I didn’t ever think that it would. But it has. And I definitely never would have been able to tell you so many years ago what I thought it would be like.
Twenty-five years ago on this day, I lost my mother to cancer. In my mind it is rather difficult to believe that it has been that long.
Sad to say that some of my memories of my mother when she was with us are starting to turn into shades of grey and white. But not all of them. I will sometimes remember certain times growing up when she was not sick.
Nevertheless, this was “the day”.
Each of member of my family remembers it in their own special way. Perhaps they don’t remember all of the finer details of that day, but we all do remember.
I wrote about it in my blog one year ago. If you care to read it, you can find it here:
I can still hear the voice of my mother yelling at me until it cracked. Usually that meant that I was in big trouble. And ironically it is that yelling voice in my head that comforts me to a point. Although the mental image in my head of what my mother looked like is almost gone. I personally do not own any photographs of her when she was still with us. Other members of my family however do have some photographs.
Last night, I remember feeling very cold. And there honestly wasn’t any reason for me to be that cold. That was a bit strange. But I guess that one could argue that the cold feeling that surrounded me was my mother wrapping me in her arms. Others probably wouldn’t see it that way at all.
Then I had a particular memory of seeing a photograph of my mother standing by the sliding glass door. There were no lights on and she was in her night gown. Her hair slowly starting to come back after all of the chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Half of her body was in a bright light from the natural light that came through the glass, and the other half of her body was as dark as the rest of the house. The family dog laying at her feet, staring out through the glass door as my mother was. It was taken a few years before she would pass away. When I remembered that photograph, I cried.
Everyone handles death and grieving differently. Some cry, some weep. I tend to be the one that talks about it, over and over again.
And yet through all of the sadness and tears, I must always remember that my mother was someone who loved her children. That includes me.
There are some children in this world who have parents that don’t bother to care. I’m fortunate enough to have had a mother who did love her children very much. Even though among my two brothers and sister, we always seem to have stories or memories of our mother beating our asses when we did something wrong. Of course that is grossly an exaggeration. She did love us enough to let us have it and discipline us when we did something wrong. And now when it is talked about, we laugh… even though back then, I’m sure we all cried our eyes out when we got punished.
Today is no difference in the matters of difficulty than any other year that has passed. But I think that what I CAN remember is something that I can hold on to and nobody can take it away. I still miss my mother and I love her. It just feels strange to say that she has been gone for so long.