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| Everett wipes the raindrops off his glasses. He has started a load of clothes in the laundromat across the street, and joined me in the cafe for a bite to eat, killing time till they need to be transferred to dryers. |
Noon
Six years since Mom died. While she was sick, I used to try to imagine what life would be like after she was gone; I tried to imagine the future without her, five, six, ten years after, and was unable to. Here it is, six years, and it still doesn’t seem real. Oh, it’s real. That’s not the right word I guess, though it brings a hot tear to my eye.
I sent a short memoriam verse (author unknown) to the paper:
Sometimes a note of a song
brings us a thought of you.
Sometimes a flower as we pass along,
Or a sky that is azure blue,
Or a silver lining in the clouds
When the sunshine's peeping through.
Scott's mom called, asking if Everett could help plant her garden today. I said I’d bring him as soon as he was dressed. It’s sprinkling out there, and cold, but she was bent over the ground when I dropped him off. It’s raining hard enough near Yorkton to bring the farmers in from the fields, but here they’re still out. A news article today says about 43% of this area’s crops are in; it’s late enough that there will be a lot of worry about fall frosts.
8:34pm
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| From Everett's side of the café booth |
Home with clean laundry and an extra boy for the weekend, and thanks to the rainfall the young leaves on the caragana trees have doubled in size in just a few hours. And the scent out there ... glorious. Now just to put up with anxious grumpy farmers who can't finish seeding till the ground dries out.
On May 17th it was 10 years for me. I love your short memoriam. The same thing happens to me. There are times I want to grab the phone and call to tell her something that I heard or have seen.
ReplyDeleteI still miss my Momma.
To all who miss their mothers. You are so lucky to have been able to love her and be loved by her. Raised by her. Learned to be a woman through her example and advice.
ReplyDeleteI had none of that. My mother sexualized our relationship and I hated her and fought like all hell to get away from her. I finally had a nervous breakdown. I was very lucky. Then I begin to build a new life (post breakdown) that was mine and not connected to parensts.
I listen to you all and try to imagine loving a mother. It is hard. A huge stretch. I do understand a little through the love/affection I feel for my psychotherapy clients.But that is a professinal relationship with firm boundaries.
If I could have one thing in the world, it would be a mother who loved herself, had her own life, and also loved me.
I empathize with your grief. Just wanted to sy I would change place with any of you. My mother died in l990 and I felt nothing. Just a horrible nothing. A void. Awful.
claire
I too, find everyone very lucky if they've had a true and wonderful mother/daughter relationship. Mine was a child abuser. I don't know what I'll feel when she goes. Like 'Claire' (above), all I feel now is nothing so I imagine that won't change.
ReplyDeleteLovely tribute for your Mom, Kate.
Kate from NY
I am one of the lucky ones who had a kind mother that gave generously of her love and support to us all. If I could share some of that with you who have not had it, I would.
ReplyDeleteI have noticed that, in areas where I have not been lucky, people don't always get it if I say my experience differs from theirs. So I want to say thank you for telling us about the void and absence of feeling.
I have the sense that feeling nothing is much sadder and more painful than feeling sad. You have inspired me with your truthfulness and today, I will be more thankful when I cry about losses, because I did have something beautiful to lose, and others are not so lucky.
Julie
This entry, these comments, women at their best. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteTime heals but we never forget. Not a day passes that I don't wish my was here too. Take care
ReplyDelete