The Journey Inward

Dear Mom,

I can’t believe it’s been a year since I’ve seen you, hugged you, heard your laugh. I miss the way you made small talk with everyone, not sure who was family and who was caregiver, but simply leading with kindness. I miss the way you laughed so easily at yourself and what others said. I miss the way you talked about the babies – yours, your grandkids and your great grandson. Family was always foremost on your mind.

This year hasn’t been the same without you. Gillian ran a half marathon trail race and I visited the girls at school for parents weekend. I knew how much you’d have loved the fall weather in New England. I ended a relationship and felt your strength and comfort. All of your family came from Indiana and we celebrated your life. We laughed, shared memories, and each of your kids spoke about you in front of a large congregation of loved ones and admirers. I cried almost all day from the hurt. But I knew you would love us altogether. We went to one of your favorite restaurants after.

Gigi got her wisdom teeth removed and we spent a weekend in a hotel up by school so she could recuperate. It made me think of when I had mine out and you took care of me, letting me hang out in your bed all day watching tv. Halloween was a huge extravaganza on my street, which brought to mind the homemade costumes you crafted for me and then my girls over the years. You were so creative and resourceful, but never thought you were talented at sewing.

I went out with a bunch of teacher friends in Doylestown and it made me remember how much you enjoyed your colleagues from work and the breakfasts and shows you would go to. We explored the town, which is something you always loved doing. I saw so many places growing up because of your love of travel and curiosity about the world. I went to visit a friend in Virginia, spending time in the state where you and Dad met and fell in love.

The girls were home for Thanksgiving. We ran the turkey trot and I knew you would have been home preparing the turkey and meal, nowhere near the race! Physical activity was not your jam! Our gathering was smaller, but we talked of you, Dad our upbringing and the many memories we share. The next day, the girls and I got a puppy. I knew you would have loved his snuggly self, complete with puppy kisses and cuddles. More of our family gathered and talked of you.

The girls went to a dance with their boyfriends and Georgi got engaged. I ran a race with my friends and got injured. The kids came home for Christmas and I took them to Peddlers Village to see the gingerbread houses. You took such delight in those designs whenever we went and you loved that little shopping town.

Through the ups and downs, I felt you there. I talked to you a lot. Did you hear me? I tried to talk to you in ways I couldn’t when you were here. I was honest in ways I couldn’t be. I felt like you were in the perfect place to hear me and understand in ways you couldn’t on Earth. Maybe that’s just me wanting or needing that, but I believe it.

Christmas morning hit me hard. You loved holidays and this was one of your finest. You decorated the whole house with care, using mostly decorations you made. I put out some of the ones I took when you passed. The girls were with their dad and I was all alone. I felt a wave of grief overtake me and I was inconsolable. I cried and cried, hard and messy and sad. I still couldn’t comprehend you weren’t here. It didn’t seem possible that this world went on without you in it. You were larger than life. Once the girls came, we had such a nice day and then we loaded our bags in the car and headed to the airport for our first ever Christmas vacation.

We arrived in Arizona just after midnight, your birthday. You would have been 90. We had breakfast with your sister and her family and there were tears and laughs and connectedness. Your sister misses you so much! We spent the week exploring Sedona and the surrounding towns, places you’d told me about from your time out here with Aunt Cheryl. It felt like I was walking in your footsteps, taking in the majesty as you had and imagining your awe.

Jay had made videos of interviews he’d done with you and we watched both those and the ones he’d made with Dad 25 years ago. It was hard to see and hear you animated and alive, but it was also beautiful. Steve fell and broke his hip badly and everyone down there pitched in to help in every way they could. You showed us how to take care of one another.

I hit a deer one afternoon and ran to see if he was okay before checking my car (or me) and it made me think of the time you hit the dog and cried and tried to protect me from seeing it. You paid for his surgeries and looked after that family. It broke your heart, despite always claiming you didn’t like animals. Ha! No one bought that!

On the day you were cremated, I bought this blog site, not knowing why or what I would do with it. I started writing pieces and publishing, with no audience, no followers, no goal. January started the same for me, beginning to teach a writing class to adults not entirely sure of my what, but knowing my why was VOICE. You were all over that class and every class I’ve taught in the 9 months since I started my side business. You are my opening slide and I tell a bit about you and us. I call it “Conversations with Myself.” You are my silent partner!

Patti hosted Shannon’s baby shower, so I took the train to DC and spent the weekend with our family gathered and excited for your second great grandchild. I spent another weekend in DC with Gab, celebrating our birthdays at a really fun dessert bar. I bought a house down near where Jay is moving and a month later, so did Keith. We are going to be living close by one another for the first time in decades. You and Dad would be thrilled!! This was everything you could have wanted.

I spent Spring weekends at the girls’ school watching their lacrosse games. Gigi had her Senior Day and it was so bittersweet knowing this was the girls’ last season together. I walked every weekend and took pictures of the signs of Spring popping up everywhere. You loved the flowers and this time of year as much as you loved the autumn leaves in Fall.

I started a relationship again, but smarter and wiser this time. We celebrated Gigi at graduation and rejoiced in her time off before her move. You and Dad would have been so proud of her. Dad would have been honored at the ceremony for his time in the Navy and he would have beamed to see the girls in their uniforms.

I spent the summer traveling, visiting the girls and other places, a love I got from you. I thought of how little you saw growing up and how you made up for that every chance you got. I thought of where you began and where you went in life. I thought of all you accomplished and all that held you back.

I went to your place in the Memorial Garden yesterday and sat with you and Dad and Rote. It was sprinkling, just like the day of your memorial. I had a lot to say to you this time, too. I hope you heard me. I cried and shared and opened up to you. It’s so easy to talk to you now. Why wasn’t it easier when you were here? Why was it so complicated?

It’s been a year, and that seems both long and short. It’s been a year of growth for me in so many ways. I am not the person who watched you die last year, who sat by your side each day, who mourned your passing. I am so much more extraordinary now. I am so much more expansive. I have a Voice and I use it. I don’t know what you’d think of me now. I don’t know that I’d show you all of me. I never did. I was adept at hiding. It was sort of our agreement, wasn’t it? But I do know that you impacted my life in a million ways and I am grateful today for who I am and how I got to this point. I am weary sometimes and sometimes my grief overwhelms me, as do the multitude of tiny irritants that add up in a day and conspire to take me down. But I am as I have always been. An indomitable spirit. I am my mother’s daughter. And I miss you.

Photo: Mountainside, NJ. 9.29.23 by LA