alsoknownas's Open Salon Blog

I Meant To Call You Mother's Day

Wed, 9 May 2012 10:05:51 -0400

2012

******************************************************************* This This is a reposting with some reflections on the way things don't change. It’s about Mother’s Day.

It’s in three parts. There is this first part, then a few paragraphs from 2011, and finally the 2010 original written about six weeks after mom passed away. I wouldn’t have any idea if that sort of primal loss is the same for each of us. It’s one of those basic philosophical questions like how do we all know that strawberries taste the same to each other? I guess we do/don’t.

This year I’m still astonished at how and when I feel the loss. At the coast this weekend it couldn’t have been more beautiful. Brilliant sunshine, rich blue and green in the waves and galleries full of art. I missed telling her though.

Last weekend it was after the boxes of dahlias saved in cedar shavings over the winter got planted in the super fine loam and sandy soil I have worked on.

It’s really quite often and not the actual event when I feel it. It’s when I can’t call and say how gorgeous the breaking waves were or how the dahlias this year are all laid in color groups and should be stunning.

It’s knowing that there were times I could have called but didn't.

2011

********************************************************************Another A 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 not to 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.

2010

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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.