Mama,

[quidditchgrrl]

I still miss you every day, and think of you each day. The nightmares are long gone, where you appear to me in your various forms - sick mama, 'real' mama, young mama, dead mama - then disappear, leaving me to cry uncontrollably. I want to pick up the phone a hundred times to spill my heart out to someone who understands me completely - I know Mal gets really sick of it. It's the little things that I know we'll miss sharing, or have already missed - my college graduation, my wedding, kids. Those are the only times I feel cheated, and I wish that the cancer had been caught sooner, that something else could have been done. That you'd beaten it, instead of it eating you from the inside out.

I still love to be able to tell people that yeah, my mama did have to walk two miles over a mountain to get to school, and that you could make muskrat stew (although I'd never eat it). And that people still talk about your biscuits and gravy with a nostalgic wistfulness usually reserved for vintage cars and first loves.

I don't feel a lot of sympathy for people who expect a handout for not doing anything to change their situation - they have running water and a place to live most times. You didn't get that regularly until you moved with your family to Cleveland when you were 15. No matter what I said to you growing up, I thoroughly appreciate how hard that must have been now. It gives me a lot more empathy in general. You taught me the difference between empathy and sympathy.

I appreciate that you made sure we dropped that Appalachian accent, even though our cousins on both sides of the family beat us up for it. But you let us call you mama, and speak the dialect at home once we were old enough to know the difference. I only fall back into it when I meet up with a relative or another Appalachian; that makes me sadder than I can say because it reminds me of you., and I can't slip into it on demand.

Someday I'll forget; I'll be able to enjoy the start of summer, and remember the relief instead of the loss.

Comments

[sunshyndaisies.livejournal.com]

Oh hon, this made me cry. {{hugs}}

[lissannej.livejournal.com]

Sending many hugs your way - she'll always be in your heart.

[bloodee-maree.livejournal.com]

{{{major hugs}}}

I know it doesn't really get easier. It just gets different over the years. It hurts in a special way to loose Mom. (It's different even than loosing Dad.)

It hurts when you outgrow her and move on. Then, you come back and slowly realize that she outgrew her own Mother. It's the generations at work. That gives you a twinge of pain as well.

I lost an accent too. (Proudly.) Weird how you can slide right back into it when confronted with a reminder, isn't it?

Be proud of what you've become and that you became independent and strong. Be proud that in the end she knew she did her job as your Mom. That really is what matters, isn't it?

It sounds like you got to say goodbye - Am I right? Hold tight to that. It is precious. So many people don't get that last chance to say "I love you, Mama." or "Thank you for everything you did."

Damn. Now I am crying. You have the start of summer. I have the snow falling gently on Christmas Eve. I'll always see that. I think we should both work on giving ourselves a break in this area, ya know?

Re:

[quidditchgrrl.livejournal.com]

Yes, we got to say goodbye, to exchange hugs and emotions. We told her we were all grown up and were ready for her to go, she'd done good by us, etc.

It was the knowledge that we'd said goodbye that kept me sane through the five horrible days that followed. I couldn't have been nearly as strong had she slipped away without being able to voice all those meaningful things.