May 7, 2020
Happy birthday, Mom. I remember you and see you in the peonies growing outside, the green grass, the coffee I sip, the sweets I will eat, and looking back at me in my mirror. Maybe I will make some waffles later today. I still miss you all the time. There would be a million things to tell you now – do you know any of them? Does the veil between us allow any information through? Can you see how tall your grandsons are? Can you see how silver my hair is becoming? Do you know we moved back home and I published a couple books? We went to Norway a few times and New Zealand and Australia. Every place I saw I thought about how you would have loved to see those places, too.
Your things are all scattered now. I have kept so many – your purse, your hairbrush, some dishes, your rings. I still wear your black jacket for the spring and the autumn. If you came back we would have to find you all new things. But I doubt you would want to come back. Norma is gone, your sister is gone – the world changing so much and half mad.
Sometimes I don’t know if I will see you again. I hope so. But I feel you near me less and less. Like a mist slipping away across the fields as the sun rises, so are you slipping away from me. Half the world tells me it’s all over at the last breath. My heart tells me there’s more and that the Father’s house has many rooms and there’s a place for me there, too…and I just hope my room is next to yours.
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