September 21, 2011 ~ Day 286 Saying Goodbye

Just got off the telephone with my mother, aka my saving grace.

She is the woman who makes all things possible, and shows me by example how to do the same for my children.

Tonight Mom is vibrant with excitement. She is on her way tomorrow, along with my sister, to enjoy an Atlantic cruise into Canada. Highlights will include time in Montreal and Prince Edward Island.

Any adult (okay, especially any adult woman) who grew up reading the "Anne of Green Gables" series will know exactly what I mean when I say that I've dreamed of Prince Edward Island since I was a little girl. I am jealous AND excited that the ladies in my family will soon be traversing the paths of L.M. Montgomery.

Saying goodbye to Mom though is a little hard.

It isn't that I see her every day. Weeks can pass without us getting together in person, even though we live in the same city.

The last time Mom traveled away from home, I was reminded by her sudden illness that our remaining time together may be limited.

I hate feeling like my mother could be an entire nation away from me ~ thousands of miles ~ at a moment of crisis or turmoil.

What if she needs me? What if we need each other?

* * *

Mothers are not all that rare; after all, everyone has a mother at some point in their life.

They are, however, extremely precious.

I don't say this as a mother. I have no idea what I truly mean to my own children at this point in their young lives. (They are too little to know themselves!)

Rather, I say this as a daughter. Nothing on Earth could be more meaningful than the closeness I feel to my mother.

I am now her nearly 36 year old child... and to this day, she knows me better than anyone else on the planet.


* * *

My mother is gorgeous. She is however, not a spring chicken.

When we say goodbye for simple things like voyages or vacations, it is starting to feel like a practice run.

Getting ready for the Big Goodbye.

(The one I had to say already to Dad.)

The goodbye after which you can never take anything back, change your mind, apologize.

With Dad, the goodbye happened to be one-sided.

He was no longer capable of saying anything meaningful, poignant or important to me. There were no apologies. No regrets. No expression of love or joy from him to me.

It just ended.

* * *

I talk to my Dad in my head sometimes, now that he's gone.

On occasion I even feel like he answers me.

I know the answers are my own brain conjuring up memories of his voice. The Dad voice never says anything novel; never adds any new idea or phrase.

It's just a repetition of things he's said to me before.

"Hi Honey," I can hear him say in my subconscious. "It's Dad. Take good care of your mother for me. She's a one-of-a-kind woman."

When I want to really freak myself out, I listen to speeches by Senator Harry Reid of Nevada.

I think the guy himself is questionable; but to my wonderment he has my father's voice! When Harry Reid gives speeches and I close my eyes, it is easy to pretend that my father is the one talking.

About coal. Or taxes. Or party politics.

It's weird. Harry Reid of Nevada/Utah speaks with my deceased midwestern Dad's voice. Same tone, inflections. Everything.

* * *

I wonder what Mom will be saying to me in my head, down the road, when she's gone.

I'm guessing it will be something like, "Hi sweetheart. It's Mom. You're fine."

That sounds like something she would say.

Even though it's that simple, it turns out that hearing a person's voice is important.

Not just the physical voice; but also their inner voice.

* * *

Sometimes my six year old son brings up this blog with me; the 365 days of meaning blog I've been putting together for our family over the past nine months.

Typically he wants to know what day I'm working on - "Day 286? Wow! That's cool mom!"

Other times, he wants me to read a blog entry out loud to him. I choose selections that are funny, light hearted and usually involving silly conversations that he or his brother have shared with their little sister.

He loves to hear these and laughs hysterically.

I've been honest with my sons about the fact that the blog represents our REAL life, including the hard or bad times we face as a family.

"Sometimes I write about great things that make us feel happy - like your soccer goals, finding our new house, taking vacations," I recently explained to him.

"Other times, I write about the challenges we face together - like when you fight with your brother, or someone gets sick. I tell the truth in my writing, so that when you grow up you will get a glimpse of our life the way it actually happened."

"I like to hear about the good times, Mommy," he smiled ~ and we left it at that.

* * *

Saying goodbye to my mother tonight as she prepares excitedly for her Canadian cruise reminds me again why I invest long hours into the creation of my own story in this format.

It is not easy for any child to part from a mother; a parent.

One day my children will find themselves parted from me; divided by a sea that none of us can cross.

When that day comes, I feel so gratified to know that thanks to this 365 blog those three kids will still have my voice. Maybe not its actual tonal qualities; but my internal voice, my perspective.

Reminding them of all I have ever Believed. Hoped. Dreamed. Loved.

Shakespeare wrote in Sonnet 18 that:

But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

I'm no Shakespeare but the ideas in this stanza resonate so deeply with me.

As long as my words live on;
As long as my children (and grandchildren!) read my words...
As long as this blog exists, I will be with them.

Through my writing, my children will also get a real sense of their amazing grandparents.

* * *

I love you Mom. I'm wishing you a smooth journey this time, and a magnificent adventure!