What? he asked me.
That she’s not coming back. That I’ll never again have a Mom. That it’s over.
Yeah, he said.
It’s just so. . . sad, I said to him.
It is.
You might be surprised at how often little conversations like this pop up during our everyday lives. Moments when the awareness of her absence hits me square in the face and my mind fights to grapple with the reality of it. I’m not sure what triggered this one. It might have been the pictures of her that my sister just put up on Facebook or maybe it was the glimpse we got of her while we were watching home videos last week. Either way the word that has been repeated over and over in my mind lately has been a difficult one. . . permanent.
Permanent. Permanent. Permanent.
This is a tough one. In a world where everything seems in constant flux. A world where the only thing that you can really count on is change. . . permanent just seems so, well, permanent.
In my mind I still see her. I can still hear her voice and I remember her laughter as if I heard it yesterday. I have flashes in my mind of the silly things she did that made us laugh. Recently, I was at a mall and as I headed toward the escalator I flashed back to a shopping trip with my Mom and my sister. I remembered my sister and I standing at the top of the escalator waiting for my Mom after we had separated for a bit. I can still see the way my Mom flailed her arms in an excited greeting as she pretended she hadn’t seen us in years. I remember the way all three of us laughed at my Mom’s attempt to embarrass us with her silliness. (I know you remember that, Ashley)
I think what is just hitting me now, nearly two years later, is that there will be no more new memories with her. No more mother-daughter moments. No more silly laughter or heart-felt talks. No more daily phone calls to ask simply whatcha making for dinner? or to report you won’t believe what Chanelle did today. No more little packages will arrive in the mail because it reminded me of you.
It really is permanent.
Still, I find myself wishing that she could experience the highs and lows of motherhood with me. Wishing that she could see how incredibly lovely her grandchildren are turning out.
I want her to know that Charlie has come out of his shell so much since she last knew him. And Chanelle. Her personality was just beginning to form when we lost my Mom. I wish she could witness Chanelle’s feisty side and her sensitive side.
I wonder if my Mom would be shocked to learn that our two kids have become three.
I think she would be. . . I know I said more than once that two was it for us.
And yet even as I write all this, I am keenly aware of the reality that had we never lost my Mom, I would not be writing in the space. Without a doubt, I know that this blog was born our of her loss. And if I’m really being honest. . . a new part of me was also born.
It was the part of me that was always there, but more hidden. I wish my Mom could meet this Summer. I wish she could see the changes that have happened in me. I wish she could stand next to me and smile at the innocence of my kids and bask in the beauty of a moment. I wish she could know that life truly is worth living. . . really, really living.
I wish my Mom could have known that whatever she was struggling with on the inside didn’t have to be permanent. But death? Death is permanent.
I miss my Mom. I continue to grapple with what life looks like as I journey, not only through motherhood, but through life without her. I fluctuate between anger and sadness and okayness, sometimes, on a daily basis. The “waves” of grief are still there, but not at the intensity that they used to be. This week, the permanency of the loss has struck me in a real way.
I think know my Mom would be proud. I really, really do. I believe if she knew that she would have missed it she would have fought harder.
I can’t help but wonder. . . would it all look this way had our world not been rocked by her loss? I will never know for sure. What I do know is that no matter where I go, I carry her with me. . . That is also permanent.
oh, what a heartbreaking, beautiful, necessary and honest post. i have no words of wisdom, only tears in my eyes and a heavy heart at all that is the unfair permanence of some things.
thinking of you.
I wish I could give you a huge hug cyber-friend…I'm so sorry for the pain you feel. I know there are no words that will help…just know that I'm praying for you and your family.
I read your words and try to put them into perspective with my own relationship with my mom…I still have my mom, but it's a very difficult relationship…one that is being tested right now and I'm not sure how to repair it or if I even want to…yet I read your words and I keep wondering if she were gone how would I feel? Thanks for sharing your pain…it does help others… 🙂
And your photos are just beautiful…love the one of you!
Tears are in my eyes.I love the beautiful picture you brought to us with your love and honesty of losing your mom to early. I know she would be proud of you the wife, mom, individual, friend, dil, you are and have become! She would love all three of your beautiful children. Yes she will always be with you in your heart and mind and that to is permanent. Love and hugs Summer!
I'm so glad you have this place to freely type out your thoughts! I feel it is a gift to yourself as you read back through and see where you started at and where you are today! A true gift to you (and also to your family). I will always marvel at how you savor each precious moment with your hubby, kiddos, family and friends. I strive to do that as well (thanks to you and this beautiful blog). I mean that too!!!!
I know you miss her oh so much! I will continue to pray for you as you go through those painful moments of wanting her here. I agree with you, she would BE SO PROUD OF YOU! You are beautiful, my friend! So beautiful!
love and hugs
JoEllen
And now, I'm crying. I wish I could reach through the computer screen and hug you. My heart is heavy for you. While I do not have the exact situation as you, I understand your mix of emotions. I do. I wish we could sit down, enjoy a peaceful meadow and share our stories. I've never shared my story, not sure if I'm strong enough…but you make me feel like I'm not alone in my heart ache. THAT is important…that is a purpose. Your mom would be proud.
Praying for you.
Wow, This week has been a hard one for me…I didn't know why until I read your blog this evening…I am in the season of gone…Gone from my arms, gone from my sight, gone from my everyday life..gone are my saturday morning chats with dad sitting on my back porch before anyone was up and awake, gone are the moments of atta girls and you can do its..praying for you dear Summer..Please keep me in your prayers as well..*hugs*
I love this post. Thank you so for being so vulnerable!
beautiful post, i am sure your mom would be proud. i lost mine 17 years ago and i always wonder what our relationship would be like now, all these years later.
thanks for your support over at {in the picture}–looking forward to seeing more of you!
Summer: you are really quite a good writer. You engage me as a reader. I am there with you and can relate in so many ways. I have lost both my parents now and I think we don't realize before they are gone that when they ARE gone, it is, as you say, permanent. I know there are moments one of my kids probably wishes I were gone, but what will he feel when that is true.
I love your images of your childrens' innocence. The one of the tiniest sleeping in her pink hat is so precious; the engagement of Charlie as he spins his car away from him; and Chanelle with you beautiful big compassionate eyes.
We always remember our moms regardless of the relationship we had. And you captured aptly that that is also permanent.
Best to you. laf
I love to read your writings and see the pictures of your family. It seems like our days at seminary are both not long ago and ancient history. Keep writing.
Thank you, to each of you, for your kindness, compassion, empathy, and support.
Thank you so much.
Love you, friend. This was absolutely beautiful and heartbreaking and wonderful. You are gifted, Sum. As a writer, as a parent, as a daughter…and so much more. Your mom IS so proud, I know she is.
Summer, you have such beautiful words. I think it comes from that beautiful heart of yours. I want to drive to your house, even though I don't know where it is, and sit and hug and cry with you.
I have so much more to say, but don't know how to get it out. So for now…it's just Love you Friend!!
Marie
You're so brave.
You're facing this head on. I kept reading the word "permanent" on this blog and my mind's eyes would shudder, close and turn away. While I know the loss of my Dad is [obviously] permanent… I never, ever, EVER say that. I never let my brain… or maybe my heart… admit that it's permanent. It's been so many years… so many… but I just can't close that chapter.
I strain to hear his voice.
In my brother I hear his laugh.
Sometimes I sob for him, for me, for us… still.
I don't think I'll ever accept that his departure from my physical life is permanent.
Just this past weekend I bought Lila her first pair of New Balance tennis shoes. Why? Because my Dad was a runner and that's all he wore. So, that's what I wear. And that's what my daughters will wear.
Nope you're right, my sweet sister. They're gone, sure. But they are permanently emblazoned in our hearts and even in the wake of their departure we want and need to feel that they'd approve.
I believe your Mom would.
I'm coming over from Shutter Sister. Absolutely your mom would be proud! No question.
Hi. I wandered in from Shutter Sisters. I lost my parents when I was in college. My husband and son never met them. Just wanted to tell you that you aren't alone. It truly stinks…yet you find your mother somehow deep inside of you. Hope Edelman has some great books that may help. All the best to you and I'm sorry for your loss.
–Valerie
http://journeyleaf.typepad.com/journeyleaf/2011/03/at_home_in_story.html
I can totally identify with this post of yours. On the 18th of this month it will be 5 years since my Mum died – it was Mother's Day – in every sense. But FIVE years? It feels like twenty. It feels like three minutes. It feels like 4 weeks. The unending nature of death and loss is alarming, at times. I'm not sure there is an answer to how to cope with it, especially when the loss came too, too soon. I wrote about losing my mum here; http://www.abctales.com/story/russiandoll/my-friday-night-crying maybe it'll mean something to you, maybe not – whichever is fine. Much love to you anyway ♥
Thank you for reading my piece and commenting. I have to tell you that reading this piece of yours has been the catalyst I needed to write the follow up to My Friday Night Crying. So that's what I did, last night. It's needed an outlet for some time, I am so relieved to have found it now.
This grief thing.. it is a journey.. and for those who are profoundly affected there is real solace, growth and comfort in knowing that other people have walked these paths too, that your pain is understood with great respect and compassion with no request for you to hurry on to the next stage. It is what it is. You are doing so very well. Being able to acknowledge that there is growth borne from loss is incredible. Some people never get that. Your words have been very affirming for me. Thank you ♥
I'm reading this post again, months after I originally read it. Back then I was only grieving one parent, now I'm grieving her.
I've sobbed this night away and I've sobbed as I've read this.
Oh, Summer.
I'm sorry for all of this. For you. For me, too. I'm just sorry. And sad.
You give me hope that it might get a little better. xo.