The Journey Inward

We remembered Mom today,
On this day after Christmas,
A birthdate she detested,
As it often got overlooked,
Lumped in with the holiday,
Not its own separate celebration,
Frequently with a dual gift. 

I visited her resting place,
Nestled in a beautiful garden,
Next to a grove of trees,
Beside her beloved church,
In company with her husband,
And daughter-in-law,
Whose deaths preceded hers.

We stood,
Knelt, hugged, cried,
As a squirrel scampered nearby,
Rooting through the old dry leaves,
For some forgotten acorns,
Loudly and persistently,
And we laughed,
Thinking how much she would have enjoyed watching him.

Just over two years now,
Yet I think of her daily,
Understand her better as I get older,
See the pure motives beneath the 
Behaviors borne of fear,
Unleashed in control and authoritarianism,
And I accept our lives,
Our relationship,
Our bond.

We visited Mom today,
On this day after Christmas,
That she didn't enjoy,
And worried was forgotten,
But she needn't have,
Because that is impossible.

You don't make an impact on the world,
In the way she did,
And become obsolete.
Instead, you become more dear,
More beloved, more accepted,
For what you were 
And what you weren't.
You go on.

Photo:  12.26.24 by LA