A fellow blogger and just lovely lady, George, shared some incredible photographs yesterday on her blog, I urge you to check them out here. And as a result of that post, we got into a conversation, of which I would like to share a small portion of that conversation now.
I had told George that I have barely looked at a photograph of my mother since she crossed over, 9 years ago this past Easter. She encouraged me to get out some pictures and look at them, but this was my response:
… she was my best friend. If I am at all wise, or creative, or kind, or spiritual, it’s because of her. And I know exactly what she would say to this comment… if I want to see her, I only need look into my own eyes, and my own heart. And she would be right. She left her body 9 years ago, and moved onto bigger and better things. She was never that body, it just housed her for a time (way too short a time). But it was never who she really was, and looking at a picture of it, will not bring us any closer. I hope you understand what I am saying… I think I might actually be channelling it directly from her, as it seems far to wise to have come from me
I lost my grandfather when I was 20 years old. Pop and I had one of those special bonds… you know the ones. They don’t require words. There is just this “knowing” between you. Mum taught me a great deal about life and death when my Pop passed. She taught me that if I ever wanted to spend time with my grandfather, to look no further than my own heart. She taught me that there was no need to visit a cemetery because I wouldn’t find Pop there. She said that Pop would never be truly gone as long as we were around to remember him… to honour him… to live our lives in a manner that would make him proud.
Mum knew she was dying. For 4 years she bravely, and heroically battled MND (ALS). We had plenty of time to say goodbye, and yet we never really did. Mum promised to visit… and I have no doubt she does on occasion. Her influence is still SO strong in my life. Everyday I hope to be the parent that she was…. the person that she wanted me to be.
And for those who don’t already know… I am adopted. All the wonderful traits that my mother passed on to me, she did so through example and through love, not genetics. She was not perfect. As I am not perfect. She never got to see my art develop as it has… but she always saw me as an artist. She knew right from the beginning, what took me decades to realise.
As we come up to Mother’s Day, and what would have been her 79th birthday, I can take comfort in the knowledge that out there in the great beyond somewhere, she looks down on me occasionally, and I hope when she does, she smiles. Just as I smile when I think of her…
NB// as a side note… my mother’s favourite bird was the Fairy Wren, and she told me before she died that when she would come and visit me, it would be as a Fairy Wren. I now have a family of half a dozen of them living in my backyard… and it does seem that whenever I am sad or lonely, I see one. Have even had one knock on my windows and doors from time to time… maybe just reminding me that I am not alone…. who knows!