I was sitting at my kitchen nook table after finishing my lunch, waiting for my granddaughters to show up for the weekend and thinking. About life. About how much I want to be strong for my family. How important it is to me to be who and what they need in my role as a mother, grandmother and yes…as a wife. And suddenly it rolls over me, this overwhelming tide of need so strong I can do nothing but succumb to it. I want to hold my mom’s hand.
I want to look into her eyes and see that look. The one that was just for me. She had it for all of her kids. Each one of us knew that special look, the one that said, I love you, and I’m proud of you. That one that no one else on earth could ever give me with the same degree of meaning.
I miss her so much.
She’s been gone for four years and it doesn’t matter. It’s not easier. Oh the grief isn’t as sharp. I don’t cry as often, but the loss is still there.
She was that kind of mom.
The kind that leave a hole so big only the memory of her love can fill it.
And because I’m an author and EVERYTHING comes back to why and what and how come, that got me to thinking about the emotions that do not go away.
Unconditionally offered over time, and yes, therapy is a wonderful thing, but it’s not a miracle drug any more than an effective antidepressant “cures” depression. Why do I believe so strongly in the everlasting love that so many say is impossible?
Because I’ve lived it, as a daughter, a sister, a mother, a friend, and yes as a wife. But also because I know the wounds that may heal, but leave lifelong scars.
The emotions that do not go away.
Both the good and bad.
Can we agree that if the harsh ones, the feelings that cost so much of ours souls are real then so are the good ones, the love and acceptance that rejuvenate us and give us both hope and joy amidst those slings and arrows Shakespeare was so fond of writing about?