"Most of all the other beautiful things in life come by twos and threes, by dozens and hundreds. Plenty of roses, stars, sunsets, rainbows, brothers, and sisters, aunts and cousins, but only one mother in the whole world."-- Kate Douglas Wiggin
I saw my mom today. I often notice her when I least expect it and it always takes me by surprise, each time I see pieces of the love that she left behind. Even though its been more than a year, her love continues to shape our lives, though we may not notice it right away. And we continue to pass on that love to the babies of the family that will never know her or the special person she was.
I see her influence in the lives of my family, my father, my sisters, my nieces and their children and the people they have become. I saw her in the look of adoration my niece had for her son as he celebrated his 2nd year on this earth. I see her in the way my father cares for the puppies she left behind, lovingly comforting them and tending to their needs. I see her in the way my sister loves and cares for her grandbabies, helping them to become strong but loving people. I see her in the way my sister stays strong, when so many close to her are suffering. I see her in the way my niece holds onto her beliefs to get her through times when her heart aches for things she dreams of. All of these things are pieces of my mother's love.
Throughout our lives, my mother gave us little pieces of herself , giving us the one thing she knew would stay imprinted on our hearts and minds, long after she was gone. Her love. If we were doubting ourselves, she was there to build us up. If we were worried about a trial in our lives, she was there to give us hope that it would okay. If we were celebrating a special event, she was the first there to congratulate us and tell us how proud she was. If we were hurting and needed someone to let us break down, she was there, to wipe our tears and hold our hands. If we felt like everyone had turned their backs on us, she was there to tell us we'd be okay standing on our own. If we worried that things would never get better, she was there to show us that even if they weren't, things would be alright, that we'd make it through. Her strength was unimaginable, the depth of her love was immense. She held us all for as long as she could. Then she left the pieces behind, to help us make it on our own. She's still here, inside each of us, shaping our lives, warming our hearts, giving us strength we might not have had without her.
Although I wish that I could hold her beautiful hand again and stroke her soft hair, I'm comforted knowing that if I look around at the family created by her love, I'll see her, I'll feel her. The pieces of her are still here. They're are in the little things we do for others and they're in the way we love. We owe that all to her. She made sure she left those pieces behind. What a gift she gave us.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
One of those days
The death of a mother is the first sorrow wept without her. Author Unknown
Gosh, I miss my mom today. Its one of those days when I wish I could call her, hear her sweet voice, and talk about normal stuff, even for just a few minutes. What did you do today? How have you been feeling? Do you think Greg would like some beans this week? Have you been watching Survivor? All normal, uneventful conversations but so precious to me now. How I wish I could talk to her for even a moment, just to feel that comfort that her voice gave. She had the most tender voice. And you always knew that in that moment, you were the most important thing on her mind. Every word was one of love, caring or concern. She always wanted to make sure that we were okay. That was her way. How I'm missing that today.
Its funny how I can sit now and remember conversations we had, seemingly obscure at the time, but now like wonderful, heartbreaking home movies in my mind. Her expressions and the way she spoke were so genuine and those images now are the recordings of the most beautiful person I've known. On days like this, when her memory is so close to the surface, I sit and flip through my mental recordings, pausing on moments that I wish I had cherished more, and feel sorry for myself, wishing I had even one of these moments back, in real time. Longing for this can make the coping even harder, but when we lose someone that we love as much as I did my mom, I think that the pain we feel is our price for loving, so I've come to expect it. But to love and be loved by someone like her, its worth the pain I feel now and the tears streaming down my face. I was so lucky to have her as my mom.
In my life I had heard people talk of not taking a moment for granted, of making the most of each day, of living today like it was your last. But we never realize the truth of those statements until its too late. Life gets in the way and the longer we live, the more moments that slip away unnoticed. Then the day comes when the story stops and you long for what you had all along, but its over. There is no rewind, fast forward or pause on life and I hate that. I've come to accept it but I still don't like it. Not one bit.
Let everyone you love know how you feel. Do it today. And say it often. Your movie may be almost over too. Don't wait.
Gosh, I miss my mom today. Its one of those days when I wish I could call her, hear her sweet voice, and talk about normal stuff, even for just a few minutes. What did you do today? How have you been feeling? Do you think Greg would like some beans this week? Have you been watching Survivor? All normal, uneventful conversations but so precious to me now. How I wish I could talk to her for even a moment, just to feel that comfort that her voice gave. She had the most tender voice. And you always knew that in that moment, you were the most important thing on her mind. Every word was one of love, caring or concern. She always wanted to make sure that we were okay. That was her way. How I'm missing that today.
Its funny how I can sit now and remember conversations we had, seemingly obscure at the time, but now like wonderful, heartbreaking home movies in my mind. Her expressions and the way she spoke were so genuine and those images now are the recordings of the most beautiful person I've known. On days like this, when her memory is so close to the surface, I sit and flip through my mental recordings, pausing on moments that I wish I had cherished more, and feel sorry for myself, wishing I had even one of these moments back, in real time. Longing for this can make the coping even harder, but when we lose someone that we love as much as I did my mom, I think that the pain we feel is our price for loving, so I've come to expect it. But to love and be loved by someone like her, its worth the pain I feel now and the tears streaming down my face. I was so lucky to have her as my mom.
In my life I had heard people talk of not taking a moment for granted, of making the most of each day, of living today like it was your last. But we never realize the truth of those statements until its too late. Life gets in the way and the longer we live, the more moments that slip away unnoticed. Then the day comes when the story stops and you long for what you had all along, but its over. There is no rewind, fast forward or pause on life and I hate that. I've come to accept it but I still don't like it. Not one bit.
Let everyone you love know how you feel. Do it today. And say it often. Your movie may be almost over too. Don't wait.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Stitches of love
"There are no goodbyes for us. Wherever you are, you will always be in my heart."
Ghandi
Though my mother never knew it, she was an artist. She wasn't a painter, with a pallette of colors to cover a canvas. She wasn't a sculptor, creating images from blocks of stone. Her art was made up of tiny stitches of love.
My mother loved to make quilts and she made one for everyone in her family. The adult children received theirs on their birthday and the grandchildren, when they turned 16. It was her way of giving those that she loved, a piece of her, something to cherish even when she was gone. Something to keep us warm when her arms were no longer here to hold us. She put her heart and soul into each quilt, carefully choosing the pattern, the design, the colors, making sure it was just right for the person that it would go to. But the most amazing part of each piece she made was the tiny, perfect stitches. Thousands upon thousands of tiny, perfect stitches, done by hand, covering quilts that would take months to piece and sew, and hundreds of hours to complete. She could have completed each quilt in a matter of days if she had used a machine but doing it by hand was her way of showing us just how much we meant to her. Each stitch was a warm hug, a soft kiss on the cheek, a sweet smile, a hand held softly for no reason. Each stitch was an act of love.
She would get so excited when she had completed the next quilt, eager to show us, to see what we thought and hoping that it was alright. Even though it should have been obvious to her just how beautiful her work was, she always wondered if it was good enough, wanting it to be perfect. That's the way she was about everything she did for us. She gave her all.
Now that she's gone, seeing that quilt in the closet brings back a flood of emotions each time I see it. Just thinking about the hours she spent making those tiny stitches, just for me and each one full of love, causes me to hold it to my chest and cry. Not only tears of sadness because I want her back so badly but tears of gratefulness that I had her at all. To have someone that loves you so completely is truly a gift. My mother was a gift.
Ghandi
Though my mother never knew it, she was an artist. She wasn't a painter, with a pallette of colors to cover a canvas. She wasn't a sculptor, creating images from blocks of stone. Her art was made up of tiny stitches of love.
My mother loved to make quilts and she made one for everyone in her family. The adult children received theirs on their birthday and the grandchildren, when they turned 16. It was her way of giving those that she loved, a piece of her, something to cherish even when she was gone. Something to keep us warm when her arms were no longer here to hold us. She put her heart and soul into each quilt, carefully choosing the pattern, the design, the colors, making sure it was just right for the person that it would go to. But the most amazing part of each piece she made was the tiny, perfect stitches. Thousands upon thousands of tiny, perfect stitches, done by hand, covering quilts that would take months to piece and sew, and hundreds of hours to complete. She could have completed each quilt in a matter of days if she had used a machine but doing it by hand was her way of showing us just how much we meant to her. Each stitch was a warm hug, a soft kiss on the cheek, a sweet smile, a hand held softly for no reason. Each stitch was an act of love.
She would get so excited when she had completed the next quilt, eager to show us, to see what we thought and hoping that it was alright. Even though it should have been obvious to her just how beautiful her work was, she always wondered if it was good enough, wanting it to be perfect. That's the way she was about everything she did for us. She gave her all.
Now that she's gone, seeing that quilt in the closet brings back a flood of emotions each time I see it. Just thinking about the hours she spent making those tiny stitches, just for me and each one full of love, causes me to hold it to my chest and cry. Not only tears of sadness because I want her back so badly but tears of gratefulness that I had her at all. To have someone that loves you so completely is truly a gift. My mother was a gift.
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