Seven

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How can it be seven months already since my mother died? This is so hard for me to believe I can’t tell you. Of course, as everyone says when time has gone by quickly, it also feels as though it’s been years and years. I talked to my mother almost every day, either on the phone or by email. And since she lived here near me, we saw each other frequently as well.

There has been so much going on in the last seven months that I haven’t been able to talk to her about, and it hurts so much to realize that there will be many, many years’ worth of things coming that I won’t be able to share with her, rant about, celebrate… the loss is almost unbearable. I didn’t lose a mere parent, I lost my friend, advisor, business partner, and biggest cheerleader.

In the last six months, mom has missed:

  • The snowiest winter we’ve had in years – she loved snow, and would have taken countless pictures of it in her yard.
  • Her youngest son’s 40th birthday, the news that he’s been accepted into the U.S. Diplomat program, and his marriage.
  • My son’s first visit from the tooth fairy.
  • My oldest daughter’s 18th birthday.
  • Anticipation of my son’s first baseball and soccer games.
  • My 15 year old’s tales of learning to drive with her learner’s permit, and her first school dance with an actual date.

In addition, of course, there are so many things I would like to talk to her about… my belly dance class, my kids’ school work, plans for summer vacations, plans for my vegetable garden, my efforts to get published this year… I do talk to friends and others about these things, but I miss hearing her comments. Mom always had something to say, and the silence from her these last six months has been so difficult to bear. I have noticed that I am becoming very forgetful – more so than is typical – and wonder if I’m wiping my brain like an Etch-a-Sketch to keep from thinking about her absence, and at the same time wiping a lot of stuff I need to remember.

I know people mean well when they say “She knows even though she’s not here.” Or, “She’s here in spirit.” Thanks for that – I appreciate your attempts, but that’s really not comforting. If she IS here, then yay for her – I’m still suffering, and I still can’t talk to her and laugh with her and hear her sage advice (it matters not whether I would have taken it).

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About Laurie

I have too many hobbies, but have finally learned (sort of) how to focus on one at a time and stifle my desire to add more. ;) I'm a mom, a wife, a writer, an artist, a seamstress, a gardener, a backyard-chicken farmer, a fundraiser, a movie-lover, a book hoarder, a junker, a thrift-store-shopper... I also love to laugh, make people happy, and take road trips. Some of these things make it into blog posts. I'm almost 50 and I'm still able to sleep through the night. I consider that a success.

4 responses »

  1. My words exactly. Every time I spin yarn, I think of her. I’m not sure why – she didn’t use yarn. I think it’s because I am creating something that she would have loved and I can’t show it to her. I kind of felt that way today when I was working my yard. Mom isn’t here to show her my garden progress and get my garden daily updates.

  2. Oh that was a very poignant, beautiful post. Thank you for sharing your struggles. I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult losing a mother would be. I share everything with mine, and so I would miss her desperately.

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