I miss you Mommy.
Today I remember the passing of my Mother to lung cancer. One year it has been since she slipped quietly into that good night, moving onto the next realm, and out of the intense pain she was suffering. One year, and so much has happened since.
So, in her memory, I write about the grand-daughter she had waited so long to hold. On the 30th of April, Maurelle found mobility by rolling across the living room. She had only a week or two ago had been able to roll from her tummy to her back, where she preferred to remain until now. Now, everything must come up from the floor, especially all the tiny bits of toys and wrappers that her older brother likes to drop all over the floors, lest they find their way into her eager hands and mouth.
Maurelle may get her father's eyes we think, at least in color. For now it remains blue like my father's. And c0demonkey's chestnut hair as well. But she has my Mom's oriental features strongest of my three children in the face. We had seen that since she was born that my Mom's imprint was there in her.
I miss you Mom, so very much. Cameron misses his 'Bachan, and I miss you, your warmth, your odd accent, your great cooking, your garden, your eagerness to not only wash my clothes, but iron them with starch as well. I miss our arguments that always ended with a hug. I miss your massages, especially along my scalp. But most especially now as I work on my Tudor report, I miss your love of sewing, and I am so very thankful I learned so much of that and embroidery from your very hands. My pillowcase that covers one of the pillows I sleep with has your embroidery of Raggedy Ann and Andy that I got when I was a child, and is getting thinner from use. You lived such a wonderful, full, mostly happy life, with some rather hard and sad times, like surviving The Bomb on Hiroshima and the after effects of war and starvation. But you didn't let that stop you. Your memory will never be dimmed except by my old age. I am glad you are in Heaven with God, sewing up something for Him to wear, like you helped me sew my wedding dress.
I miss you... and somehow I go on. Will May Day ever be a happy one for me? I can only hope someday it can be. But the pain is still too great, and so much needs to be done. I love you Mom.
So, in her memory, I write about the grand-daughter she had waited so long to hold. On the 30th of April, Maurelle found mobility by rolling across the living room. She had only a week or two ago had been able to roll from her tummy to her back, where she preferred to remain until now. Now, everything must come up from the floor, especially all the tiny bits of toys and wrappers that her older brother likes to drop all over the floors, lest they find their way into her eager hands and mouth.
Maurelle may get her father's eyes we think, at least in color. For now it remains blue like my father's. And c0demonkey's chestnut hair as well. But she has my Mom's oriental features strongest of my three children in the face. We had seen that since she was born that my Mom's imprint was there in her.
I miss you Mom, so very much. Cameron misses his 'Bachan, and I miss you, your warmth, your odd accent, your great cooking, your garden, your eagerness to not only wash my clothes, but iron them with starch as well. I miss our arguments that always ended with a hug. I miss your massages, especially along my scalp. But most especially now as I work on my Tudor report, I miss your love of sewing, and I am so very thankful I learned so much of that and embroidery from your very hands. My pillowcase that covers one of the pillows I sleep with has your embroidery of Raggedy Ann and Andy that I got when I was a child, and is getting thinner from use. You lived such a wonderful, full, mostly happy life, with some rather hard and sad times, like surviving The Bomb on Hiroshima and the after effects of war and starvation. But you didn't let that stop you. Your memory will never be dimmed except by my old age. I am glad you are in Heaven with God, sewing up something for Him to wear, like you helped me sew my wedding dress.
I miss you... and somehow I go on. Will May Day ever be a happy one for me? I can only hope someday it can be. But the pain is still too great, and so much needs to be done. I love you Mom.