Looking back, remembering

Tonight, I worked on changing the title part of this site. Those red lillies, just opening outside my kitchen window, are the deepest of red. Beautiful and yet, I don't remember them there before. I was looking out the door and saw them, blooming fully, and brilliantly. The rains, which have seemed to be never ending this spring, took a break, and I was able to snap a few pictures of these lillies. The yard looks absolutely beautiful in color. Everything is opening this year, despite lack of sun. Its like a tropical forest outside with the steamy humidity and rains. The lawns are deep lush green. Lillies in yellow, reds, oranges, whites, and pinks are blooming. Three rose bushes are full and open. There is purples and yellows, to name a few, of other flowers opening beautifully and I love checking each day what is new.

For some reason, tonight after working on the title here, i scrolled down and read some of my posts from the first year that I was writing here. Amazingly, what I have come to see more and more, is how healing and grieving took place in those early days, when I poured my soul out here and tears until it began to change here, into other things called living. Looking back, and reading forward, I can almost see this change occuring. Still, there are many times I think of her, my mother, of course and still there are times which I grieve. I miss her. Sometimes when I look around me, I can't help but wish she could share in what is now, that she had not seen. Like these red lillies. I know how she'd admire them. I once got her lillies, a rare color in reds, and she spoke of them forever after. And of course, Noah. I think of that often. How he would of amazed her and how she would of loved him so. Still, as with all else, I have to believe she does see him, because she is a part of every one of us. After all, he has her blue eyes.

I read my writing tonight that i had written on her first anniversary of being gone. It easily brought it all back to me, even the emotions felt seemed to just wash right over me again as though I had just written it. Yet, I appreciated reading it and even feeling it again. I am grateful that I wrote it and have even the memory of pain, because its all part of remembering and healing. I think, I will always be healing but just in a different stage of it. I don't dwell. I am able to look back at the good times and speak happily of them with others. They are a part of me, of who I am, of who we all are.

I have passed by her birthday this year and Mother's Day, without writing on here. It does not mean that she was not in my thoughts and in my heart on those days. She is every day. One seems to run into another now, as I have been through the year, and those days have become easier, not easy but easier. As much as any other day, really. There are the days which I need to just let her into my thoughts and go with them. Sometimes, a smile comes across my face and sometimes a tear. Or, two. I have shared this site with many, in hopes that it might bring them to realize also, that really, we are all alike on an emotional level. And that writing and sharing really can and does help. I have printed every page of this site, placed it into a book and will leave behind for the beauty found in the memories kept alive.

I think often on a project that my sister and I are to do. One that she has done and waits for me to complete. "One More Day".

One More Day

If I had one more day to spend with my Mother, it would be a magical day. It would be a magical day because there would be no time limits on it. It would stretch the 24 hour limit. Time would not matter. Still, there would be a most beautiful sun rise, and we would watch it begin this special day.

There would be no pain, no lacking of energy, no worries. For once, it would be a day which would be experienced as perfect and would always remembered as such.

We would spend the morning on Hampton Beach, watching the sun rise, because my Mother loved the beach, the ocean, the sand, the waves, and early morning it is quiet and peaceful,as it is on this day we are together. We are all there, my sister, brother; husbands, children, grandchildren, and we sip on hot coffee, and nibble on orange marmalade jellied toast.

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The sun rises, yet there is a cool breeze. I listen to her tell of her stories of youth, as she loved to do. About her father, her brother, and how they called her father "Windy" because everyone would hear him coming from miles away. She loves to tell of these stories. Of how much she loved her younger brother, Ray. How special she would say that he is to her. Its important for her to let us know about her family and where she came. Of course, her special picture album is on the table, she turns each page slowly, after telling of each photo. Her grandmother in the long, black dress to the floor. She loved her so. Its important that I listen, its so very important that I hear each word and remember. And, I do, more than I ever have before.

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Lunch matters none. At least not now. Breakfast comes at noon, lunch comes at supper, and supper comes late evening.

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She drives, with "On the Road Again", Willie Nelson tapes and Johnny Cash, and we all sing along, as we drive around the white mountains. She loves to drive, take trips, see the beautiful views of the mountains and today is no different. On top of Mt. Washington, we can see forever. The day is clear, warm, sunny. Perfect. We climbed all the way up today, and this time we made it past "Tuckerman's Revene", unlike the last time when we all climbed it and stopped there, 3/4 the way up.

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She is beautiful with the wind in her hair. Never colored, blonde hair, curls. I see her on this day, as I remember her in a picture with my father, standing on a cruise ship's deck. Her dress blowing in the wind, as well as her hair. Her lips, red. Her skin sunkissed and smooth. Her eyes as blue as the summer sky; crystal.

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The Weathervane for haddock inbetween.

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There is an "Early Bird Game"..which she loves, so we laugh lots and set up the lucky charms along the tables edge before us all, and wait with a huge degree of excitment and anxiousness to yell BINGO, because we're all so very close to that one last number! Her sense of humor as keen as ever. She is a sharp one and notices all. And laugh; she keeps you laughing.

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We stop at the Cinese Restaurant, the one in the small strip mall that she loves, on the way home. She says she can't eat all of that! Her take out container filled. But, she does just about finish it and then puts the rest away for tomorrow.

Sitting around, in the large room off the kitchen of the camp, the one my father added on later' "The party room", we share mics and sing "Green Green Grass of Home", "Lucille", and so many others of her favorites. She always loved these singalongs; a group; a good time. Of course, in this special, perfect day, the day is filled with these songs.

We watch a few shows and movies; This old show that we'd laugh for hours over, "Mary Mary". Pop some popcorn, peel some juicy dripping mouth watering sweet grapefruit, and then watch Jay Leno of course. But the night is still young, its not nearing it's end, and we watch that old movie "HomeBodies" once again. And laugh, again, like its our first time.

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Of course, with every part of this day and through it all, I hear her. I really, really listen. Her words, as always, tell me of everything that I need to know. She speaks about life, and world matters; the depression and money; of family and relationships; of enjoyment and pains. She tells me of happiness and letting go of sorrow; of not holding onto grudges, as life is too short. Inbetween our travels today, inbetween each meal and each stop, she tells me again, of everything that I will forever need to know. She tells me all thats important, which is every word she speaks. She tells me of the past, of struggles, of the present and of the future. And, in this perfect day, I listen and take in, and hold onto every word, because in this day I have a greater appreciation for her words, knowing that they will become softer. She tells me all of this because she knows. She has lived it and she is wise. She tells me how to love and be loving because she always was and still is, and always will be;

loved.

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And now that I have finally started this project and written on our day, I don't know how to end it. I don't want to end it but I don't know how to end it either. I can't. And this part had not dawned on me until just now. What I really have described pretty much is lots of typical things done in one of her ordinary days, which seems ordinary but she loved these things and that makes them not so ordinary but every day as special. This IS the perfect day.

I'm not going to end this. I can't. I don't know how. I'm just going to say "I love you, Ma" and that is forever on.

~

Now I see how this perfect day has no limits of time. And as I look back, I realize how I said this would be a "magicial, special perfect" day, yet throughout it, I tell how it is an ordinary day, which she loved. How special it is in an ordinary day, if we make it so.