I've started writing this so many times. I don't know how to begin, how to end or even what to fit in the middle. I want to write about my mom, how much she meant to me, what she stood for and what she still stands for to this day. She's been gone 10 years...
It's something I don't really think about. The days meld together and the years have passed. Yet, there is not a day that goes by when I don't wake up thinking of her, or go to sleep without sending her a thought. She enters my dreams and I see her in myself in almost everything I do. I look in the mirror and should I look too hastily, I see her, not me.
I don't always think I have the courage to write this, or the power to keep my tears at bay. I find it so amazing that I have gone ten years without my mother in my life to explain life's ins and outs. I look back at my life without her and wonder how I sometimes managed. I know the answer, because she was always with me.
She is with me when I walk through a crowd of people, she's with me when I sit on the sofa and knit, she's with me when I laugh and she's with me when I cry. She's there when I need her, but still...although I find so much peace in knowing and feeling that...it's not the same as if she was here with me, guiding me, laughing with me, or drying my tears.
I miss her so much that my heart aches and I don't have enough air in my lungs to breathe. I've never felt such pain and not known what to do with it. I wonder some times if I am still trying to figure it out. I think I am. It becomes very clear when I react to something without thinking, or when I throw myself to the wind and don't know where it will take me. These are the moments when I am positive that I am still grieving without knowing it. I wish she was here to tell me how to let go.
I am not sure I want to though. Letting go may mean forgetting and I am afraid of forgetting. I like remembering. I like thinking of baking with her in the kitchen, or spending hours hiking in the woods looking at plants and bugs. I like having thoughts of winter escapades with hot chocolate and cold fried egg sandwhiches with orange segments. Dyeing wool in a big vat, straw figurines, knitting, singing, playing piano, listening to boring classical music, driving in France and always giving the opposite directions, cooking...
It's funny, as I am thinking of the things that remind me of my mom, I am also reminded of how much alike we are, not just in looks, but in our likes and dislikes. She was always making sure everyone was taking care before she looked after herself. I think I have that in me, very much. She was always baking...I think I would if I had more time at home. She loved being outside, so do I and I had forgetting just how much, especially in the winter, until I had an opportunity to spend a few hours on snowshoes on a beautiful winters day with a very good friend. It was a bit of a rebirth. I found myself taken back to when I was only a little girl and the days we spent up in northern Sweden cross country skiing. I love winter and for years I have complained about why I would move from one cold wintery country to another when I could have moved somewhere warm and wonderful. I know why now, I know why in ever essence of my being...my mom is here. She's in the snow, she's in the wind, she's in the stars and she's guiding me and I wasn't sure I knew it...or allowed it in. I know now and I am sure I will never live where the snow doesn't fall, where the wind doesn't blow and whip your hair all about, or where the leaves don't change colour or where the tulips doesn't bloom. I know that, because I wouldn't be able to feel my mom.
I wrote my mom a poem for the memorial notice for the local paper in Sweden which will be out on Monday, February 9, 2009
It's something I don't really think about. The days meld together and the years have passed. Yet, there is not a day that goes by when I don't wake up thinking of her, or go to sleep without sending her a thought. She enters my dreams and I see her in myself in almost everything I do. I look in the mirror and should I look too hastily, I see her, not me.
I don't always think I have the courage to write this, or the power to keep my tears at bay. I find it so amazing that I have gone ten years without my mother in my life to explain life's ins and outs. I look back at my life without her and wonder how I sometimes managed. I know the answer, because she was always with me.
She is with me when I walk through a crowd of people, she's with me when I sit on the sofa and knit, she's with me when I laugh and she's with me when I cry. She's there when I need her, but still...although I find so much peace in knowing and feeling that...it's not the same as if she was here with me, guiding me, laughing with me, or drying my tears.
I miss her so much that my heart aches and I don't have enough air in my lungs to breathe. I've never felt such pain and not known what to do with it. I wonder some times if I am still trying to figure it out. I think I am. It becomes very clear when I react to something without thinking, or when I throw myself to the wind and don't know where it will take me. These are the moments when I am positive that I am still grieving without knowing it. I wish she was here to tell me how to let go.
I am not sure I want to though. Letting go may mean forgetting and I am afraid of forgetting. I like remembering. I like thinking of baking with her in the kitchen, or spending hours hiking in the woods looking at plants and bugs. I like having thoughts of winter escapades with hot chocolate and cold fried egg sandwhiches with orange segments. Dyeing wool in a big vat, straw figurines, knitting, singing, playing piano, listening to boring classical music, driving in France and always giving the opposite directions, cooking...
It's funny, as I am thinking of the things that remind me of my mom, I am also reminded of how much alike we are, not just in looks, but in our likes and dislikes. She was always making sure everyone was taking care before she looked after herself. I think I have that in me, very much. She was always baking...I think I would if I had more time at home. She loved being outside, so do I and I had forgetting just how much, especially in the winter, until I had an opportunity to spend a few hours on snowshoes on a beautiful winters day with a very good friend. It was a bit of a rebirth. I found myself taken back to when I was only a little girl and the days we spent up in northern Sweden cross country skiing. I love winter and for years I have complained about why I would move from one cold wintery country to another when I could have moved somewhere warm and wonderful. I know why now, I know why in ever essence of my being...my mom is here. She's in the snow, she's in the wind, she's in the stars and she's guiding me and I wasn't sure I knew it...or allowed it in. I know now and I am sure I will never live where the snow doesn't fall, where the wind doesn't blow and whip your hair all about, or where the leaves don't change colour or where the tulips doesn't bloom. I know that, because I wouldn't be able to feel my mom.
I wrote my mom a poem for the memorial notice for the local paper in Sweden which will be out on Monday, February 9, 2009
10 years without you have passed
how were we able to last
nothing forgotten but often unseen
hidden in the heart's corner or in dreams reconvene
no day is like the other
as we walk through life without a mother
the love we have the loss we feel
will always be there to keep you real
10 år utan dig har gått
hur har vi ej förstått
Inget glömt men oftast gömt
i hjärtats vrå och i sömnen drömt
Ingen dag är lik den andra
när vi utan dig genom livet vandra
Vi älskar dig och saknaden förblir densamma,
Du vår underbara, fina Mamma
Ida, otroligt vackert skrivet! Jag började gråta...
ReplyDeleteJag tror det är viktigt att du tillåter dig att vara ledsen, tiden läker inte alltid såren men i och med att tiden går så hoppas jag att du kan tänka tillbaka på alla fina minnen och minnas dem med glädje istället för att känna sorg.
Ikväll ska jag tända ett ljus för Britt.
Stor Kram Linda