Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Learning to Walk Again

Another year.

Yesterday marked another whole year without my mom. I wish she could get on the floor and play with Madeline and Charlie -- smell them and know them, rock them to sleep, make them clothes and paint murals in their nurseries. I wish she could give me a hug in my moments of doubt. I wish I could have a glass of wine with her and hear her fabulous laugh. I wish she was picking out Mother of the Bride dresses for both of my sisters' weddings. I even wish she was here to annoy me or give me unsolicited advice, because let's face it, occasionally we did that to each other just like all normal mothers and daughters do.

It aches how much I miss her sometimes. The last five years have been like learning to walk, then run, on a prosthetic. Like the guy who sprinted past me in the last mile of the Chicago marathon on one leg, right at the moment when I thought maybe I couldn't finish the race running. I saw him and I tapped into a reserve that carried me forward. My mom gave me skills and confidence to thrive without her. That's my reserve; it was a gift from her.

At first losing my mom was about survival. Now it's about keeping her memory alive every single day. By telling stories, channeling her joie de vivre, making decisions that require courage and faith. Most of all by being the mom to Madeline and Charlie that she was to me -- present in the moment, silly, assertive, loving, sympathetic and supportive.


The Brown Family said...

BIG hugs, Meg. Each wonderful adjective you listed about your mom, I see in you as you take on your role as a mother. Your mom would be SO incredibly proud. And I loved her amazing laugh! Thinking of you.

Erica said...

What a beautiful tribute to a beautiful woman. I know your mom is beaming down with pride from heaven at the beautiful woman she raised. Love you lots.

Cole said...

In our pain there are also joyful moments, which we celebrate daily. You are a gift from your mother and she lives so strongly in you. I believe that in the depths of the pain we have felt, we also know the extreme joys, it is in the pain that I can prosper, too. You mom was a charm that everyone should have dangled on their bracelet :)

Chelsea said...

It's amazing how much you can miss someone, isn't it? What a beautiful post you wrote about her - your heartache and love for her so real. She IS looking down on you and is a part of things in her own way, through your memories of her. She would be so proud of you and what an amazing mother you are!