Remembering

[intertext]

Today would have been my mother's 84th birthday.

Through all the busy-ness, through all the going-to-Paris, and work, and the garden, and the dogs and ... whatever, I just miss her so much sometimes.

This is the second birthday without her. The last one we celebrated together, she was in the hospital, and I smuggled cold chicken and a half-bottle of sparkling white wine and raspberries in, and we went up to the roof garden built for the Hospice, which is beautiful and peaceful, and we had a picnic, and it was very special.

Every time I'm in a bookstore and I see a book she would have loved, I want to get it for her, and I have consciously to stop myself from picking it up and buying it. I don't know how much longer I'll go on wanting to buy things for her.

And I want her there to talk to about the garden, and about how Cholmondeley the dog is getting thin but still doing okay, and about how Bill and Judith have a new puppy and isn't that great since Henry died, and about all the crap at work, and about how Mavis is doing, and about the postcard I got from her cousins in England, and about Ed and Anita's granddaughter at University, and about all the books I'm reading, and the new people on the street, and about doings on Coronation Street, and about the lovely new market downtown, and my plans for the dining room, and...

But she's not there. And I just miss her so much.

Comments

[ellarien]

My sympathies. It never does entirely go away, but it does, in my experience, gradually hurt less, and it gets easier to remember the good times.

[intertext.livejournal.com]

Thank you :)

[lidocafe.livejournal.com]

Oh, hon, big hug. I absolutely get it. On father's day this year, I went to see my dad at the cemetary. He died in May 2002, and I still see people once in a while who remind me of him, which is to say, I still see him. We never agreed on politics, and sometimes when I'm listening to the news or expressing an opinion, I imagine a conversation that we'll never have again. I used to phone him on election day and say, "well, dad, I guess we'll go and cancel each other out again?"

And I didn't know my dad half as well as you knew your mom.

Yes, it does get easier, but it never goes away (don't ask me to listen to Frank Sinatra when I'm drunk!), and that's a good thing. That's love.

[intertext.livejournal.com]

*sniff* Thanks :)

[gillo]

I'm sorry, pet. All the clichés about time needed for healing are true. You'll always miss her, and that's right, but it won't always hurt quite so much.

{{{hugs}}}

[intertext.livejournal.com]

*hugs back* Thank you, Gill.

[noveldevice.livejournal.com]

*hugs*

[intertext.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[sartorias.livejournal.com]

many hugs of sympathy...been there, with other parent.

[intertext.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I lost my dad 21 years ago and my grief then was very complicated (cf the post I made from France...) But I was terrifically close to my mum, and had been caregiving her for some years before she died, so her loss was very very hard.

[lilyfriend.livejournal.com]

This might sound insane (I'm specializing in that lately), but I think you should still tell her all those things.

She's not physically there, but I'm sure in spirit, or from above, whatever your views are, in some way she is still there.

I realize it's not the same thing, but I find it helps. If you don't want to go for the "crazy lady speaking to herself" option, which I think is just fine, there's always writing a letter.

This is of course assuming you don't do this already. But if you don't, I find it helps me. Just because someone passes away, doesn't mean they're no longer a part of our lives.

Either way, my thoughts go out to you.

[intertext.livejournal.com]

You're absolutely right, and thanks for the so-wise advice :) Actually I do sometimes go for the "crazy lady talking to herself" option, or talk to the dogs, which is almost as bad. And I have considered writing a letter. Not to say that I don't mutter things to the aether sometimes... But you ARE right, and that's a very good plan.

[superfoo.livejournal.com]

I agree with Lidocafe - I still see my nana, there are always other people that remind me of her . . . I don't really know what to say, except you have my sympathy.

[intertext.livejournal.com]

Thanks :) It means a lot.