My Heart Speaks Here

One Realization, One Memory, One Story at a Time

heidibeth

heidibeth
Birthday
April 02
Bio
I'll tell you about my journey while I'm telling myself, rereading and saying aha! yes! and that is what it was like! Words have magic feet. I like to see them dance. The rest is to be kept quiet because it is sacred. How I watch people and love them never wondering if we'll agree. I love them because they are. I believe in words but they aren't everything. I'll take harsh speech and good deeds over eloquence and little helpful action in the world. There's shades of gray through everything which is one of many reasons I pray, "Thy Will not mine be done," trying not to cross my fingers but keep my eyes and heart open.

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Salon.com
NOVEMBER 14, 2012 10:07PM

I wrote "I remember..." then listened as the rest unfolded

Rate: 3 Flag

I remember her coming in the front door, a full bag of groceries in each arm. Not the plastic kind that hangs off your wrist and leaves a long red mark dent in your skin. No, they hadn’t been invented yet. She carried the big paper sacs, celery and carrots sticking out of the top. It must have been after a long day at work. I was at home, waiting, and as I heard the key turn in the lock, a quick plan formed. Door opened and before she had a chance to make her way down the two steps into our basement apartment…

“Boo!”

“OH!!!” This exclaimed in a quick, high pitch.

“Heidi! I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

This memory doesn’t paint me in the best light, but it is the memory that came to the blank page. I wasn’t yet ten, and may have only been seven or eight. Old enough to know better, not quite old enough to care or realize it really was inconsiderate. I’m pretty sure I was more careful from then on, faintly aware of the danger of being startled at the top of the stairs. To be honest, I was aware of the danger to the groceries. Years would pass before it occurred to me my mom could have fallen.

I’ve begun cleaning out her bedroom, her kitchen, her house, the one we sort of share with my dad now. It’s his house really and we, the nomadic family, claim my mom’s room and shared use of the house when we’re in town, knowing it is my dad’s domain and nest, or will be once we clear her belongings, at least some of them, and remove my mom’s purple robe from the back of the bathroom door.

Or maybe we will never move it, and each time we close the door, it’s purpleness will sway just a bit and remind us of the great love story that is her life, remind us of her enthusiastic, busy spirit, remind us of her eyes and smile, and the way she tackled every day like a child eager to discover what other cool stuff can be found and done in the world. Only she was really a warrior, fighting to teach the world about love and light in its many manifestations, and to please treat each other as the shining gems we are.

So that’s the message. You’re a gem, or really many gems, some hidden, some needing to be polished, some shining bright and lighting up the lives of your loved ones. But you are not your faults or the negative total of what you have not done but meant to. You are only the light.

Thank you mom.

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right!
my mom too a flawed being in life..
in death?
"a gem, or really many gems, some hidden, some needing to be polished, some shining bright and lighting up the lives of your loved ones. But you are not your faults or the negative total of what you have not done but meant to. You are only the light.
"


her book is written. she is now Author of it.
So gorgeous and moving....I've been away from OS a lot these past few weeks and it's lovely to get back and read such beautiful, emotional writing. This is one of my favorite pieces by you.
heidibeth,

That is a beautiful message that your mother shared with you. It seems more like a gift.