Really missing Mom today... and yesterday... and last week... and last month... It's still hard to believe she's not here with us anymore. I couldn't imagine life without her, and I still can't. The reality hits me like a punch in the gut several times a day and a quiet wail starts in my stomach and forces itself out of my mouth. Then I get busy again until the next time the truth pinches me awake.
I tell myself, "This is life. Everyone loses their mother at some point." But that doesn't lessen the pain. It does give me hope when I see other people surviving the death of someone close to them, and living normal lives eventually. And yes, I know I'll see her again, and I'm sooooo grateful for that, but until then, I miss her presence and her friendship and her sense of humor and her smile and the way her hands felt when I held them as I painted her nails. They were smaller, and her fingers tapered to a feminine point, unlike mine. I have my father's fingers that are the same width on the tips as they are where they're attached to the palm. I sniff her manicure kit every so often-- it smells like her.
She was always such a safe place for me and my siblings. Not over-protective. Not intrusive. Not demanding at all. But we knew she loved us unconditionally. We knew she was in our corner even if everybody else was not. And if she disagreed with us, that never changed how she treated us or felt about us.
When Mom's hairdresser hugged me at the memorial service, she said, "I know... Mom's aren't supposed to die." She had lost her mother earlier this year.
Mom's aren't supposed to die. The thought of Mom being gone is still inconceivable. And yet life plows on like a harrower, breaking up clods, removing weeds, and smoothing the soil, getting it ready for the next seeds of life lessons and experiences.
Yesterday I looked at photo after photo of white rooms. Usually vintage-looking white rooms. They calm my soul. They give me a sense of peace and joy. I'm not sure why. Someday I hope to paint the inside of my house white. And much of the furniture. But if I don't get around to it in this life, I kinda think heaven may look a lot like a white room.
As I walked around the football field track this morning, the students in the homecoming court arrived to practice for this evening. It's been forty years since I did that same thing. How did that happen? I see them; I know what they're doing. But they don't see me. My time has past.
Today I decided to pause in trying to make a living from home and just read a book. I even walked over to the library without makeup or my hair brushed! Poor desk clerk. She probably thought Halloween was starting early.
But even if I take a rain check on reality for a day, life still moves on. My body still ages. The hair on my legs and upper lip keep growing, darn it, along with the grass outside. Life is maintenance, and it demands my attention. Keep calm and carry on, a popular catch-phrase today comes to mind. I discovered that Winston Churchill didn't actually come up with that slogan, although he is usually given credit for it. Some bookstore owners discovered an un-used war poster in a box of old books 50 years after the war. After they framed it, the slogan took on a life of its own. Reading about how hard life was throughout history is enough to make me straighten up and get on with life.
And for everyone else's sake, Donna, "Keep your makeup on while you carry on."
