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Jun. 28th, 2005 11:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quidditchgrrlMy 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.
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.
