As I sit here looking out the window to my right, over the busy street below. I listen to the traffic going by and the energy seems to rise up to peer into this window. I'm reminded of my mother. Her, soft curly reddish-brown shoulder length hair and deep brown eyes. I remember her vividly,even though she has been gone for over ten years now.
I don't think it matters what took her away because it is much like what so many daughters have lost their mothers to.
That ugliness that strips our mothers of their sparkle and their physical beauty but never takes away the imprint they leave within us.
When she first passed away, I couldn't tell you what she left me if you asked. In fact if you asked me, I would be hard pressed to see through the clutter of her death. You know the chaos and pain, is what I call clutter. My head was loaded with it and my heart weighed fifty pounds over it, the death of the person who watched me come into this world.
Ironically, it took me all this time, ten years or more to figure out what she left me. Hell maybe I still don't have it figured out. I mean who really has death, illness or love figured out?
What I can tell anyone who asks me what she left me is truth, some papers,confusion and a whole lot of fears. Fear of dying , because I am getting older too. I am watching my body,mind and emotions change. I am seeing a world differently. She left me confusion because- how was I to know how to deal with the shock of losing her,before I even knew how to be a grown ass woman? She left me pen and ink, a few words she put to the paper in the form of birthday cards a note or two and maybe some of her doodles. She doodled when she was on a long phone call. She doodled when she sat at the kitchen table while cooking or in between domestic chores. She left me truth in so many ways. Ways she might not have intended and truth in ways she wanted me to know directly. Like saying, take care of your girls Cyndi, they are the most important things. Yep, she used her last words to me to issue me a direct order- without being pushy or bossy, but she was motherly-warm.
I don't think it matters what took her away because it is much like what so many daughters have lost their mothers to.
That ugliness that strips our mothers of their sparkle and their physical beauty but never takes away the imprint they leave within us.
When she first passed away, I couldn't tell you what she left me if you asked. In fact if you asked me, I would be hard pressed to see through the clutter of her death. You know the chaos and pain, is what I call clutter. My head was loaded with it and my heart weighed fifty pounds over it, the death of the person who watched me come into this world.
Ironically, it took me all this time, ten years or more to figure out what she left me. Hell maybe I still don't have it figured out. I mean who really has death, illness or love figured out?
What I can tell anyone who asks me what she left me is truth, some papers,confusion and a whole lot of fears. Fear of dying , because I am getting older too. I am watching my body,mind and emotions change. I am seeing a world differently. She left me confusion because- how was I to know how to deal with the shock of losing her,before I even knew how to be a grown ass woman? She left me pen and ink, a few words she put to the paper in the form of birthday cards a note or two and maybe some of her doodles. She doodled when she was on a long phone call. She doodled when she sat at the kitchen table while cooking or in between domestic chores. She left me truth in so many ways. Ways she might not have intended and truth in ways she wanted me to know directly. Like saying, take care of your girls Cyndi, they are the most important things. Yep, she used her last words to me to issue me a direct order- without being pushy or bossy, but she was motherly-warm.