Today I did not see my mother. It’s just as well that I did not see her, since she’s been dead for twenty-four years and nearly eleven months. Twenty-four years and eleven months this coming Wednesday.
Most days I just let her be. She went beyond and lives her own life now. Perhaps it’s the life she expected to live in her earlier dreamy years before motherhood came knocking. Don’t deny it. It’s true. I can see it in her eyes as she faced the camera so many years ago. Black and white truth. With each passing year and added child her facial expression shifts from joyful sexy confidence to grim and constrained bewilderment.
Motherhood was not her strong suit, yet she was force to play it, and little else, besides an occasional game of bridge or tennis, from the time she was startled by pregnancy and shame, until she breathed her last heaving and rasping morphined breath.
I felt her go but didn’t’ recognize what it was I had felt until after Daddy died and then stuck around for a while. She’s long gone, and it’s better this way. Bless her unrestrained soul.
She wore the badge of Motherhood courageously and mostly alone. I hope she found some new friends wherever she went. Goodness knows she earned it.