Have you ever felt suddenly guided? Like you knew you weren't making this choice to move on your own? While choosing a card for a friend at the bookstore at work Friday, I was ...standing in front of the cards that said "to a son from mother" and grabbed one. And it was perfectly descriptive of what I think my mom thought about my brother, her first child, her only boy, the love of her life. It took everything I had not to cry right then and there. (so remember not to approach me in the LSU bookstore if I'm standing in front of the cards, y'all)
So I bought it, and will send it to my brother...because mom inspired me to reach for it and think to do this for him, I just felt it. I have many cards from her, and will cut out her "Love, Mom" signature and glue it in there. Let him get verklempt, too. There's an inexplicable bond for a mother with her son, and I saw that in the last 10 years with them. Her death affected him in a very different way than it did me.
This has put her forefront in my mind this weekend, and I realized something that many of you know already...someone didn't fully explain grief to me in the beginning. "Time" they said, will heal my pain at losing her. I found out that this part was true last week when I got a new phone and was able to delete her non-existent contact info from it with a little guilt but realizing I could finally do this after almost two years. Yet, though my "acute" pain at losing her would abate...they didn't mention the grief that grows over time.
I've now recognized why my friends and family that lost their parents years ago tear up almost immediately or soften their voice when they talk or just don't bring it up. You become fatigued over time with the weight of life without being able to share it with your lost parent. You know that feeling if they are alive now, "oh, I haven't talked to Mom in FOR-ever! I need to call her". Because of that unconditional love and support, that hug across the miles that let's you feel like even your bad choices are quite alright, you'll always be just fine...you always, always have a cheerleader on your sideline.
When time goes on and on and on, without that reassurance and love and validation, even, your heart has moments of heaviness that can't be explained until you take a moment to really think of why...
I was fortunate enough to attend a Roman Catholic service today for a friend choosing to join that faith. It's hard for me to step into a Catholic church because I just feel my mother in every prayer that's said and scripture that's read. I'm always on the brink of walking out, because I don't know if I can handle her essence that heavy on me. But today, since it was a small group of people, and Monsignor was quite a jolly fellow with a superb wit and story telling ability, I settled in to a needed comfort zone. The smells, the recitations, the habits that are ingrained in me though I don't profess to be of that faith anymore, were such a caress today. The stained glass windows, familiar statues, stations of the cross, pews, standing/kneeling/sitting/standing/sitting/kneeling/standing ;-) - tis the Catholic way. My mother loved it and she helped me feel that calm within today.
As always, I lit a vigil candle and donned a beautiful handmade, black lace mantilla I got just after her death, kneeling close by the Virgin Mary. Because, well, Mom really felt a reflection of herself in Mary, I think, by name (Marilyn) and deed (selflessness and struggle). Doing this makes me feel very reverent and curiously capable of focusing only on Mom.
I suppose now the journey will be to find strength within myself to live the rest of my life without her...a seeming eternity, really. But certainly her goal and hope had always been to instill this kind of strength in my brother and me. I'm so thankful that she knows we're not capable of that right now and that some divine motivation is needed from time to time, like sending my brother a message "from" her.
So I bought it, and will send it to my brother...because mom inspired me to reach for it and think to do this for him, I just felt it. I have many cards from her, and will cut out her "Love, Mom" signature and glue it in there. Let him get verklempt, too. There's an inexplicable bond for a mother with her son, and I saw that in the last 10 years with them. Her death affected him in a very different way than it did me.
This has put her forefront in my mind this weekend, and I realized something that many of you know already...someone didn't fully explain grief to me in the beginning. "Time" they said, will heal my pain at losing her. I found out that this part was true last week when I got a new phone and was able to delete her non-existent contact info from it with a little guilt but realizing I could finally do this after almost two years. Yet, though my "acute" pain at losing her would abate...they didn't mention the grief that grows over time.
I've now recognized why my friends and family that lost their parents years ago tear up almost immediately or soften their voice when they talk or just don't bring it up. You become fatigued over time with the weight of life without being able to share it with your lost parent. You know that feeling if they are alive now, "oh, I haven't talked to Mom in FOR-ever! I need to call her". Because of that unconditional love and support, that hug across the miles that let's you feel like even your bad choices are quite alright, you'll always be just fine...you always, always have a cheerleader on your sideline.
When time goes on and on and on, without that reassurance and love and validation, even, your heart has moments of heaviness that can't be explained until you take a moment to really think of why...
I was fortunate enough to attend a Roman Catholic service today for a friend choosing to join that faith. It's hard for me to step into a Catholic church because I just feel my mother in every prayer that's said and scripture that's read. I'm always on the brink of walking out, because I don't know if I can handle her essence that heavy on me. But today, since it was a small group of people, and Monsignor was quite a jolly fellow with a superb wit and story telling ability, I settled in to a needed comfort zone. The smells, the recitations, the habits that are ingrained in me though I don't profess to be of that faith anymore, were such a caress today. The stained glass windows, familiar statues, stations of the cross, pews, standing/kneeling/sitting/standing/sitting/kneeling/standing ;-) - tis the Catholic way. My mother loved it and she helped me feel that calm within today.
As always, I lit a vigil candle and donned a beautiful handmade, black lace mantilla I got just after her death, kneeling close by the Virgin Mary. Because, well, Mom really felt a reflection of herself in Mary, I think, by name (Marilyn) and deed (selflessness and struggle). Doing this makes me feel very reverent and curiously capable of focusing only on Mom.
I suppose now the journey will be to find strength within myself to live the rest of my life without her...a seeming eternity, really. But certainly her goal and hope had always been to instill this kind of strength in my brother and me. I'm so thankful that she knows we're not capable of that right now and that some divine motivation is needed from time to time, like sending my brother a message "from" her.
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