(no subject)

[quidditchgrrl]

My mom always loved this time of the year, when everything had sprouted and it was hot and humid and rain fell fast and furious and the sun dried the runoff into instant wavy creekbeds.

There was always enough shade and not a whole lot that needed to get done.  You could relax and let the day pass by.

I like to think that my mom wanted to wait for this time of year to leave, so that we wouldn't remember her passing with the horrible gloom that mid-winter brings, or the glittering false hope of spring.  I like to think she wanted to go when the sun was the highest, the days the longest, so that we'd remember an eternity of sunshine rather than dry falling leaves.

It's been five years and there are still times when I want to pick up the phone and share the mundane details of the day with her.  Or ask her some silly question that only she knows the answer to.

It's not fair to want her back.

Comments

[annearchy.livejournal.com]

Awww, honey. *hugs* I'm sorry.

[nmalfoy.livejournal.com]

I don't know if this will help or not... My mother died in 1979 and there are times (admittedly rare) that I think, "Oh, she'd love this". So I think she's in your heart and because of that you still think of her, and by thinking of her, you're keeping her near you and that's a sort of immortality.

yeah, late. Not making so much sense. *hugs*

[didi75.livejournal.com]

No, it's not fair at all. I'm so sorry. *hugs*

[writers-wrath.livejournal.com]

*also hugs*

[megome.livejournal.com]

*hugs as well*... one of my friends lost her mother over the weekend (after also losing her father five years ago), and my other friend lost her father three months ago. I don't know what that's like. I admire how strong you are though.

[poconell.livejournal.com]

::Hugs:: She's still with you. I just heard her voice in what you wrote.

[queenkatieett.livejournal.com]

How beautiful. How true.

[bana05.livejournal.com]

Yeah . . .

I lost my mother, will be thirteen years ago this year, two days after Thanksgiving, and even now, randomly, I'll just stop and think about her, and even though my memory isn't as plentiful as others considering I'd only known her for nine years, sometimes I just talk to her . . . and I know she's listening . . . and I know it's okay. So, still tell your mother those mundane things, although now you don't necessarily need a phone to do it.

I hope that helps.

[lissannej.livejournal.com]

*hugs you* It's human to want her back, Donna. We all grieve for those we've lost, and while time eases, it doesn't erase. If you ever want an ear, you know where to find me.