Bye, Ma: A letter to my mother following her passing

My mother, Cynthia Rose Neil, died this weekend at the age of 77, two days before I planned a surprise visit. That visit would have ended nearly a dozen years of having not seen her or my father in person. A self-induced exile resulting from childhood trauma and a myriad of unresolved issues. In lieu of getting to see her one last time, I wrote this letter.

Links for context. Originally published on shanepaulneil.com.

Hi Ma,

They say life comes at you fast. It appears that death comes at you even faster. The last time we spoke, I asked you how the garden was coming along. You told me that you couldn’t garden anymore. The stooping, bending, and kneeling were more than you could handle. You tended your garden my entire life, so many crops of tomatoes, eggplants, and zucchini grew from your soil. You even kept the rose bush I bought you as a young man alive for nearly two decades. You transfered them from our garden in the Bronx to your home in Virginia where you and Pop would spend your golden years. You not being in that garden set off a ticking clock in the back of my mind.

I got the news in the middle of your grandson’s football practice. Pop called and broke the news, “Your mother died today.” Ever the stoic he tried to keep his voice flat and strong. Instead, it was hollow…