I hope you all had a wonderful Valentine’s Day with the ones you love. I was adorned with two dozen tulips, a favourite of mine, stayed in my jammies for an all-day marathon of murderous delight with Dexter on Netflix. That’s about as romantic as we roll, the day was perfect!
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Last week I took my annual cruise down memory lane. It’s always a bumpy ride, full of ups and downs, joy and sadness. The loss of parents is never easy and despite what people say, time doesn’t heal all wounds, the holes remain and as other loved ones pass, ones heart resembles Swiss cheese.
February has always held a special place in my heart. My mother was born on the 8th of February and my father on the 10th. They were born the same year with only one day separating them. As a child I joked; my father married an older woman, my mother a younger man.
Both of my parents have been gone a long time. My mother passed away at the age of 58 in 1991, and this October will signify a quarter of a century without her. My father passed away in 2000 on February 12th, two days after his 67th birthday, racking up 16 years without him. My mother died when she was only one year older than I am now, far too young to be taken and it sure makes me think about my own mortality. They say that parents are the buffers between us and our own end, once they are gone, well, get in line……
One believes that a mother is more important in the formative years, a guiding light through adolescence into young adulthood when we are fit to leave the nest, but I’m not so sure I agree. Needing a maternal presence to nurture your younger self is important, yes, but what about the older me, I still need my mom, want her company and reassuring smile. I’m older and mature now, back then I took her for granted, maybe even thought I was smarter as youthful arrogance has no place for sensible thought. I think I would rather have her now, be on the level playing field, discover each other as adults, be friends and confidants, sharing our lives, our secrets and our desires. I’m lonely without her…..
Now we would share things, grown-up things. I would love to hear her inner most thoughts on life. Stories of the past like meeting my father, falling in love and all the stuff in between. I heard the basics when I was a child, but now I’d like to swap more intimate and meaningful stories about her childhood, dating and dancing her way through the teenage years, a full account of her life as a wife and mother, which of her dreams came true, which ones were swapped for laundry and domestic chores.
Now that the silliness of growing up is over, all the tugging and pulling to demand independence, the stubbornness and one sided, selfish thinking, we could sit in comfy chairs, sipping tea and perhaps laugh over the foolishness behind us and discover the commonalities of being women, sharing our hearts and our dreams without the limitations that mother and child can bring. See each other as people without labels, be friends now. Her hard working, slightly arthritic and spotted hand, wrapped around my own, clasped together as we walk along the unknown path into the future. I think she would have liked the older me….I would certainly treasure her.
Sometimes, in my daydreams I wish she would have lived to see the shop, know that I am happy and following a creative dream. My mom would have loved to hang out with me, share the joy of rug hooking. She would have been a wonderful hooker. All that I am in this craft came from her. She liked handwork and would have taken to hooking easily, a natural progression from her needle crafts. Her work was always immaculate, as close to perfection that can be. She never did anything half way, taking great pride in all that she did whether it was starching and ironing my father’s work shirts, preparing a meal or creating beautify in her crafts. Our hands create alike. There is no denying that I am a product of her genes, even my hand writing is similar to hers although she was a right handed pen holder and I a left. Sometimes when I’m writing, she is right there with me in the words that form, filling out my grocery list or copying down a recipe. It’s a good feeling to see this commonality flow through me, a constant reminder of our connection.
My dad would be hanging out at the shop as well, to wink at the ladies buying wool. He was a bit of a scoundrel although in an innocent way. He loved to flirt and joke but he only had eyes for his bride. He told me often I was his favourite and although that might not be fair to my siblings, it made me smile bigger than Texas. I was a daddy’s girl and proud of it. I loved my father and appreciate the genetic gift of a sense of humour. I think the two of them set me up well.
February boasts the day of love. Valentine's Day. So how perfect that February was also the time of my parents beginning on this earth and later, through their union, I came along. I think, February is a very special month……
They say time heals all wounds but that’s a load of crap. It doesn’t get easier, it’s just different. Some days pass without thinking of them, while others flood memories like a breaking dam. Thankfully I can visit them in my dreams, where they are still youthful, vibrant, and full of life……
**************************************
Last week I took my annual cruise down memory lane. It’s always a bumpy ride, full of ups and downs, joy and sadness. The loss of parents is never easy and despite what people say, time doesn’t heal all wounds, the holes remain and as other loved ones pass, ones heart resembles Swiss cheese.
February has always held a special place in my heart. My mother was born on the 8th of February and my father on the 10th. They were born the same year with only one day separating them. As a child I joked; my father married an older woman, my mother a younger man.
Both of my parents have been gone a long time. My mother passed away at the age of 58 in 1991, and this October will signify a quarter of a century without her. My father passed away in 2000 on February 12th, two days after his 67th birthday, racking up 16 years without him. My mother died when she was only one year older than I am now, far too young to be taken and it sure makes me think about my own mortality. They say that parents are the buffers between us and our own end, once they are gone, well, get in line……
One believes that a mother is more important in the formative years, a guiding light through adolescence into young adulthood when we are fit to leave the nest, but I’m not so sure I agree. Needing a maternal presence to nurture your younger self is important, yes, but what about the older me, I still need my mom, want her company and reassuring smile. I’m older and mature now, back then I took her for granted, maybe even thought I was smarter as youthful arrogance has no place for sensible thought. I think I would rather have her now, be on the level playing field, discover each other as adults, be friends and confidants, sharing our lives, our secrets and our desires. I’m lonely without her…..
Now we would share things, grown-up things. I would love to hear her inner most thoughts on life. Stories of the past like meeting my father, falling in love and all the stuff in between. I heard the basics when I was a child, but now I’d like to swap more intimate and meaningful stories about her childhood, dating and dancing her way through the teenage years, a full account of her life as a wife and mother, which of her dreams came true, which ones were swapped for laundry and domestic chores.
Now that the silliness of growing up is over, all the tugging and pulling to demand independence, the stubbornness and one sided, selfish thinking, we could sit in comfy chairs, sipping tea and perhaps laugh over the foolishness behind us and discover the commonalities of being women, sharing our hearts and our dreams without the limitations that mother and child can bring. See each other as people without labels, be friends now. Her hard working, slightly arthritic and spotted hand, wrapped around my own, clasped together as we walk along the unknown path into the future. I think she would have liked the older me….I would certainly treasure her.
Sometimes, in my daydreams I wish she would have lived to see the shop, know that I am happy and following a creative dream. My mom would have loved to hang out with me, share the joy of rug hooking. She would have been a wonderful hooker. All that I am in this craft came from her. She liked handwork and would have taken to hooking easily, a natural progression from her needle crafts. Her work was always immaculate, as close to perfection that can be. She never did anything half way, taking great pride in all that she did whether it was starching and ironing my father’s work shirts, preparing a meal or creating beautify in her crafts. Our hands create alike. There is no denying that I am a product of her genes, even my hand writing is similar to hers although she was a right handed pen holder and I a left. Sometimes when I’m writing, she is right there with me in the words that form, filling out my grocery list or copying down a recipe. It’s a good feeling to see this commonality flow through me, a constant reminder of our connection.
My dad would be hanging out at the shop as well, to wink at the ladies buying wool. He was a bit of a scoundrel although in an innocent way. He loved to flirt and joke but he only had eyes for his bride. He told me often I was his favourite and although that might not be fair to my siblings, it made me smile bigger than Texas. I was a daddy’s girl and proud of it. I loved my father and appreciate the genetic gift of a sense of humour. I think the two of them set me up well.
February boasts the day of love. Valentine's Day. So how perfect that February was also the time of my parents beginning on this earth and later, through their union, I came along. I think, February is a very special month……
They say time heals all wounds but that’s a load of crap. It doesn’t get easier, it’s just different. Some days pass without thinking of them, while others flood memories like a breaking dam. Thankfully I can visit them in my dreams, where they are still youthful, vibrant, and full of life……
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