Mother’s Day

I lost my best friend a half a lifetime ago. In the span of those (almost) 21 years, my thoughts of my Mom have never been limited to a single day. In fact, it is a rare day that passes when I don’t wish that I could pick up the phone while at work or pop into the kitchen at home and talk with her, ask her opinion, learn from her infinite wisdom, laugh and love with her.

And, yet, with every passing Mother’s Day, I am actually surprised to recognize that the knot of grief that has grown like a mass around my heart hasn’t diminished in size.

If anything, the knot has now become scar tissue.

This painfully reminds me of the nugget of wisdom (and warning) that my Mom shared with me a long time ago – scar tissue of the soul leaves a debilitating loss of capacity for life or love.

She was right, of course. She was always right.

When she died, I recall Father Tim’s words of sympathy echoing that grief is a process. Even then I knew that any person who tells you grief is a process is a fool. Grief isn’t the flu; it’s a disease, like cancer, a gnawing thing that grows and spreads and debilitates. You simply go ahead and rebuild a life around the hole, the knot, that gnawing thing.

So today really isn’t any different than any other day.

I still miss you – and wish you were here to hug and tell me that everything will be alright.