"I sat with my anger long enough, until she told me her real name was grief."
~ Isaac Rowe
My mother was many things in this life. One of those things was an artist, another was
pianist, and yet another was animal lover.
For many years I forgot about all of these. All I held onto was the loss and the hurt in
dealing with her death. I could not let
go of the question, why did she not care enough to live, if not for herself, at
least for us? You see,
my Mom passed of the same thing Karen Carpenter did. She had congestive heart failure due to
malnutrition.
It was 1972, my first day of 4th grade, and my
last day to see her. I do not remember
tears; I only remember leaving school early to see her in the hospital, and her
passing right before our eyes. The last
2 years before that time, are very vague and I remember only bits and pieces,
but I know that I lost her in many ways long before that day. I am certain of that because of my reaction
to her passing away. There were no tears.
If I could find a way to describe how I felt it would probably be like
being an empty vase, that once held beautiful flowers many years before, and
with time the feeling of emptiness had simply become both familiar and greater.
Through the years, there was a quiet anger that lulled
beneath the surface. I usually did not
acknowledge it. It was as much a part of
me as my feet that kept me running from the pain, and my hands that do not always
let go of what they should. It loyally
stayed by my side, as I ignored it like an unwanted child.
Then in my early adulthood, I became a mother myself; going
through childbirth, and all the many experiences of having a little person in
one’s care. It was during that time, in
the joy and the adjustment that my quiet friend grief came forward to show its
true face. For the first time I found
myself crying. Something I had done very
very little of in the past. Anger had
been my main emotion, and that was only when I let myself think on what had
taken place all those years ago. Every
milestone my little one had; learning to say words, walking, his 1st
birthday, and even daily things, made me feel a deep sadness inside. It was then that I truly realized all that I
had lost.
Many years have passed since that time of my life, and I am
no longer that angry young woman, or lost little girl. I have long since made peace with my mother
and my memories of her and the time that led up to her passing. I have let go of that bitterness that filled
my heart with sadness, yet now I am so much more than what I was. My life is full with what is and not empty with
what is not. I am a writer, a dreamer, a
mother and grandmother, an animal lover, and so much more. In many ways, I am a reflection of my
mother.
Many things in our lives define us; molding us into the
people we become, yet our hopes fears, and dreams can fade, grow, or change
with time. What we have and what we lose
in this life can either widen or lesson our view of what is behind and ahead of
us. I spent many years confined by the
loss I did not want to face. Angry at a
person that could no longer defend their actions. Grief is a heavy coat that can smother and
weigh us down, and everyone handles it differently. It is a part of life that we all have to face,
and as painful as it is, I have come to realize that it makes one value life
all the more.
These days I
frequently find myself thinking about my mother . . . what it would have been
like if she had still been around and what she would have thought about my life. Would she have been proud of me? Over the last couple
of decades I have been trying to learn to draw mainly because she was an
artist and I admire that so much. You see, now I remember all those precious things -- all the attributes she had
that were so amazing. The more I remember these things, the more I realize what matters most in
this life--cherishing the ones we love and embracing all of who they are; the
good, the difficult, and the beautiful.
©Carrie Van Horn 2019
Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.
~Henry Van Dyke
