(no subject)
My earliest memories of my mother are irreplaceable. As a little girl I absolutely adored her. She was funny, affectionate, and vibrant. Even though she wasn't around much, I always knew she loved me. She used to write me letters, and they always said how proud she was of me, and how much she missed me. When I saw her she used to say "I miss you. Even when I'm with you I miss you." I remember she used to sing to me all the time and I thought she had the greatest voice and wanted to be able to sing just like her. Even at that age I always felt that my time with her was borrowed. I always knew she was sick. I knew she had cancer and by third grade I knew about her drug addictions.
When she moved in with my grandparents and me there was a lot of chaos. I had pent up anger toward her and we often butted heads. But at the same time, we got along like best friends. She told me stories about her life, and there were plenty. Crazy stories, sad stories, funny stories. We laughed and cried together. My mother lived with pain everyday and was extremely brave in her struggles. I witnessed it with my own eyes. I began to understand her more and more in the last few years. My mother's battle with mental illness was yet another obstacle that she fought every day to overcome. I began to realize it was not her choice, and certainly not what she wanted.
My mother never held back and I could talk about things with her that I couldn't talk to anyone else about. She was a great listener and always had good advice. I trusted her judgment. She always made me feel good when I was down. She became feisty and defensive of me toward anyone who had hurt me. She was funny, and always made me laugh. She gave to me a strong head on my shoulders, and sensitivity toward the hardships of others. I am grateful that I knew her. I'm thankful that she could show me so many things while she was here. We were discussing writing a memoir of her life together. Her stories covered the entire spectrum of human emotion, and I know it would have been a great book. When my son Lucius was born my mother was elated. She said that her grandson filled a gaping hole in her that had been left by the loss of her son. She told me he was the reason she kept going. Well, he may have been one reason, but mainly it was her own strength and will that kept her going. I'm so happy for her, for the fact that she got to enjoy her grandson in her last years.
It is too bad that we never got to write her memoir. There are so many things I wanted to know, and things she could have taught me,; more things to remember her by. But we don't need a book to remember her. Everyone who knew her knows that she was a unique, strong-willed, and beautiful woman, especially in her youth. I like to remember her that way, as a young woman who sang to and cuddled me and made me feel like there was no one quite as special. But she was just as special, and she helped make me into the woman I am today.
I want to thank my family and everyone who came here today for my mother. Her heart would swell to see how many people cared about her and loved her. She can finally be at peace.
When she moved in with my grandparents and me there was a lot of chaos. I had pent up anger toward her and we often butted heads. But at the same time, we got along like best friends. She told me stories about her life, and there were plenty. Crazy stories, sad stories, funny stories. We laughed and cried together. My mother lived with pain everyday and was extremely brave in her struggles. I witnessed it with my own eyes. I began to understand her more and more in the last few years. My mother's battle with mental illness was yet another obstacle that she fought every day to overcome. I began to realize it was not her choice, and certainly not what she wanted.
My mother never held back and I could talk about things with her that I couldn't talk to anyone else about. She was a great listener and always had good advice. I trusted her judgment. She always made me feel good when I was down. She became feisty and defensive of me toward anyone who had hurt me. She was funny, and always made me laugh. She gave to me a strong head on my shoulders, and sensitivity toward the hardships of others. I am grateful that I knew her. I'm thankful that she could show me so many things while she was here. We were discussing writing a memoir of her life together. Her stories covered the entire spectrum of human emotion, and I know it would have been a great book. When my son Lucius was born my mother was elated. She said that her grandson filled a gaping hole in her that had been left by the loss of her son. She told me he was the reason she kept going. Well, he may have been one reason, but mainly it was her own strength and will that kept her going. I'm so happy for her, for the fact that she got to enjoy her grandson in her last years.
It is too bad that we never got to write her memoir. There are so many things I wanted to know, and things she could have taught me,; more things to remember her by. But we don't need a book to remember her. Everyone who knew her knows that she was a unique, strong-willed, and beautiful woman, especially in her youth. I like to remember her that way, as a young woman who sang to and cuddled me and made me feel like there was no one quite as special. But she was just as special, and she helped make me into the woman I am today.
I want to thank my family and everyone who came here today for my mother. Her heart would swell to see how many people cared about her and loved her. She can finally be at peace.