My mom passed away 14 years ago this December. In some ways, it feels like yesterday. There are a few memories of that December I still carry with me. In other ways though, I can feel those 14 years as a distance. And converting those 14 years into distance, it reaches all the way to the moon. Occasionally though, that distance is shortened at night while I sleep. Every now and then, my subconscious brings mom back to me in my dreams.
Sort of.
Continue readingFor some reason, I started doing some math the other day. I’m not sure what prompted it because I am not one to randomly break out and decide to solve math problems. But I did the other day. And the math I did was more mind blowing than any equation or word problem thrown at me during school. I decided to figure out how old I was when my mom was the same age I am now.
Continue readingAll your life, you did what you could
always tried to live like you should
to build a life, solid and good
and now, you earned your rest.
Continue readingThe other day I woke up with a bruise on my upper leg. Actually two bruises less than an inch apart. And then for the better part of the morning I panicked. Which may sound odd to panic over a couple of little bruises. But let me explain before you label me a hypochondriac.
Continue readingThis is a fairly simple premise –
when a girl has a good mom
and that good mom is now gone
it is as simple as this:
her mom she will always miss.
Continue readingI’m not sure how it happened. But somehow, somewhere I became reacquainted with an old Garth Brooks’ song. Sometimes when I connect with a song I play it. A lot. I wouldn’t say in an obsessive way. Just a lot, a lot. That’s what happened with this song. It spoke to me and so I had to listen over and over. I think everyone should know about this song so I’m going to share my thoughts here. Because that’s how I roll. It’s a good song though so I’m sure you won’t mind reading my take on “When You Come Back to Me Again” (Yates & Brooks, 2000).
Continue readingLet me tell you a little bit about my mom. She had a strong personality and felt a deep sense of wrong and right. Her joy was her family and was strongly protective of her little clan. If you fell under mom’s umbrella she was your fan. I’m not claiming she was perfect but she did her best to give her best for her family. Here are a just a few of the things I was fortunate to be taught by mom. Continue reading
My mom was an artist. As an artist, she found many outlets for her creativity. One outlet was painting ceramics. Her dad and stepmother owned a ceramic shop and she helped out. Along the way, her family were beneficiaries of ceramic projects big and small. I remember her painting four angel ornaments for the tree. One boy and three girls, or in other words, one for my brother and one for my sisters and me.
For years the angels hung on her Christmas tree every year. Her little angels painted with love by our guardian angel.
Every year for thirty some years her angels hung on momma’s tree.
But all things come to an end. This Christmas, the angels were divided and each hung on different trees in two states and three towns. Mom’s angels are separated by distance but still connected by memory and love.
“Am I like grandma?” I used to ask my mom ad nauseam. “Tell me about grandma.” My grandma T died before any of her grandchildren were born and I missed having a grandma. Without any consideration for my mom having to bring up memories about her beloved mother I used to beg her to tell me about grandma T. In my defense, I didn’t understand and couldn’t comprehend how sometimes talking about the deceased can be a painful experience. That was a lesson I could only learn by unfortunate experience. So when I was young, I pleaded for information about this absent woman whose blood ran through my veins. I guess I yearn for connections and I needed to know if grandma would have liked her granddaughter. In a way, I am still searching for connections. Continue reading
I can imagine her
walking with friends to school.
Her tiny legs carried her
while obedience was her fuel. Continue reading
ck's days 