There's Grieving and Then ...

There's Hope!

Mom, Your Love Sustains Me Still

Today is the 7th anniversary of my mother's death. She died on January 3rd, late at night with just the two of us in the room. I always think of it as the completion of our cycle together; her bringing me into this world and me watching her walk into eternity. I got two pieces of advice when my granddaughter died two years before and they are both great pieces of advice. Especially today.
     I have--today--realized that I have carried a certain amount of guilt that I've ignored. My mother would laugh at me right now. She would ask, "For what?" Believe me, she would not understand. Now before you think my mother thinks me perfect ... well, almost perfect, the truth is that she knew, no, knows me well. Over the last seven years, she comes home when I need her. It is only a dream and I know that I am dreaming, but for one night, she makes everything alright. So, why the guilt?
     My mother loved me through the ups and downs of my life and I can still remember being so tired, I'd fallen asleep on the couch and still I could feel my mother's touch. It reminded me that at the end of her life, I spent a lot of time doing what was right. I kept good records. I knew every medicine, dosage and times I always got her favorite sherbet and when water started tasting bad--her disease played havoc with her taste buds, I got several brands until we found one that she liked. Yes, I did it. I was there. I did my job, but we didn't really talk. I left in the morning with a list of what I needed to do and went to work. I called throughout the day and we talked briefly each time. I was always aware of her and somewhere deep, but not too deep, I knew that I would not have her long. Long or short. It is all relative, I imagine. I just thought that if I kept doing what I had to do, that long or short, it would not happen. Crazy, huh? I thought somehow it would keep her there with me forever.
     And that is my guilt. I missed some opportunities that should I look at it through the eyes that are now opened, I would realize that we are only promised "this day" and that I blew it over and over again. Which, I suppose is why she comes back to me when I need her to because she knows that I'm not yet ready.
     But, Mom, I realize I would have never been ready and that though I accept that you are gone in the physical plane, that I will never be ready to let you go. And that is my hope. Because truthfully, I don't have to.  Okay, I didn't use that time as one who was knew that you were dying. We all are if we look at life as half-full or half-empty. I guess I will have to let go of both my guilt and my grief. Today is that day because I know that your love sustains me still and that I still have time to continue to love you until we meet again. And we will.
     Love you much, Mom. Your daughter, P.K.