It is September, Mom

Sometimes, out of the blue, I think of her, my mother.
Sometimes, I don't shove the memories back down into the nice little hole I keep them.
Sometimes, it all comes back up, that whole death thing.
Sometimes, I wonder... why haven't I taken down the old photo albums?
Sometiems, I have imaginary conversations with her.
Sometimes, I think, if I called her for advice, what would she say?
Sometimes, people talk about their mothers, and I miss mine.
Sometimes, I wonder if my faith died with her.
Sometimes, I wonder at all the things that did go with her.
Sometimes, I look at my children and wish she could see them too.
Sometimes, I wish I could hug her.
Sometimes, I'd settle for a slight touch.
Sometimes, though. Just sometimes.

More waxing on

I wonder when this became a blog about my mother.

I think, for the New Year, it will not be about so much sadness. My mother would want me to be happy, and would be annoyed if after a year spent blogging about how sad I was I was losing her, I spent another year blogging about how sad I am that she's not around.

I remember when my grandfather died. I didn't understand her sadness. You see, she was in her 40s or 50s. And yes, he was only in his 70s, but I thought she was ready for it, that she accepted she would lose him.

Now, I understand.

Because even though I am in my thirties, the emptiness is not one that can be filled, and while, perhaps if you are 50, and someone you love passes away at 90, you still miss them.

Ah, but I'm breaking my rule for 2008.

Positive introspection, so I must end on a positive note.

Today is Jan. 7, 2008, 12:43 a.m. (Yes, I'm having a hard time sleeping tonight)
The year 2007 has left us, bye bye crappy year.
The year 2008 has been here safely for 7 days and 43 minutes.

May the year be filled with fortune, and a few lovely, fortuitous endeavors.

Ah, lonliness

I want to call my mother about once every other day.

I think about her every day.

I wonder where she is, if she is anywhere.

And I think it unfair she died so young.

It irritates me that I can't call her, talk to her, touch her, anymore, and I'm sure the irritation is just a manifestation of a deep anger that I haven't come to terms with.

My sister ran a 10K race, and was excited, but had no one to call that would care, but me. Because our mother isn't with us anymore.
She feels the same way I do about it, which is interesting. Usually people have different reactions, our reactions have been identical.

I promised my daughter I'd bring down the photo album this week and show her pictures.

I think I'm ready for that.

Then, on the other hand, my father calls me every other day. The man who never called before, and if who picked up the phone would spend about one minute and 30 seconds before passing it on to our mother. He can talk, I discovered, for quite a long time.

He is coping, as well as you can imagine. He was married to my mother for 42 years. They married at 19 and 20. So, you can imagine, he's having a hard time.

The Pink Crystal

Clouds in the crystal.

Anyhow, when I was 16 or 17, I bought my mom a pink rosequartz crystal. She was very new age, and deserved one. I had a job. It was around $80. I loved it, I did. I admit it. But it was for her. And I gave it to her. I wouldn't let her give it back because she really loved it. It was her gift!

I have it now.

It sits on my desk.

A reminder that what you give in life often comes back to you.

The comforting presence

Sometimes, I feel my mother.

I don't know where we go when we die, what happens, what we become... sometimes I think we disperse and become energy or thought, flitting off to join other thoughts and energies... other times I think we are part of a cycle, always growing, so we live, we die, we are reborn, and at other times I think it's a mix of everything. I do think it's a science though, dullard that I am, just one that's not explained. I think our subconscious lurks elsewhere, and can't actually be located in our brains, but outside of it. This, of course, is purely philosophical meandering.

I know nothing.

But, I know, sometimes, every now and again, I feel my mother, and it's comforting. It's odd, since it's not a presence you expect to turn around and see, or a voice you expect to hear, but it's the scent of a childhood memory, the feel of a caress that didn't quite touch, the safety of a child in their mother's arms. I feel, occasionally, wrapped in her presence.

It is one of the strangest feelings I've had, but yet, it's very comforting.

I imagine that my mother is flying away somewhere, free as can be, off doing the wondrous things she could never do hear. I imagine it's different for everyone.

The Phone Call I Can't Make

I went down the stairs.
I was going to call my mom.
Oops.
It was nice to have forgotten for a moment.
Not so nice to remember.
Overall, I'm doing okay.
I remember the strangest things about her though, things I thought I'd forgotten.

She used to dance with us.
Her favorite perfume was Emeraude when we were younger, Vanilla scents when we were older.
She liked "Bad Moon Rising' but never sang it right.
Very few understood how smart she really was.

Little things, little moments pop back into memory.
Sitting down in our little kitchen drinking coffee after school.
Going for walks.
Her laugh.
A winter vacation in Michigan.
Her love of lighthouses, quaint tourist town shops and vanilla lattes.
More and more little things come back.
But overall I'm doing okay.

Good bye

My mom passed away shortly after midnight EST.

It was peaceful and quiet.

My father believes she had left us a few days ago. It was her heart. She had a very strong heart. Always did. The doctors always told her her heart was very strong, just like her spirit. The heart just kept pumping, until it finally gave up.

I'm glad in a weird way, that her heart didn't let her down, that it was the strongest part of her.

Bye, Mom. I love you.