Friday, May 3, 2013

Sorrow Makes Us All Children Again ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

I guess that's why when I think of my mom, I don't remember recent events as much as things from grade school. Yesterday on the drive home from work,  a memory of myself at age ten appeared in my head as clear as a videotape. 1972, the long "maxi" dress she'd bought me that made me so happy. Fleeting, happy images.

Last night when I did my meditation, I couldn't quiet my mind. Vivid scenes of her taking me to Fairview Plaza to shop at the dime store clicked on instead. We've made that trip hundreds of times. I kissed her wedding rings that I'm wearing, and blessed her and myself. Then I cried, and tried again to still my inner chatter. Success denied. I could only see her cooking dinner while I watched Mary Tyler Moore reruns in the living room.

If mourning means I'm a little girl for awhile, I will just have to roll with it. For most of the day I'm Nurse Carolyn, taking care of the kids with diabetes at the elementary school where I work. When I walk down the halls, though, I want to call home and ask mom to pick me up because I'm sick.


1 comment:

Heather said...

I am right there with you Carolyn.

I have resurrected my old letters she wrote me at camp. Pulled out my old kindergarten tag I wore around my neck on the bus rides so I would arrive home at the right address. Pouring over pictures from days gone by.

And when Zoey had her allergic reaction the other day, all I wanted to do was call my mom. And she would have said, " Oh honey, I am so sorry. Poor girl. Is there anything I can do? "

I can hear her voice in my head. Or at least I think I can. I am getting a bit worried that that I am forgetting it. That one day I will go to retrieve it from my head and my heart and it will be gone.

Sending you love an my deep and authentic understanding of your grieving.

How is your dad?