My mother died in July 2005. This painting is a tribute to her, an extremely honorable and dignified woman; who struggled alone and hard to raise my brother, Waldemir, and me. She taught us the meaning of the word honesty by practicing it every day. Decidedly she was a warrior, a lioness and a winning woman. The principles and moral basis that she taught Waldemir and me were lived by her, a woman of great personality, and it is the basis of our character. This is the great legacy that she left for us. I am very proud to have been her son. She made mistakes and successes like any human being, but left the world a little bit better than she found it. This certainty fills me with pride to the point of encouraging me to paint this picture and share my emotions with the world. I want to share with all those moments when I felt very close to God. I ask those interested to read the text below, written days after her death:
My mother had been having serious health problems since last year, even going through some hospitalizations. This year she spent April and June hospitalized, and the last fifteen days of her life she spent in the ICU. For those who did not know my mother, it must be said that these were moments of intense pain for her, because her greatest suffering would be being immobilized in a bed. She has always been dynamic, hardworking and absolutely independent. So much so that, only in May, we managed to convince her that it was no longer possible for her to live alone and we started to build a room for her in my brother's house.
On Jul/09/2005, a Saturday, at 12:45 pm she suffered a cardiac arrest. The doctors were unable to revive her and made her death official at 12:55 pm.
I heard about her death at 2:30 pm when I went to visit her and I didn't find her in her bed. When going out looking for her in other beds, the doctors noticed my movement and communicated the fact to me. It was a shock because I was still hoping to see her leaving the hospital and move in with my brother, even though her condition was serious. After muffling my crying, I called my brother and learned that, while the doctors personally communicated the death to me, he was communicated over the phone by the hospital administration. Just one of those coincidences of life and death.
Then I went to the hospital administration to find out how to proceed bureaucratically, as I had never had a death in my family. There I received the necessary guidance and decided to go to my mother's house (near the hospital) to look for clothes to dress her. Upon returning to the hospital, I met my brother and we went to the morgue where we stayed watching over our mother's body.
Here started a series of extremely positive situations that made me think about writing this text:
For more than an hour, my brother, I and our mother were alone. Her body was still warm and still lacking the famous cadaverous stiffness. That was still our dear Mom.
For me it was a touching farewell when, while we were crying, we were able to caress her as we never could before, because for those who do not know, my mother was not given to cuddling and cuddling.
Then we decided to change her. It was another moment when I felt closer to my mother than ever. That intimacy was something divine and sacred where I felt extremely useful in the humility of being able to serve her once again.
Upon leaving the morgue, there was a wonderful sunset. There was an orange band on the horizon showing that the heat of life was gathering. High in the sky, the moon was already visible, it started to grow and Jupiter kept it company shining brightly and intensely in its vicinity. I think Jupiter with his benevolence had already been warning me for a few days, because he appeared very big and bright in the sky of the last afternoons and I was admiring it in those early nights.
After observing these natural phenomena, we went to the funeral home to choose the coffin, funeral, cemetery, payments, etc. There, we met a very cheerful employee who provided us with very funny moments, such as when she went into a coffin to see if my mother would fit in it, since her body was the same size as my mother's. After a lot of laughter and choices, we decided that the funeral would be short, only from 9 to 11 am next morning, Sunday. Then we went back to the hospital to wait for the funeral car that would transport our mother's body to the Itaquera cemetery. At the hospital, I met Flávia, my wife, and we accompanied the body to the cemetery. There another curious situation occurred:
My mother always liked dogs; she even had four at the same time. Wherever she went, she played with the dogs, even though she didn't know them or they were angry. When we arrived at the cemetery administration, a small dog received us with great joy and kept us company all the time. My brother played with her for a long time. It was the best reception committee my mom could have had and it did us a huge emotional good.
We waited to finish the preparations, asked the administration to close the door of the room until the next morning and we said goodbye to that dog that had received us with great affection.
On Sunday, I, Flávia and my mother-in-law arrived at the cemetery at 8h 15min. At the same time my brother also arrived. It was a sunny and beautiful morning and the day promised to be one of joy and not sadness. We opened the door to the room where my mother was, lit the candles and started the wake. My sister-in-law brought a watch that my mother liked a lot and her teeth to put on her. It was an extremely hilarious moment, given the absurd idea of putting the denture on my mother (which we didn't do, of course). After my mocking laugh, which many know, I put the watch on her arm and the denture inside the coffin.
We pray and say goodbye once more. Now, it was no longer my mother. It was just a cold, hard body that reminded me that it was my mother's home before. But in spite of this, on several occasions we observed his serene countenance as if she were sleeping. It looked like she was finally resting.
Then, another remarkable situation happened: For those who don't know, my mother was an evangelical. I, as everyone knows, a confessed sinner and an unbeliever of religions (despite believing in God and Jesus). Around 10:30 am the brothers from her church arrived. They asked if they could have a service and started an extremely beautiful ceremony with light music that served to elevate the spirit of those present without any mushy sense.
After a pastor's provocative speech, I asked to speak and made a personal statement of farewell and people who were distant began to approach making my statement more fraternal.
Curiously, my testimony opened a door that I did not imagine, because there were three more pastors present (some from another church) and they made personal testimonies that showed a very beautiful side of my mother, of her social participation in the community organizing the setting up of baskets basic services for distribution to the poor and other activities aimed at the poor.
Many laughs were given during these testimonies that recalled some of the characteristics of my mother, a person of strong temperament, of difficult coexistence, who held everyone responsible, but with a positive and constructive nature. A person of achievement, who did, instead of just dreaming or criticizing.
It was a farewell ceremony that I never imagined could happen to my mother, a bitter and suffering person. To my pleasant surprise she, who was never given to parties, threw a happy and relaxed farewell party that made those moments light and loving. I felt these positive effects in my heart for several days and I still feel them when I remember those moments.
That was not a sad farewell, but a farewell with much love. In those twelve hours, from the morgue to the funeral, she gave me and my brother all the love and affection that she was unable to give in life. For me it was a soul washing, a catharsis and moments of inner resolution.
I spent the whole Sunday having sequential and uninterrupted moments of epiphanies that, in sum, I can only define as a state of grace. Paradoxically, that sunny Sunday was a day of joy instead of sadness. My mother was gone, but my cry was from those who were saddened because a companion had traveled to a better world, just as we cry when our loved ones are going to live in other countries, but they will have a better life. She was finally resting and that was enough for me. I couldn't have a selfish cry, very common when something is lost. No, that sadness that squeezed my heart only served to remind me that she was closer to God and had accomplished her mission. They were intense moments, of pleasant memories and sincere and disinterested love.
All these moments left me with such a strong and positive influence that they stroked and stroke my moments of longing as if my mother were still stroking me.
This past week was the time for bureaucracy, to put things in order. The moments that my appointments allowed me I used to rummage through and order her documents, photos, belongings, etc. Anyone who has been there knows what I'm talking about. Every little detail reveals parts of a life or reinforces our impression of that person's character. There is also the surreal sensation that our brain goes through when facing the game of logic and emotion (which everyone goes through) where I know that I will never see her again, but my emotional refuses to accept this simple and inexorable reality. It is a game that leaves us slightly stunned, but in the midst of these setbacks, the sensation that comes to me is that of tenderness. It is not the feeling of loss, but of comfort; it is not the feeling of revolt, but of gratitude.
It is as if my mother had saved all her love to give me on the day of her final farewell. It is as if I have won a gift that will last forever.
Even today, I spend all day thinking about her remembering good and bad passages we had. I have not stopped doing anything in my daily life, but her presence is constant, not as a shadow, but as a good and protective company. A company that lives inside me, and was not like the people with whom I share my daily experiences. She now lives inside me, something much deeper than her physical presence.
I know that in the coming days and months I will cry with longing (a great friend told me that he spent some years living moments where he was crying when his mother was gone), but I also know that it will not be the bitter cry of those who cannot see the good side of life.
Thinking about the two days of farewell my mother gave me, I conclude that God was very generous to me and my brother and the proof is the feeling of well-being that still follows me when I remember my dear Mom (yes, with a capital M).
I'm sure it is this feeling that will accompany me for the rest of my life. It is true that I feel a little sadness in my heart, but I also feel a positive feeling telling me that from living with her, for more than 50 years, the word that remains is: Thanks! A hug Mommy, wherever you are. Walter Miranda – São Paulo - 17/Jul/2005
