One year today. Wow.
There are moments that I forget you are gone.
Like when I seek to phone my brother, but dial six of the
seven digits of your phone number
instead, so strong is that muscle memory of dialing the house line for decades.
There are moments when I forget you are gone.
Like when your granddaughter sticks her tongue into her
cheek in a moment of intense concentration, and I think, ‘I must remember to
tell mum how much Heidi looks like her when she does that’.
There are moments when I forget you are gone.
Like when the kids hit a milestone and I wonder about when I hit that milestone myself as a child, and I have an impulse to email you
about it, or call, or get on Skype.
But in all those moments, I do snap to the realization that
you are not here. I know it’s true: last year on this day, I held your hand as you
confirmed your departure.
But in all those moments of remembering that you are not
here, I realize, that in fact, you are still here.
In the ends of my fingertips, in the face of my kids, in my
deeply ingrained memories, you are still here.
And always will be.
I—we—miss you, mum. Love you.
4 comments:
Oh. Stu. Thank you for this. Weeping today, and knowing that she IS here. Love you so much.
Thanks Tara :)
So well put. I think about your mom on a regular basis and miss her and the huge role she has played in my life. Most recently on the weekend when I put on my suit and found the program from her memorial service in my inside pocket. Some how I can't bring myself to take it out. There is comfort in knowing that it is there on special occassions, that she is there on special occassions. Lots of love your way.
two things, Doug:
1) You obviously don't wear suits very often :)
2) Thanks. I like hearing about those little reflections.
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