We are coming up on 8 years since my mother died.
It is harder this year than in the last two, maybe because we can’t say she’s been gone “about 5 years” anymore. We are probably going to start saying she’s been gone “almost ten years”.
A DECADE.
A DECADE.
A DECADE.
Last night I was thinking about Mom and I remembered how, when any of her children were sick, sad or scared, she would cup one of our cheeks, look into our eyes and say, “my poor baby, if I could have this for you I would.” And we knew she meant it. It was a fierce connection between mother and child(ren).
It was also ferocious on the flip-side. When Mom was dying of cancer, my sister said to her, “I wish I could take some of it from you because I am strong enough to handle it.” My mother got so agitated that she looked like she might burst. My sister got the message: Mom, until the day she died, would try to protect us. There was no two-way street in this circumstance.
I still feel my mother’s love. It endures. Unfortunately, her voice and her hugs are gone.