Circa 1949 |
When I was younger I never
thought of the day when I would no longer have her. As I have grown older, I have felt her gently
returning to take her place beside me.
My memories of her drying my
tears, baking cookies together, listening to my prayers, tucking me into bed
and telling me she loved me before turning out the light are a comforting trip
back in time.
Sometimes when the
incomprehensible power of life tries to break me, I remember her loving arms clutching
me tightly, her butterfly kisses and how she celebrated everything I did.
After she was diagnosed with
Multiple Sclerosis, she became a prisoner in her body. Her mind was sharp but her body made it
impossible to do anything. She often
couldn’t speak or sit or eat on her own.
I took care of her for 17 years until her death.
She died the Sunday after
Thanksgiving in 1996. I remember calling
9-1-1 and telling the dispatcher that she had just passed away. She insisted that I administer CPR. I knew this was an exercise in futility but I
did as she asked.
I swear I felt her spirit pass through
my body. I was convinced it was her way
of telling me not to mourn her passing—that she was finally free of her prison and
that she would see me again in Heaven some day.
My mother gave my life such a
firm foundation that has carried me through the years. When I feel especially tempest-tossed, I
recall those 17 years and the courage of my mom.
All I ever wanted was to comfort
and soothe her the way she had comforted me.
Mom was strong like steel and joyous like the tinkling of chimes dancing
in the wind.
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