Saturday, February 2, 2008

Normal?

What is normal?
I have asked myself this several times in the last 24 hours.
Two weeks ago yesterday my mother died, and for some reason yesterday I was missing her terribly. Perhaps it was because it was a Friday--a dialysis day. Perhaps it was because life is returning to a time where the routine should resume, but it hasn't. The influx of family has left, I am not getting phone calls several times a day from one of my sisters (don't get me wrong, I love that), I don't get sympathy cards in the mail everyday now, and I have most of the boxes of things from her apt. stashed away.
But I had a hard time yesterday. I didn't want to get out of bed yesterday morning, I don't know how long I could have slept, but I'm pretty sure it would have been a record breaker, and when I did get up it "felt" like a dialysis day. I kept looking at the clock-almost 10, need to go get Mother--Nope. After crying on an off all morning, and trying to get my mind off of it, and on something else, I decided to run into town to take care of some errands. Basically just find something to keep me busy. I killed a lot of time visiting with a friend I hadn't seen in over a year, catching up, but of course the topic of Mothers death came up, condolenses were offered, and there it was again.
Finally, I finished, and headed home, crying as I went. As I stopped at the mail box to get the mail there was a card from a close family friend who had known my mother all her life, the poem read-

You'll never forget your Mother's face,
the sound of her voice,
the gentleness of her touch....
they let you know you were loved.

You'll never forget the stories she told,
the traditions she handed down....
they let you know who you are.

You'll never forget
the lessons she taught,
the things she stood for...
they are her gift and your legacy.

You'll never forger,
and you'll always know
that you honor her every day
in how you live
and who you are.

In her written comments she addressed the very issue I was dealing with, continueing life without the daily physical presence of my Mother. That was it exactly! The physical makes a huge difference, so I must shift to a different kind of presence--the presence of memory. It reminded me of all the things I still have from my mother. So when I look at her picture and if I sit and listen long enough, I can still hear the sound of her voice.
It isn't "normal" of old, but it will be the new "normal" for now.

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