Mom:
Well, it's almost officially Christmas. I think I stayed the night at your house last year, if I remember correctly. But I didn't write about it in my LJ so I'm not totally sure if I did. What a difference a year makes. From the traditional Christmas Eve dinner at Mom's last year to making dinner at my house for Kerri and I after seeing a movie this year. Not that Kerri isn't excellent company, but I definitely miss the old days.
Aunt Pat called me today. Johnny's mom died on Thursday so today was the first opportunity she had to call and thank me for the teacup I sent her. I think you must have been whispering in my ear the day I went through the cups, because Pat said I sent her the cup she always chose to drink from at your house when you two had tea. I'm happy about that, it made it more special to her. I talked to Grandma today, too. She also got her teacup, but you know how she is. You can't squeeze blood from a turnip and you can't squeeze emotion from Luella. That's okay. I know deep down she appreciated it. I sent her the October cup, since I figured it was probably the one she drank from when she was visiting. Christina also called to thank me, and Aunt Bernice and Khin Khin both sent thank you notes. I'm glad it means something to them. It's funny how different the reactions are. Christina put hers on display in her China cabinet, whereas Aunt Bernice promptly made herself a cup of tea. Poor Pat, she said she just cried and cried. We all miss you so much.
I enclosed this letter with each teacup I sent:
Dear Friends and Family,
My mom loved having tea. She made it a ritual, into something special. Her teacup collection played an important role, because she always made you pick out which cup you wanted to use. Anyone a part of my mom's life for any significant amount of time had to have tea with her eventually. You almost couldn’t escape it!
I always picked the July cup, because July is my birthday month. I have so many fond memories of sitting around her table, drinking tea out of that cup and talking to her. My mom was so easy to talk to and I loved her very much. She was a very special person, and I miss her every day. But I’m not the only one who misses her. She left behind many life-long friends and loved ones who were very special to her.
That is why I'm sending you this teacup. It was part of her collection, and you were an important part of her life. You probably, at one time or another, got to pick out your cup and have tea with my mom. You got to sit around her table and talk to her, too. You loved her and you miss her, too. I want to share her teacup collection with the people she loved most in this world.
Please let this teacup be a reminder to you of my mom. Of who she was. Of who she continues to be as she lives on within those of us she left behind. I wouldn't be who I am today if not for the love she had for me, the faith she had in me, and the pride she felt for me.
God hangs the greatest weights upon the smallest wires.
- Francis Bacon
Love,
Sarah
I hope they cherish their teacup as their reminder of you. I wanted somehow to share a piece of you with each of them, so that they would have something to remember you by. All of us have our memories, but sometimes you need a THING to help trigger it.
I was reading some of my old journal entries from last year and I am so glad we had fun together while we had the chance. I forget, sometimes, that our relationship wasn't only fights and resentments, sickness and disease. I think I've fixated on the negative stuff a lot lately. Partly because I feel guilty for every negative thought, every negative word, action or deed I've had towards you. But also because remembering the bad stuff is easier. It's harder for me to remember the times we laughed and loved and shared and gave. Those memories make me miss you more. They remind me of all I have lost.
I can't believe that tomorrow is Christmas and I don't get to spend it with my mom. Mom, my heart aches with this. I'm so sad. Christmas hasn't been about God for me for a long, long time. It's been about family. About being with MY family. And now, I have no idea what, or who, my family is. Because, quite honestly, YOU were my family. YOU made me feel like I was part of a family. Without you, I still have a dad. I still have a brother, a niece, a nephew, even cousins. But the parts don't fit together anymore, Mom. Everything is disjointed, coming apart at the seams. I no longer belong.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately. I know something now that I didn't know before. There is a reason we're supposed to grow up, get married, and have babies. Because once you become an adult, once your parents die, you no longer do belong to a family. This is why you're supposed to make a new family for yourself. So that you have somewhere to belong. Something greater than yourself to belong to. You used to say you wanted to see me "settled" before you "croaked." I would always reply that I AM settled, that I didn't have to be married to be settled. But I see now why you were worried. It wasn't about me needing a man. It was about me needing a family.
I wonder, as I continue to live my life in the shadow of your advice, how much of it will continue to become clear as I go along? I think I'm going to hear your echo for the rest of my life. I hope I do. Because it means that, once, a long time ago, I belonged to you.
Aunt Pat called me today. Johnny's mom died on Thursday so today was the first opportunity she had to call and thank me for the teacup I sent her. I think you must have been whispering in my ear the day I went through the cups, because Pat said I sent her the cup she always chose to drink from at your house when you two had tea. I'm happy about that, it made it more special to her. I talked to Grandma today, too. She also got her teacup, but you know how she is. You can't squeeze blood from a turnip and you can't squeeze emotion from Luella. That's okay. I know deep down she appreciated it. I sent her the October cup, since I figured it was probably the one she drank from when she was visiting. Christina also called to thank me, and Aunt Bernice and Khin Khin both sent thank you notes. I'm glad it means something to them. It's funny how different the reactions are. Christina put hers on display in her China cabinet, whereas Aunt Bernice promptly made herself a cup of tea. Poor Pat, she said she just cried and cried. We all miss you so much.
I enclosed this letter with each teacup I sent:
Dear Friends and Family,
My mom loved having tea. She made it a ritual, into something special. Her teacup collection played an important role, because she always made you pick out which cup you wanted to use. Anyone a part of my mom's life for any significant amount of time had to have tea with her eventually. You almost couldn’t escape it!
I always picked the July cup, because July is my birthday month. I have so many fond memories of sitting around her table, drinking tea out of that cup and talking to her. My mom was so easy to talk to and I loved her very much. She was a very special person, and I miss her every day. But I’m not the only one who misses her. She left behind many life-long friends and loved ones who were very special to her.
That is why I'm sending you this teacup. It was part of her collection, and you were an important part of her life. You probably, at one time or another, got to pick out your cup and have tea with my mom. You got to sit around her table and talk to her, too. You loved her and you miss her, too. I want to share her teacup collection with the people she loved most in this world.
Please let this teacup be a reminder to you of my mom. Of who she was. Of who she continues to be as she lives on within those of us she left behind. I wouldn't be who I am today if not for the love she had for me, the faith she had in me, and the pride she felt for me.
God hangs the greatest weights upon the smallest wires.
- Francis Bacon
Love,
Sarah
I hope they cherish their teacup as their reminder of you. I wanted somehow to share a piece of you with each of them, so that they would have something to remember you by. All of us have our memories, but sometimes you need a THING to help trigger it.
I was reading some of my old journal entries from last year and I am so glad we had fun together while we had the chance. I forget, sometimes, that our relationship wasn't only fights and resentments, sickness and disease. I think I've fixated on the negative stuff a lot lately. Partly because I feel guilty for every negative thought, every negative word, action or deed I've had towards you. But also because remembering the bad stuff is easier. It's harder for me to remember the times we laughed and loved and shared and gave. Those memories make me miss you more. They remind me of all I have lost.
I can't believe that tomorrow is Christmas and I don't get to spend it with my mom. Mom, my heart aches with this. I'm so sad. Christmas hasn't been about God for me for a long, long time. It's been about family. About being with MY family. And now, I have no idea what, or who, my family is. Because, quite honestly, YOU were my family. YOU made me feel like I was part of a family. Without you, I still have a dad. I still have a brother, a niece, a nephew, even cousins. But the parts don't fit together anymore, Mom. Everything is disjointed, coming apart at the seams. I no longer belong.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately. I know something now that I didn't know before. There is a reason we're supposed to grow up, get married, and have babies. Because once you become an adult, once your parents die, you no longer do belong to a family. This is why you're supposed to make a new family for yourself. So that you have somewhere to belong. Something greater than yourself to belong to. You used to say you wanted to see me "settled" before you "croaked." I would always reply that I AM settled, that I didn't have to be married to be settled. But I see now why you were worried. It wasn't about me needing a man. It was about me needing a family.
I wonder, as I continue to live my life in the shadow of your advice, how much of it will continue to become clear as I go along? I think I'm going to hear your echo for the rest of my life. I hope I do. Because it means that, once, a long time ago, I belonged to you.