As the anniversary of my mom's death approaches, you'll have to bear with me. Memories of my mom are flooding my mind lately and I desperately feel the need to set them free. Whenever I feel the need, I will share them with you.
It has been 341 days since I last saw my mom alive and spoke to her. Actually I still speak to her often, but it is mostly me asking for her to let me know she is there. Max says that he talks to her and she talks back. I am jealous of my little boy. I think she probably does talk to him. He misses her so much and doesn't have any of the questions or uncertainty I can't seem to let go of. I have convinced my son that Grandma is in Heaven, but by his side always, even though he can't see her. He has no doubt. He is satisfied with that. Why can't I be? My sister has had dreams about her. My mom told us she would visit us in our dreams. I am still waiting. They say that when you lose someone, time makes it easier. I find the opposite true. The more time that passes, the less you can trick your mind. I can't pretend she'll be coming back...that she is on a long vacation.
A couple of years ago, my parents started building their cabin in the mountains- it was to be their retirement getaway. My mom was able to enjoy it for about a year. She is in every inch of that place, from the "Cabin, this way!" sign on the porch to every patchwork quilt carefully and perfectly chosen for every room. She kept a collection of stuffed bears in a rustic canoe in one of the rooms that the kids look forward to playing with on each visit. She filled it with Grandma's love. She dreamed of spending days on the porch with my dad, watching her grand kids play in the late-afternoon summer rain.
Last week, that is just what we did. I feel my mom's presence most when I am at her cabin. That must be where she is spending most of her time. When I begin to feel I am losing faith that she is still close by, relaxing in the mountains renews it once again.