They say time heals all wounds, but sadly I know this axiom isn’t true.
Sometimes the pain of this loss is dull and distant, at other times it is sharp
and immediate. Over the years there have been many occasions when I was able to
talk about her with great objectivity and little emotion. There have also been
many times when I’ve found myself suddenly and unexpectedly overcome with
grief, regret, guilt, longing and sorrow.
Today I felt her presence very strongly and missed her very deeply. I am actually glad for that. It would be sadder still to no longer feel a connection, a deep love, a longing for my mother. My father passed away almost two years before my mother, and though I was a daddy’s girl and loved my father very much, it is simply not the same. Children seem to continue to love even the worst of mothers -- I believe it’s a biological imperative -- and mine was among the best. No matter how old we get, we still need our mommies.
This morning, in yet another affirmation of the serendipity of life, the
kismet that threads through our days, the coincidence that is really thinly
veiled guidance along our right path -- as I was searching for an address book
so I could call my aunt, my mother’s oldest sister, I instead came upon an accordion
file of my mother’s many writings -- which I had organized and categorized a
few years ago. Among her many talents, my mother was a gifted writer -- yet she
never shared her written voice beyond putting typewriter or pen to paper.
Perhaps she would have done this later in her life, when the internet made
sharing your words as simple as putting fingertips to a keyboard. But she ran
out of time.
I have time. So I will make sure my mother’s voice is heard for any
who want to hear it, but most importantly for those of us who loved her -- and whom
she loved. It will be my ode, of sorts,
to my mother.
I love you, Mom.
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