Yes, it's been a long time since I blogged.
My mom got really ill in March, and left this world on the last day of April. I was able to go to Florida for just about three weeks and be with her, and I'll always be grateful that my "job" allowed room for that.
Mom was happy with her terminal diagnosis, and refused treatment that she believed would be ineffective anyway. She felt she had lived her life; she wanted to join my dad and see what was next. She thought I should write about people like her, people who feel ready to go. "I don't believe I'm the only one," she said.
Maybe one day I'll write more about the subject of death and dying. For now, it's enough to feel all that I'm feeling.
I'd like to share something my mom wrote:
"Have you ever waked up in the morning and looked at the floor and there was the sun right there on the floor? And you looked around to see where the sun was coming from, and found out it was coming right in through your window, even though the window was shut tight. That's a funny thing about the sun--it can come in when the window isn't open, and just sit there on the floor smiling."
I love that.
Well, now you know why there's been a lack of posts from me lately. I'm one of those people who gets very quiet when I'm feeling a huge amount.
Today I woke up and looked at the flowers and felt as if they were telling me something: It's important to bloom even if you could get torn up by a strong wind or lashed by a torrent or even struck by lightning.
We can't know what's next. We can't make sure that there will always be a wonderful climate with just the right amount of sun and rain. But we can go on blooming just the same.
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4 comments:
I'm sorry about your mom. We had a discussion once about how you wrote differently after your dad died (at PPWC a few years back). Since then I've lost a nephew in a car accident and have thought back to that conversation. I hope you find the peace and joy in the journey and in your thoughts. It sounds like your mom was a wonderful person and I understand the well of emotion and feelings that overwhelm when a loved one dies. I love the idea that the sun can shine on us anywhere at anytime. What a wonderful sediment. Best wishes to you and your family.
Hugs,
Shelly
My deep condolences.
And I understand the gratitude at being able to spend that time with your mother.
My Grandmother was my best friend after my husband, and losing her was the first time I literally cried till my eyes were dry. I'd never known that was possible; and I guess I use it as my marker now. The deepest I've ever felt loss...
And you will write about it-- even when you're not writing about death.
I know you don't need me to say it, but these things will continue to pour out of your "pen" because it's part of what you're made of now.
I pray peace for you.
Thanks for sharing your kindness and your thoughts. Shelly, I remember that conversation--and it's true, as Amy Jane says, everything we experience, whether happy, sad, painful, troubled, exhilarating, inspiring, or anything else, becomes part of what we're made of. And what we're made of finds its way into our writing. It must.
I'm so sorry, Victoria.
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