wandering through photos tonight i came across an ancient one of my mother in college or high school. a knife stuck in my heart and filled with ache. i miss my momma. while still here in glimmers and glimpses mostly the ghost of her remains. i have now lived a over a third of my life without my mother's full and beautiful presence in my life. at nineteen because of a freak snowstorm, the wise and funny and scare and insecure women of my childhood and teenage years flew the coup and left in her stead a child-like and handicapped person. all the ways i had to relate to her besides just physical presence were gone...words and ideas and stories no longer were our shared language. we could sit and draw together and for that i am thankful but the other was gone without a trace.
as i move closer to my 32nd birthday, content and happy, yet still with the sometimes desire for children and the hope of eventually finding a life partner i think about my mother. i think about all of the things i have yet to experience that she is unable to share. i think about all of the things that i have experienced that she has also been unable to share. wonder still what, if i do have children, they will think of their grandmother and what stories i will tell them of her. of the time she was so angry with ian and i that she drew a picture of her with smoke and fire coming out and how that defused it all. how every time one of us got in trouble, after spanking or sending us to our room she would come crying and apologize for anything she has said out of frustration or anger and reminding us beyond any doubt how very very much she loved us. how hard it was for her to over come fear and perfectionism and yet she did over and over again. or the time when i was seven or eight and with my dad as he was at a church event the video or slides he had taken of my mom dancing came up and made me cry because she was so beautiful and at peace when she danced.
there are so many days i wish i could have her back or could have one more conversation like we used to and ask all of those questions that come up in my mind from time to time. but i can't so i will recall the stories i remember will read the things she wrote...someday get the children's story she wrote and illustrated for me published if only for my own children...and most of all love her fully for who she is. because it hurts and aches but i am thankful for it all.