Eclipse

My mother died on the afternoon of the total solar eclipse of August 21, 2017.

I remember the amplified stillness that came over Mom’s house where hospice carers came and went. I sat outside, watching for signs of change, distracted by what was happening inside– listening for Mom, checking the time for the next dose of morphine, the steady hiss and sigh of the oxygen machine. Each passing hour brought trips to the bedside, questions about when, what to look for and an uneasy feeling in the unfolding mystery that was swirling around us.  

The ancients believed the eclipse was an omen that meant doom, an upset in the most fundamental of life’s rhythm—day and night, dark and light. 

I felt the drop of atmospheric pressure in my body when the sky darkened around 1:00 pm. Birds quieted, the wind hushed. I didn’t look up at the sky, knowing the brilliant sun would be dimmed by the moon, as predicted. Besides, I couldn’t get a clear view from under the huge pine where I sat.  It seems like just days ago Mom swept its needles from the patio, to keep them from being tracked inside.

When Mother passed later that afternoon, there was a crescendo of silence, that rose and fell within one long moment.  I saw in her face an eclipse of her features, from a mask of illness to one of ageless radiance.

It was fitting that the loss of her could only be eclipsed by an astronomical phenomenon. My universe was shifting and colliding too, much like the sun and the moon that day. My daughter was expecting a baby any day–our first grandchild, Mom’s first great-grandchild. The anticipation of new life overtaking the loss of another was our hope, the way of things.

When we met our grandson 10 days later, it all came into focus—the celestial synchronicity of the eclipse, the interlude of those days in between when Mom and baby were suspended in their journey within the cycle of death and birth.

Our grandson at six has heard stories about Grandma Kay, knows she, like me would shudder to see him climb so high, ride so fast on his two-wheeler, was known to keep the cookie jar filled with Oreos and loved books just like he does.  She listens in from time-to-time, surely delighting in his life, that she wanted so badly to be here for.

Since Mom’s death, I am tuned to the phases of the moon, mark the equinoxes in autumn and spring, and celebrate the winter and summer solstice. It is another way to mark time, that feels more fleeting, less predictable.

In anticipation of April,2024’s solar eclipse I could have traveled to any number of places in North America, from Mexico to Newfoundland. The only variable was the weather, which the true “eclipse chasers” were watching–ready to pounce at the last minute.  I didn’t.

I celebrated the total eclipse more locally, with my daughters at the Bell Museum on the Saint Paul Campus of the University of Minnesota. The day was cloudy, so we didn’t see much, nor would we have, as we were outside the swath of totality, where millions of others were viewing. I felt a pang of regret to not be there, knowing it would be 20 years until the next one.  I didn’t want to be in the company of thousands to experience this day.  We caught a bit of live coverage from NASA.gov linked in from many of the ideal viewing sites with clear skies. The girls and I spent time outside mixing with the friendly crowd who had gathered. We walked to a campus coffee shop to get a warm drink and raised our cups to toast Mom.

Bicyclists, older couples, young families, some carrying colanders to capture the moon’s shadow created a jubilant mood. It was fun to watch the kids run shrieking, dipping their toes in the water garden, called back by their parents, more than ready for 2:00 to come. Heads turned skyward to watch the subtle shifts in the cloud cover, hoping for a breakthrough, adjusting their dark folding glasses, just in case. There was nothing remarkable to report about the predicted moment that came and went without fanfare.   The crowd thinned, walked to the parking lot, waving goodbye to the costumed greeters who had stuck it out as sun and moon, enthusiastic until the end.

I was satisfied to keep an eye out for that thin space of passage that opens on days like today,