On this second anniversary of the death of my mother, Evelyn, I went back and re-read a piece that I wrote three weeks after her death in 2008. I was struck by the following paragraph.
I confess that I've never known this kind of emotional loss and I don't feel like me. I go to work and I go through the motions of what I should do; I smile, I talk, I try to be "fine." When people ask how I am, I always say, "I'm doing okay. I'm fine." But I'm not. Everything seems so overwhelming. I come home and watch hours of mindless television. I rarely turn on my home computer; I tell myself that I'll catch up on things tomorrow, but tomorrow never comes. All that I know to do is to keep moving forward one day at a time until I find my rhythm again. I realize that this loss is personal but it is also universal. I am not the first person to lose a mother and people do survive the loss; I just have to get back in sync with living again.I still miss my mother. I miss her 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning call and her cheery inquiry, "Were you asleep?" I miss her stories about her older sister, my Aunt Nellie Ruth, who is always terribly concerned with two topics: Jesus and other people's sex lives. I miss her rearranging all the items in my pantry so that after she departed from a visit I couldn't find anything without calling her on the phone. Most of all I miss having her always in my corner, telling me that she loved me and that whatever was troubling me was going to be okay. However, in spite of the ache that I still have for her presence, somehow I've gotten back in sync with living again.
My sister, Rhonda, and her husband Bob live only a few blocks from me. I love their home; it's so warm and inviting. They are both very funny people and spending time with them always leaves me relaxed and happy. I feel so blessed to have them nearby. My brother, James, his wife, Lou and my adult nephew, JD live in Charlotte. We keep in contact via telephone and visit on holidays. My dad visits us and I call him every Thursday night for a marathon conversation about world affairs. Mama's youngest brother, my Uncle David calls me regularly just to chat, just as he used to do with my mother. I've renewed connections with some of my cousins with whom I had lost touch over the years. I think that we've all grown to appreciate the meaning of family more.
Then there's Little D, Bob and Rhonda's grandson. His father is Bob's son and Rhonda's stepson. Little D entered this world the December after my mother died; she never met him, but I know that she would have adored him.
|Mama looking glamorous.|