It’s been almost two years since you’ve died, yet I find myself changed on this Mother’s Day, more so than even last year, the first Mother’s Day since your death. I don’t want to be reminded of Mother’s Day. I don’t want to think about it. We stayed home from church. I didn’t wear the white carnation that signified you are dead. I wanted to forget about mothers, and the mothering energy, and the fact that you are no longer here. I see other women with their mothers, and now I know why John urged me to appreciate you. When you’re gone, you’re gone, and no matter relationship anyone has with their mothers, their dying leaves a huge gaping hole in your life’s vision, so that you keep thinking there’s something there, yet when you look, all you see is sky and air. I have the memories of who you were, I can even call up the sound of your voice, the feel of your skin, the feel of your lips on my cheek as you kiss me, the softness of your hair, the little white hair on your chin, but at the end of it all there’s still ... nothing.
I don’t miss you, per se, but I feel something very sad and deep inside of me, like everybody getting to go to a party and I had to stay home. Only I DID go to a party, the Mom Party, for almost 48 years, so I don’t quite know what I’m saying. I think I’m saying that I didn’t have you long enough, Mom. I still don’t see how I’m supposed to live the whole second half of my life without you. I’m so glad Dad’s still here, though. He’s a joy in my life, like one of my best friends. I’m so grateful I get him for a while yet. It would almost be too much if you were BOTH gone from my life. So I guess I’ll just content myself to talk to you from time to time. I know you’re here - I hear you all the time, we talk, yes I know we figured all that out before you died, and that’s fine, but I realize I don’t talk to you too much. I have my life. My almost 50 year old life that doesn’t quite yet feel like it’s MY life - it still feels like it’s everyone else’s that I’m helping with. I don’t quite know how to turn that around, Mom. Did you ever figure that one out? I think maybe toward the end you did - you were always so willing, so open to trying new things. Maybe it’s not too late for me, do you think?
If you’re not too busy there in your new adventures, could you let me know you’re around, especially today? It’s such a sweet holiday, but for those who’ve lost their mothers, it’s also a bittersweet one, seeing all the mothers with their children, and my arms are empty of you. You were so substantial, I never realized how big you were to me until you were no longer there and there was the emptiness, the space, the sky. It’s not bad - it just is. I know that. Life, the whole circle of life thing. I get it. I just want to tell you that you are still so dearly loved, Mom. I know you didn’t want to miss anything, and I know you know everything that’s going on, and I know you continue to love us all fiercely, wherever you are right now. And I’m loving you just as fiercely back. And as always, I’m quite certain that no matter how much you say you love me, that I love you more. Always - #5