This week's blog takes on a different flavor..
My mom's birthday was last week. She would have been 86 years old. She last graced this planet when she was 56 years old.
It's been 30 years, I'm almost as old as she was then, and I still miss her.
As her mom said when she was in her 80's, we never get too old to miss our moms.
In honor of those we miss, I wanted to share a short piece that I wrote during a workshop last year sponsored by the Colorado Springs Nonfiction Writers Meetup group.
It impacted the group and sparked good discussion. I hope for it to somehow be helpful for you, too, dear reader.
Then it hit me.
I was in uncharted water.
No one and no thing could have prepared me. Not really.
Mom had tried since I was a very little kid. She'd often say that death isn't a bad thing for the person who dies. They're in a better and pain-free place. Death is only bad for those left behind.
I was now the one left behind.
She was now the one out of pain.
I stared at her face: lifeless, unmoving, in a way I'd never seen before. Had her eyelashes always been so beautifully long? Why had I never noticed before? Why did it take for her to die in front of me for me to notice?
I tried to memorize her face. The skin's texture and tone. The wrinkles. The spots. The curve of her face, her nose, her mouth.
Shouldn't someone look much different after all life has left the body?
Mom still looked like Mom, only peaceful and pain-free. A look I hadn't seen for the last year.
Cancer sometimes has a way of causing a continual look of pain, devoid of peace.
Cancer might have won over her body. But peace won over her soul.
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