Around
Christmas friends and acquaintances always ask what my plans for the holidays
are and they ask about my family. Or they ask if my mother is going to come see
us, because they don’t know me and their mother is flying in and they have it
on the brain. It is always a little bit of an awkward silence after I confess, “No,
my Mom passed away “x” number of years ago.”
It
was Christmas time, I remember the lights and decorations up as we drove
through town in our tiny Missouri town after the funeral. The lights blurred in
the reds, yellows, and greens like a water color as I cried my eyes out. I
remember looking out the car window thinking, “Why is there so much color?” I
wanted to drain it all away to match my mood.
It
was surreal to think of her gone. For about 5 years after her death, I dreamed
often she wasn’t gone. We weren’t close, but she was my Mom and there is
something indefinable that I miss about her---her being here.
17
years ago today, Mom, you passed away and I was so glad you were out of
tremendous pain, but I was also so sad to know you’d left, oh too soon. I miss
you, Mommy!
Mother, December 10th
I
sat down and it settled in
I
scheduled work today to distract me
I
was so busy until the children’s voices
rang
out with today’s date
just
a day to most
a
birthday to some
a
marriage proposal to others
a
job promotion
an
encouraging word
a
first book published
a
difficult test conquered
a
love gained and lost
a
mile walked or run for the first time
a
dry pair of socks given to someone living in the pouring rain
a
memory floating on a sea of mixed feelings
so
deep like paint that is stirred after sitting
reveals
its true shades
the
beauty ready to be spread
part
of a picture captured
created
out of using
not
wallowing,
thick
like stucco
Delicate
brush strokes
wire
thin, part of the bigger picture
the
date tells me this is the day
this
is the day you left
you
wandered off this coil
no
longer to be called mother, sister, or lover
by
anyone except in passing
many
stories repeated at first
then
the second verse
is
a little less, but still conveys
your
life story
and
the third verse often skipped
is
the heart of the song
I
can’t skip it
I
let it ring out
If
only to myself
But
sing as if everyone can hear it
And
then finish on the fourth
As
to the hope I find,
In
knowing where you are
And
where we might meet again,
On
this day to myself, I sing the whole song,
this
song sailing though
as
wind gusts blowing
sometimes
raging surprisingly powerful
to
the delight of those
that
speak not your name often
Except
now
on
this day
this
date
today
we
sing
No comments:
Post a Comment