Despite it all…

…I know I’m lucky. I’m lucky that I was born to a great mother, that I loved her and told her so all the time. That I was able to be there for her and that she let me care for her was a real blessing. A critical illness has a way of burning away all the inessentials. The pain I’m in now is because I love her so much — my grief is the best tribute I can offer.

I’m lucky that I have so many sweet and thoughtful friends who thought of me and how difficult Sunday would be for me, and reached out with comfort. I know there will be many such hard days ahead, but I confess I didn’t handle this one very well.

And I’m lucky I have these boys, and their patient father, all of whom look stricken every time I go out “for poetry,” but let me go nonetheless. The poetry is returning — a new poem last week, another brewing — but nothing could happen if they didn’t give me a little space to maneuver.

And I like to think they’re discovering the exhilaration of creating for themselves…

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7 thoughts on “Despite it all…

  1. I can tell you, from someone who lost her mother three years ago, that Mother’s Day is the very worst. I thought of you this past Sunday, and will continue to think of you as you work your way through this first year of firsts without your mother.

  2. I’m sorry the day was difficult for you, but how wonderful to have your family supporting you.

    I know that stricken look every time you leave for poetry. I know it well.

    Hugs, and hope to see you in Salem this weekend.

  3. Thank you!

    Karen, I think about you & your loss often — 3 years is a drop in the bucket, I know.

    Yes, January, I’ll be in Salem on Saturday — see you then!

    Jeannine & Sandy, 🙂

    Hugs to you all.

  4. Marie,

    Not to get too sentimental on a blog, but the best words of wisdom about grief was from a colleague. I was sharing with her that I didn’t understand why I would break down in tears two years after my mother’s death. And she looked at me kinda funny and said “Well, she was your mother for 35 years, so why are you only giving yourself two years to heal?”

    I think about her words often when I think about my mother.

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