Another year has passed and I find myself at times still thinking to reach for the phone. Mom might like to have me read her part of this article I just read. Mom would think this is a funny headline. Mom would know if you’re really supposed to put butter on a burn, etc. etc.
I thought maybe the feeling would fade, that it was just an aberration in the first few months and certainly it wouldn’t persist. But it has. Initially it was difficult to have the feeling. It was just downright sad and it felt rather like losing my grip. It certainly wasn’t sensible to try to call.
Now when it occurs it has its own comfort. She would laugh if I told her I tried but couldn’t get through. She would ask if I had the new area code, or tell me she didn’t take long distance collect calls. She’d make it easy to not feel stupid right then.
For those who might be recently missing their mom or for someone who has that just around the corner and don’t know it, I offer up this re-post from last year.
I meant to call.
I picked up the phone to tell you the hummingbirds were starting to show up. They move so fast down by the alders next to the creek that it seems they may not have even been there when I glance back to see them again. The aviary outside my window where I spent most of my seventh year in bed makes me look at birds differently I think. Do you remember how I told you of the barn swallows I get to rescue every summer in August when they hatch in the mud nest above the cabin door and invariably one of them gets mixed up and flies in? I always hold them the way you taught me. But I put the phone down, of course and went on with the daily doings.
I meant to call.
I picked up the phone to tell you a ridiculous pun I heard the other day at work. This one fellow at work fancies himself to be quite a comedian. No…not me, the other guy. But anyway, some of his corny jokes are funny and remind me of the ones you like me to read to you out of The Reader’s Digest subscription you always send at Christmas. Can’t say much for the articles, but the humor still makes me laugh. Thanks. But I put the phone down, of course and went on with the daily doings.
I meant to call.
I picked up the phone to tell you I talked to my brother. On the e-mail actually, but at least it was communication. You’ve been trying to get me to do that now for 20 years and I wouldn’t. It’s not easy but I’m giving it a try. No promises, but maybe we’ll stay in touch. But I put the phone down, of course and went on with the daily doings.
I meant to call.
I picked up the phone to tell you I plan to be in the garden Sunday. The dahlias have to go in to be able to bloom by the end of July. That favorite picture of yours of me at age two by our dahlia beds in the little post WWII 2 bedroom house, up by the butte on the low rent side of town, sets on the bookshelf. Dahlias in black and white don’t have the same intensity as the digital ones I printed for you of last year’s crop. I know the dahlias are not the part you like the best though about that old photo. But I put the phone down, of course and went on with the daily doings.
I meant to call.
I picked up the phone to tell you I’ll be o.k. this first Mother’s Day without you. But I put the phone down, of course and went on with the daily doings.
Before I forget, I just wanted to say, Happy Mother’s Day anyway. I love you.
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Comments
Thanks for stopping in and taking that message with you.
Your comment makes me think you've had some sadness this year yourself. Good to know it reached you.
With two such nice comments right off I am quite pleased.
I hope the site is accessible for many this weekend. I know it can be a time when many need to connect.
It's gone in one of the finite short breaths we're each given.
Thanks for reading and thanks to the PM messages some have sent.
Lezlie
Thanks for taking the time to come by. Your post today will put a lump in people's throats too.
Thanks for reading again. I don't know that I would quantify the feeling by describing it as easier. It is different, because of time allowing me to choose now to bask in what can be retained rather than wallow in what was missed or unspoken.
It sure can't be the same for everyone though. That much is for certain. The brother I spoke of was "over it" in about a week's time he said, and my sister says mom still floats through her apartment in her nightgown in the moonlight. We grew up in the same house. Go figure.
Coming from one who is so highly regarded around here for his own writing skills, I appreciate the compliment. Thanks for coming by.
It can be jarring to suddenly remember...although it does fade. I'm not sure that is a good thing, but it does. : )
Your love for your Mom shines through here, and let me know if talking to your brother works-- the sibling chat sadly lacks for me...
r
From the sound of your own post, I thought you may connect with this one also.
Thank you for coming by.
I appreciate you took a little time to come by and that the post touched you in some way.
Thank you for taking time to read this again. Your input is always appreciated.
I had hoped that readers could feel a commonality with the sentiments.
Thank you.
thanks for directing me this way. what a fine thing to read this morning.
I've been enjoying your postings as of late and was glad to see you stop in and get something from mine.
Thank you.
My mom would have reminded me that impermanence is a good thing though if you're talking about a toothache. It just depends.
Thanks for coming by to read and taking something with you.
I really do think you should call. This post has already been done.
Thank you for coming by.
I thought after reading your post that you might connect here.
Thank you.
It's easy to miss posts around here. I'm glad you found this one and it meant something to you.
Thank you.