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My mother died five years ago today.  But, tears still come to my eyes.  My children have expressed (or discontinued contact) their opinions on their own childhood as each person packs and carries his/her emotional baggage.

 

Things were not perfect in my relationship with my mother.  I, too, have my own memories of difficult times, very different personalities, or way of thinking.  For those that hear the story, their degrees of separation make them smile at my mother’s behavior.

 

Her way is how she was and is remembered by so many.  Mom made people feel comfortable and welcomed in friendship even if they had met for the first time.  She wrote letters to a jailed community member to comfort him (we knew nothing about this until after she had died).

 

Despite the differences, losing my parent was very painful.  She died of a cruel terminal disease so we watched her suffer before she eventually passed away.  For her it was a blessing, but the gap that she left behind is so large that my father is still struggling to bridge it.

 

She left behind many grandchildren and great grandchildren who would be so grateful to have such a woman in their lives.  Now, she is a photo or the subject of a brief story.  Mom is a reminiscence or a smile.

 

But, for me, tears still continue to fall.  Grief is elastic but never fully leaves the spirit.  It is a goodbye that never ends because there is nothing like a parent and no depth of love that can ever replace it.

 

I don’t know if it is so, but I hope that she is still watching me from the door as I walk away…..

 

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Three Letter Words.”

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April is a time of Spring, a renewal of Earth, a reminder of Spirit.

My birthday is this month as is an anniversary of my Mother’s passing.

Growing, hoping, praying, dreaming…….

Crying, rising, falling, never forgetting where we could be if a brilliant life hadn’t been shortened by a cruel disease.

My grief still stings; tears fill my eyes and fall without permission.

Forever more, knowing that I have lived another year, means remembering another year that took Mommy away.

No matter a fragile number of my years, my mother’s love reminded me that I became special to someone when brought into this world.  With my mother’s passing, I still feel bereft, forgotten, as no love could be as pure as that which my mother offered to me.

Grief takes a position at my table like a ghost; it is a guest that refuses to leave.  With me always, though never again, loss still takes my breath away.

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Get a group of siblings together, add a parent, or memories of one, and you will discover that you cannot imagine that you lived in the same house. It is incredible the variety of memories and stories from our youth that seem so different. Our emotions, inflections, good and bad, vary based on the relative telling the story. And, of course, we each think that someone else was her favorite.

At each family gathering, without my mother, the memories flow and the perspectives she left each of us with, becomes a topic of conversation. Her physical presence is not with us, but she is always a part of who we are and how we keep her with us.

We carry on her stories and merry escapades to share with our own children. By keeping her stories alive, we keep her a part of our lives always and make sure that our children and grandchildren realize how big a place she holds in our hearts. We sing her songs and greet each new family member with the lasting wishes she asked us to pass on. Her legacy of love is a promise we keep.

Luckily, Mom lived an interesting life, and had her own quirky way of looking at things, so that the story never ends.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/spinning-yarns/
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Thank you for stopping by! It means more than you know.
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