There was no plan, I just
happened to connect the time in my head while I was waiting for my dog to
finish his morning business in the snow.
Commemoration of the second
milestone since mom left my world. It impacts the holidays to be sure, but I’ve
been told by those who lost their parents in earlier seasons the absences is
just as keen.
Here would be the place to
mention those attributes I found endearing; but to be honest the memory is
beginning to blur as I can’t hang my hat on anything that wouldn’t read
silly.
“What’s for dinner mom? Wind pudding and air sauce”. Was
my mom a smart-aleck, or just tired of having to answer the same question over
time?
Now I am a mature adult,
shaped into the person I most likely will remain with small incremental changes
internally, with major accelerated external differences coming. The values taught; the skills to dream;
continue to influence; even those that cause discord with my own child. “No son, respect is not something earned, but
always demonstrated”
Yikes, did I say that?
When my sisters and I talk of
mom we mostly agree she was an enigma; a powerful unpredictable force. One who
could charm and prohibit at a whim.
How can a child comprehend the
calculus only parents learn at the altar of error? I know of a forgiving phrase
I read by Marian Williamson, spokes person for A Course in Miracles; “They’d have done better if they knew how”
That’s a keeper to be sure.
Not just when reviewing parental relationships but for all relationships.
But back to the mourning loss
of an influence I had grow accustomed to. What was the most important, if not
to reflect on tenderness? My middle sister would not agree, but hers is a different point of view; that’s
alright by me, we have our own personal experiences to be sure. Whether mom, or dad for that matter, measured
up to my expectations has little to do with how I keep reverent values I was
taught before I could object or reason for myself.
I learned to strive to be
kind; without a stern negative mark against my name if I didn’t meet the mark. Was that etched in stone? Spoken solemnly at
the hearth fire? No, my witness to her
life was one giving me opportunity to filter out my judgment, then endear a
soul who took on the burden of me without promise of reward.
That’s plenty enough to gain
and keep my reverence: She didn’t have to. Loss of that kind of dedication is
the fount of heartbreak. She met love’s demand….give like it’s nobody’s
business How can that not result in gratitude?
Two years ago, to the day, on
the eve of the longest night of the year, she relaxed her struggle with a physical
exhaustion to remain. She earned her
rest from the quiet beauty of selfless sacrifice mom’s are.
