Mom

This is a personal post. In other words, I'm putting it up because it is something I need to do for me; it isn't about viewership and it isn't an invitation to gather in sympathy. This is about letting go or, if I'm not quite ready to do so, at least a means to lightening the load by sharing it here.

I lost my mom about six weeks ago and I was on the other side of the world unable to say goodbye in person. Due to circumstances, a flight back to the southern hemisphere for her funeral was out of the question also. I was there in spirit, though, and recorded a message to accompany photos to be played at the funeral (thank heaven's for technology!).

Earlier this evening, during a conversation with my sister, she asked about my blog and suggested I unload some of my sorrow by writing about it. I am not able yet to write about it, or talk about the circumstances that led to her unexpected passing, but I intend to when I have enough distance from the immediacy of loss. However, I thought I'd share my recorded words.  To that end, I listened to the message, to transcribe what I said, which was the first time I have done so after the fact, and having done so, I realised the act of sharing them here will help my healing process. 

Thanks, Denise, for prompting me to do this :)

Hi, mom; this is for you.

I’m going to miss you. I already miss you, in fact. I miss talking to you, joking with you, walking with you, and yet in an odd way I feel as if you are still with us. Mostly because of memories, but also because of everything you taught me.

Thank you for giving me a love for cooking and all the advice when I, as a new adult in my first new place, phoned you up multiple times about how to prepare this dish and bake that Cornish hen.

Thank you for teaching me how to crochet. I know I’ll never be as good as you and, man, you knew how to twist that yarn, but know that I smile every time I do use my crochet needles. It taught me patience too, I must tell you … and some swear words.

Thank you for gifting me a love for plants. My green fingers come from your passion for growing things. You know, no matter where in the world I am, that my house is ever filled with plants, even now.

Mostly, though, thank you for listening, for caring, for sharing, for every meal made with so much love, for every Christmas gathering, for every smile, for every hug, for every walk we took through every nursery, for every herb plant bought, for every flower, for … everything.

I’m sorry I’m not there to say goodbye in person, but I know you understand and, the truth is, saying goodbye doesn’t feel quite right. It’s more, go well, and I’ll be speaking to you still when only mom is meant to hear … you know, those secrets and things … until the day we meet again in person.

There aren’t enough words to explain my gratefulness and appreciation for everything you did for me over the years, but know that I love you. I will love you always. Go well, mom. Loads hugs and love.

Cheers, mom; go well.