Posts tagged ‘loss of mother’
We’re all grown up but aren’t there days when we wish we had our mommies?
Our mommies held us when we were frightened, kissed our boo-boos and stood by our sick beds, wiping our brows of sweat.
We’re possibly most vulnerable when we’re sick. It’s one of the times we wish we had mom back. Even if she couldn’t fix us, somehow her mere presence made us better, even if just a little.
I’ve been sick a lot in recent weeks, and I’ve missed writing my blog a couple of times because of it. In fact, I’ve been sick a lot of my life, but too much this year. I finally decided my problems weren’t going away on their own. I took the list of symptoms to my primary care doctor Tuesday. I put seven freakin’ things on there!
I omitted one, the newest symptom, a pain in the left side of my abdomen. The doctor asked me to lay down. He felt of my hardened, bloated belly.
I don’t want to tell you that I’m grieving again. Not that I ever really stopped, but after eight years without my Mom, it wasn’t intruding into my every hour or day in that heartbreaking way.
But lately, it has – in that heartbreaking way. In that way that hinders sleep. In that way that casts a pall over everything I do. I smile, but inside a part of me is crying.
I know what happened. I’m being called upon to let go of my parents’ home. I’ve known all along this is what I’d probably do. Sell. But the day was far away.
I stared into the sky at the black hole ringed with white-hot fire. I’d never seen anything like this before in my life. It was unearthly. Alien. Tears flooded my eyes. Awe flooded my soul.
My mother taught me to gaze into the cosmos as a girl. She walked into the front yard, brought the binoculars to her eyes and found the craters on Luna. Then she handed the binoculars to me.
Mom never saw a total solar eclipse. I wish she’d been alive to see it with me Aug. 21. My husband and I traveled from Memphis, in the partial eclipse zone, to western Kentucky to see the sun go totally dark. We’d booked our hotel room 10 months in advance. I packed a bracelet of Mom’s. I’d wear it during the eclipse in honor of her.
In the moments before the moon totally blacked out the sun, I was skeptical, building to upset. I’d heard it got dark enough to see stars, but it was daylight with more than 90 percent of the sun covered. An eerie pallor draped us, but I’d seen a partial eclipse before.
What is the good of grief? Is there anything we can snatch from the jaws of death? Or is it a final defeat – senseless, purposeless and meaningless?
My mother died eight years ago today. I remember feeling the sense of total defeat for her. I was still alive. I might rise from the ashes of my grief and find joy again. But she was dead.
My feelings contradicted my spiritual beliefs. I believed my mom was in heaven and in the presence of God. But I live in a tangible world. I could not see where she was or how she was.