I that mistaken?
After going back over my memories and comparing them to what my brother said I realized that neither of us were actually mistaken. I just had some information he didn't, and he had some information I didn't. Those memories slotted in to slightly different points in time during the same extended event. And yes, perhaps it's a little sad and petty that I relaxed only once I realized that I wasn't wrong about what I remember of my mother, that I didn't misremember the conversations my mother and I had ... but not all that sad, nor all that petty. It was simply that I was glad that my mother hadn't misremembered her own past when she'd talked to both of us at different times. I'd simply been reminded that truth is often more complicated than we like it to be. I can live with that.
Tomorrow is visitation at the funeral home - not viewing, since she was cremated yesterday or today. Friday morning is the funeral. I'll be wearing the same outfit to both, but I suspect Mum will forgive my lack of sartorial diversity.
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