I Remember Mom, I Remember
I am the memory keeper — childhood memories of my mom
My mom died when I was barely out of my teens. I have adult children of my own now. There are still days when I miss her so much it hurts. The saying “time heals all wounds” is entirely false. Time mellows our deepest hurts into something more akin to melancholy than pain, but we do not heal from losing someone we love.
I have missed so much in not having her to share in my adult life. She never knew my kids, and she would have been the world’s most amazing grandmother. I am sad that they only know her through the stories I share.
As an only child, I became the memory keeper. The burden and blessing of the memories of my mom as Mom are mine to keep alive. For her, I remember.
She was a profoundly gentle soul but a ferocious mother bear.
I was adopted, so I look nothing like my mom. I do not see her when I look into a mirror, but I certainly hear her when I open my mouth. Funny, the older I get, the more I hear her in the things I say. She was a profoundly gentle soul but a ferocious mother bear. I see that in myself.
I miss having the one person in the world that would forever be where home was. I built my own home with my own family. Still…
