previous post next post  

I know you don't need a shoulder to cry on...

...but if T needs to take a nap, or change to a dry shirt, you can use mine for a while.

I'm still not over the loss of my mother. It's a pain that fades to an ache, but it's still there - and will pop up at the silliest times, for the silliest reasons.

But then you realize that that's good. It's how they stay with us, impishly popping out of our memory to surprise us. On their terms, not ours. They are our 'rents after all.  They have that right.

And it makes you smile. Mebbe a little wet around the edges of the eyes, but still, you're smiling.

7 Comments

I have to agree with you on the memories popping up at the strangest times.

I lost my Aunt Mary (Mae) this past April 28th, and I will have her words pop into my head for no reason at all. When my grandmother (who could change the pitch of  her voice just like the old school elementary teacers and command the attention of the entire room) passed away, my aunt took over the role of Matriarch for the family.

For some reason it is usually when I have a tough decision on my mind or I need a word of encouragement to pull me from a funk that I hear her, and it is usually just a word or two of advice that she gave me years ago that fits the situation to a T.
 

When I was 11 we moved one street over to live with my grandmother.  My grandfather had been gone for a few years and she was struggling to hang onto the house.  My parents and my grandmother decided we would move in with her and we would rent out our own house.  This worked out with very few hiccups until my grandmother passes in January of 1999.  So, as you can imagine, she was a great influence in my life.

My sisters and I speak of her and quote her so often that frequently people think she is still alive.

My parents came down to the family cottage for their two weeks recently.  I stopped in the store to pick up my mother's favorite candy.  My hand was on a bag of snack size Milky Ways to pop in the freezer for Mama Kelley before I remembered.....

And yes, my smile was a little wet around the edges.

 
Very true John.  I don't think the pain of grief ever fully leaves us.  My grandmother died not long ago and I feel that more keenly still.  I still even feel it for a dog which died over 25 years ago.  Grief may fade, it may be mixed with the joy of love but it lives on.  Maybe that's how we acquire longevity... via memories from those that love us.
 
I often think of things I want to ask Mom or Dad.  The twinge that occurs is usually quickly followed by a rush of memories, and that is good. 
 
Very true, John. I lost my little brother rather unexpectedly, two months ago now, and the tears are just a hair away.  We thought -- including his doctors -- that he was getting better, but the cancer staged a comeback and got him.  Miss you, Ross.
 
Yes indeed.  Mom was an excellent cook, and she had a truly warped sense of humor that she didn't let out very often.  It was unladylike, you see.  Years ago, my father sold his partnership in a business venture and for a while, our little family was in the clutches of poverty until all was made right.  I never knew we were poor.  I thought poor people had run down homes, lived in filth and didn't have clean clothes or enough to eat.  Not only that, poor people didn't have a mother who could sing like an angel, or one who could play anything on the piano.  We are not ever supposed to get over the grief.  It is the shadowy sweetness of life.  It reminds us of who is waiting for us and who we most want to see, and we hope they are proud of us.  I know your mother is happy with the children she raised and is watching over you. 
 
Our loved ones are always with us, never too far away. I lost my mom 5 years ago and my dad 3 years now. but I can still see them, I can still hear their voices. And that is ok. That is the way I want it to be, like you say, their memories pop up unexpectedly, in their terms, but as long as I can close my eyes and see them, it is ok. with me. And a tear is not too far either. I am 52 and still cry for them, but like you said, it is ok, after all they were my parents.