It has been many years now since my mother's death. I miss her daily...I think of her daily....I rue all that she has missed, too.
My mother holds Corky, one of our childhood dogs. I'd have to guess, but I think she was in her 40's here. She had already had ovarian cancer by this time. I was too young to really know the depth of fear that accompanies cancer. She spent time at Rosewell Hospital undergoing radiation. I remember her coming home, I remember her 'browned' stomach. She recovered, only to have cancer two more times in her life. She was a strong role model for me.
This is one of the later photos of her, still a lovely woman.
And here a favorite. She came to visit one Easter, maybe 15 years ago. How I see myself in my mother.
I remember how special I felt one day, I think I was about seven or eight, when she and I, no siblings, walked hand in hand to town. It was about a mile and a half walk, and I had my mother just to myself. I remember how sweet it felt, her hand and mine together. We lived with my grandmother, an aunt, and I have two sisters and a brother...we were a busy household, so a stroll with my mother was very special.
Despite being of advanced age myself, I miss a mother in my life, I miss my mother. There is an emptiness in me, an ache that never goes away. It subsides, but is never gone. It rears up boldly when, for example, I want to call her and tell her something of Iris and Elsa. I wish she had known them, I wish they had known her.
Today when I look in the mirror, I see my mother. I have grown to look so much like her, it seems uncanny.
My mother taught me so much, inspired so much in me, gave me so much, and expected much as well. I took dance lessons from the age of six through twelve. My mother sewed all of my dance costumes on our old Singer treadle machine. I recall my dance teacher always pointing out the costumes my mother made as being so well done.
Although my father was the Artist at cooking, my mother was a wonderful cook. I learned so much from her about day-long cooking, fresh ingredients, 'organic' before it was organic, and the simple love of feeding family.
I know my mother lives on in me, in my very flesh and blood and bones. I feel her strongly at times, even as I feel the grandmothers of old surrounding me. Although my mother died what seems a long time ago, she has really never left me alone.
Despite being of advanced age myself, I miss a mother in my life, I miss my mother. There is an emptiness in me, an ache that never goes away. It subsides, but is never gone. It rears up boldly when, for example, I want to call her and tell her something of Iris and Elsa. I wish she had known them, I wish they had known her.
Today when I look in the mirror, I see my mother. I have grown to look so much like her, it seems uncanny.
My mother taught me so much, inspired so much in me, gave me so much, and expected much as well. I took dance lessons from the age of six through twelve. My mother sewed all of my dance costumes on our old Singer treadle machine. I recall my dance teacher always pointing out the costumes my mother made as being so well done.
Although my father was the Artist at cooking, my mother was a wonderful cook. I learned so much from her about day-long cooking, fresh ingredients, 'organic' before it was organic, and the simple love of feeding family.
I know my mother lives on in me, in my very flesh and blood and bones. I feel her strongly at times, even as I feel the grandmothers of old surrounding me. Although my mother died what seems a long time ago, she has really never left me alone.
She
She fills my days unseen
yet everywhere,
permeates my life with
a love that
caresses
and carries me forward,
even as it
reaches
as far back as my birth.
‘Mother’, you so far exceed the
bounds of that
word,
the entire lexicon fails
to capture you…
and it is this, my life,
my beating heart,
the flow of my blood,
the strength of
my bones,
that holds and honors you…
and even now, so long after
your passing,
you fill me with your love.
3/22/15
