Full Lunar Eclipse

Five years ago, around this same time of year, there was a full lunar eclipse. I remember it well. I am sitting here now, five years later and watching the moon fall into the shadow of the earth and watching it slowly disappear. Captain didn't know what to think tonight. I showed him the moon as it was rising. It was a deep red-orange and it wasn't his usual "White Moon" that he looks at. He watched it rise through the trees and then it was his bed time, so I will continue to watch it for him.
The reason I remember the lunar eclipse from five years ago is this: it was the year my mom died. I was working at the Sheriff's Youth Program Home in Winona, Minnesota. For whatever reason, I was working alone that evening and was waiting for my relief. As was customary, between bed checks, I was working on paperwork, checking the internet for email and weather, and looking forward to driving home and going to sleep. I was living at my parents' house. I had graduate College that January and moved home so that I could be close to Fundi. We hadn't even talked of marriage and I didn't figure that I would ever have moved back home, but that is where I was. The Sheriff's Youth Program offered me a job in my field, although no college degree was required, so even though I was working in my field, I wasn't being paid for the degree I had. It was only a part-time job and it was over half an hour away from home, but it was something for me to do and I enjoyed the work. I was working with troubled kids. Some of them had broken the law (one had stolen an Amish Buggy in the rain so that he didn't have to walk home after his father had forgotten to pick him up from work), most of them came from broken homes, most of them needed direction and guidance, and all of them needed someone who cared. I enjoyed it. I did. I did however, get a little nervous when I was working by myself, and I did find great relief when the next shift showed up. This just happened to be a lady in her mid-thirtys who I happened to get along with really well. We both had the same sense of humor and we both wanted what was best for the kids. We had just found out that my mom was sick. Her father had died of lung cancer (quite quickly) a short time before. And, although we didn't have a diagnosis for my Mom and she had been released from the hospital, in the back of all of our minds, we were thinking the worst and hoping for the best. That night, as I was relieved, we had a long discussion about lung cancer and the best and worst case scenarios. I was pretty upset. I called Fundi and told him that I would be stopping at his house and I wanted him to come out with me and watch the moon disappear and reappear. He did so, even though I could tell he didn't particularly care about the moon. We took his truck and drove to a crushed rock parking lot. It was cold. We sat on the tailgate of his truck for at least an hour watching the moon. Little was said that night, and what was said revolved around my Mom. I remember crying that terrible silent cry that makes you feel so alone. I remember the tears stinging my cold cheeks. Fundi sat beside me and patiently held my hand. I remember feeling grateful for him not asking me to explain myself. He didn't ask why I was crying--he knew. I know that he loved Mom too. I know that he had the same fears I had (the fears that would later be confirmed by the doctors) and I know that he feared the worst (the news that would later be confirmed by the doctors) and hoped for the best (the opportunity we never had). I was so lonely even though I had Fundi. I guess there is a place in me that is still terribly lonely. It is a place that noone could ever fill no matter how much time passes.
I was quite close to Mom, as many of you probably know by know, and my favorite thing to do when I was driving home from work was to call her up and talk to her. She worked the night shift at the jail in our county, and in both my job at College and after College, I was always driving home when she was just starting her shift. If she wasn't busy, she would talk with me about how everything was going on my whole drive home (in both jobs, it was over a half an hour of driving). Many times I even stopped at the Jail and hung out with her and her co-workers into the late night hours or even early morning hours. One of my favorite passtimes after I turned 18 was to go on ride-alongs with the officers. It was so much fun. I felt adventurous and excited. Mom and I never ran out of things to talk about, and ride-alongs and other Jail news was always fun discussion. I loved hearing about the things that went on while I was away at College. Many times when I came home for visits, I would be able to jump right in to ride-along again. I don't think I would have the bravery to be an officer, but I love being a side-kick and I have so many fun and interesting stories from this strange passtime. (For a different time.)
That night of the lunar eclipse, my Mom wasn't watching. I believe she was home in bed. My drive to Fundi's house was terribly lonely. I didn't get to call Mom and tell her what I was going to be doing that evening. I stopped working at Sheriff's Youth Program when they laid me off just before my Mom passed away. After Fundi and I were married, I started a job at Wal-Mart in the same town Sheriff's Youth Program had been in. How I longed for those calls to Mom. How I longed for someone to keep me company on the way home from work after my evening shifts. And, even now after I am not working, I wonder how it would be if She were still around. I think about the comfortable routine we would fall into. After Fundi goes to work in the evenings, I can see her coming over and hanging out as we get the kids ready for bed. I can see her spending some daytime hours with us as well while Fundi sleeps. I can hear the phone calls when I need advice about the kids. She would love the kids. She would be happy for us. I feel like I was cheated. I feel like my kids were cheated. I feel like She was cheated.
And now, as the moon disappears in the shadow, I think of the great absence in the sky. Something that is ever present being hidden and taken away. Even though we can't see it, it is there, as I know she is. I guess I find a strange comfort in that just as I did on that night five years ago.