I never really know how this anniversary will affect me each year, the anniversary of my mother’s death. Last year, I was surprisingly stable and not unhappy, and I thought that maybe I was “getting over it.”
Enter this year: I am never going to get over it.
A strange fact that is blowing my mind this year: when my mom was my age, 37, I was 18 years old. WHAT?? I can remember my mom as a 37-year-old woman, and I can’t remember her at all. I was busy being 18 and self-absorbed. What I really want, more than anything, is to talk to my mom about being a 37-year-old woman.
I just miss her, too, plain and simple. I want her to come over and sit in the driveway with me and gloat over my pink climbing rose and my enormous, out-of-control lavender bush that is taking over said driveway. I want to drop in and let Aiden go mess about in the woods while I hang out with her on the deck, or down by the pool. I want to call her number on the phone, and hear HER voice answer.
So, yeah, fifteen years is a long time to wait around to do these things, to miss someone.
There is also somehow a sweetness swirled through all the pain, an overwhelming gratitude.
The sweet thought that the number of years I will miss her is finite.
Exactly. What you said. Only I want to talk to her about our grandchildren. And about getting old- and about eternity. I just want to talk to her. I miss her with an ache that will not leave- like a terminal pain that is eating away. Fifteen years feels like an eternity.
I love you.
Allyson, I’m so sorry that this is a yukky year. My heart is sad for you. Many times I think about your mom and wish I could ask her a question about gardening or how she made bacon on the grill or what she would suggest for something or other. She was such a creative woman! I can only imagine how your heart aches for your mom. I’ll pray for you today and whenever God puts you on my mind!
Amen.
Allyson, my heart goes out to you. You are often in my prayers. I see Robin in you more and more. Just in the way you go about your life. She would be proud of the woman you’ve become. I love you!
You know, I miss her more now. I’ve cried many private tears since she went Home, and for me the ache grows deeper. Aiden will never know her here, and that makes me sad. But he will know of her. He knows of her now, though in ways he cannot yet understand. I miss her on his behalf. And I miss on her behalf his childhood.