Blowing in the Wind

My mom and dad were huge Peter, Paul and Mary fans. They saw Peter, Paul and Mary live many times... and I will never forget the instance in which my mother told me she got to touch " mary's flowing skirt" as mary billowed from her limousine into the Seelbach Hotel's Lounge in Louisville where my parents took a parental vacation yearly. Mom was in awe, and if you know my mother, it is very rare that she outwardly showed genuine awe of something. Not that she didn't get excited, not that she didn't care, not that she didn't have important and wonderful things happening around her... she just wasn't one of those folks who wore their "excitement" on their sleeve. Mom would have been an amazing poker player.

She would later describe the event as "magic". She was able to see her musical heroes up close and personal, and for some reason this really affected her. Whenever she would recount the evening, her eyes became starry and she sort of gazed out into the open for a bit, later coming back to her listening audience and stating " I touched her skirt. She was in one of those revolving doors and I touched her skirt. It was white."

Now that mom is gone, I think about this every time encounter wind(and not the flatulent kind:). When the wind blows, sometimes I feel as though she is haphazardly messing with my hair like she used to do, saying things like " you really need to brush this" or " let's get you in for a haircut and highlights". She bought Geoff and I some wind chimes a couple of Christmases ago, and maybe I'm just listening now, but it seems like they make a lot more noise now that she has passed away. Sometimes I imagine that she is patting me on the shoulder, telling me that everything is going to be okay, all the while staring up into the stars... as she was known to do on a consistent basis with me.

I think I am in the phase of  "looking" for things, a sign, etc... and a friend mentioned to me that I may not ever see or find a true, solid sign that my mom is, indeed, watching over me. What she did offer was that no matter what, the love that mom had for me is the biggest sign that she is still with all of us, and the love that I continue to give to my friends, family, and most importantly Arlo, is the biggest truth that she is indeed still here and present in all of our hearts for as long as we want her to be. 

I am still in awe of my mother's being, her presence, her love... I hope to be as amazing a person and mother as she was to me.

Thanks, mom.

Open Letter

Mom,

I have severe writer's block. I know this is surprising as I have always appeared to  have something to write about. But since you've passed away, I have nothing witty, philosophical or intelligent to proclaim other than the old standby of " I miss you." I am very embarrassed with my current writing skills, but I know I need to emote in this manner it as it is an important way of foraging through the grief spiral.

Nothing will ever be the same. I still can't believe that you are truly gone, " gone" being the word of discussion here. It depends on what and who you believe in, and to be quite honest, right now I am struggling with it all. " Gone" is so final, but aren't we dealing with finalities daily anyway? I think so. Maybe. I suppose my indecision with this makes me the perfect philosophy major. In the end ,though,  in MY mind, it's what we believe to be true and comforting that matters that is important. Who cares what the rest of society believes?

 I continue to project this image of you hanging out with your father(my grandfather), Doris(my father's mother), and your friend Susan who passed away from cancer several years ago, at some hippie bar , laughing and smiling and occasionally checking in on the rest of us down here on earth. My Harry Potter imagination yields you a special wand to wave when one of us finds ourselves in some sort of conundrum.  This image of mine does not paint a picture of "gone" , but rather " delayed" for the moment.

Whatever you are, or wherever you are, I miss you. I think about you all day, all night. When I do sleep, I keep my husband up with my nightmares( which I can't remember). When I am awake, everything I think and do requires a memory that you have provided for me.

I pick up the phone with the intent to tell you something, whether it is that I won the lottery or that Arlo did something ridiculous that I wanted to share. I loved sharing Arlo stories with you because you would laugh that guttural laugh that was your own... daddy described it once as a "machine gun" laugh...and now it will  never be heard again, except in dreams. I want to tell you my day to day boring crap. I want to tell you that I was accepted into graduate school.  I want to tell you, again and again, how much I love you and miss you....

But I can't.