Yesterday, we said our final goodbyes to my mamalove.
The past twelve months flew by like a surreal dream. We found out exactly an year ago that cancer was growing inside my mom's body and we searched for solutions only to find that it was written in the stars with permanent ink. As time went on and solutions failed, I began to appreciate how the looming presence of death brought the family and family friends together.
I already miss those days.
Right up to the end, she was my mother. One of the last things she asked me, half-conscious, was if I'd gotten my laundry out of the wash. I smiled and told her laundry could wait. She died six days later.
I could feel my heart rate rising while I held her hand and her "spirit rose a meter and stepped aside." And it was over. Just like that, I woke up. The year-long fog of the surreal dream had lifted.
In my studies of stories, I've learned that death typically does not fall at the end of a story but rather in the center. Death has a way of tying together a beginning and an end. You come out of it as something different.
Everything I did today, I could feel a little bit of my mother with me. The work I do has always had a little bit of her influence. MATHER is my love song to that motherly energy felt everywhere in this vast universe.
To everyone who still has their mothers, please hug them, write them, love them, for they are now my mothers too. For those who have lost their mothers, I'm beginning to understand your pain and joy in remembering her.
Don't know how I'm supposed to miss you forever. But I will.