Missing Mom

Some days I just really, really miss my mom. Yesterday was one of those days. It started off innocently enough--Stephen finished a "honey-do" item that has been on the list for a year or so. The project was replacing our passenger-side mirror that got pretty beat up when Mom was backing out of the garage. As in, being held on with duct tape. When Mom got home she sent a check so we could get it fixed...probably not thinking it would be over a year later...

Anyhow, when Stephen finished it he walked in the house and proclaimed, "Karin, wherever you are, we finally replaced that mirror!" And I started crying.

I continued to cry--seeing her coat hanging in the closet...watching Ruthie playing on the last quilt she made...pulling out Elise's camp quilt that Mom made--we tied it together when I visited last April when she was in chemo...thinking of how the 4th of July just won't seem the same without her at the farm party...seeing her star quilt and remembering the picture at Mormor's funeral of she and Mom wrapped in it together, smiling...cutting apple slices, like she always did, for my kids during a movie...playing songs she loved on the piano...so many happy memories, without the hope of making more in the future.

I think I'm a little extra emotional lately anyhow, what with the upcoming move, leaving friends, and having my two oldest kids off on adventures. Sometimes I try to numb myself to the ache by watching dumb shows on Netflix or staying really busy, but then all the pushing away catches up to me, and I just cry. I like to think of myself as having the "gift of weeping", to quote Marvin J. Ashton.

I had a...I don't know what word to use--wonderful? sad? happy?--talk with my mom's sister, my Aunt Lisa, last Sunday. It really was all of those words. We laughed, we cried, we talked about dogs and kids and travel and thank-you notes and my mom. She was there when my mom passed, so I got to hear how that all happened--I had never known. There is a peace in knowing how death came to her, quietly and peacefully, with those she loved so nearby.

Aunt Lisa lost her mom, my beloved grandma, 4 years ago. She told me that while the ache never quite goes away, the acute pain does subside. She said that now she and my other aunts and uncles can sit around and talk about grandma without bursting into tears--they can remember the fun and laughter without so much heartache.

I love you, Mom. I wish I could see you with me--so I could share stories and experiences and watch you watch my kids (and me) grow up. I wish my kids could know you like I knew Grandma.

'Til we meet again.

 (pictures from May 2014)