Archive for April, 2013

Time is a thief in the night for while we sleep, the clock ticks and our bodies age, memories like postcards of all the places and people filed away in our dreams.  She looked at me the other evening…her hazel eyes watering and as she looked up from her glass she wondered out loud what would happen if she died too soon?  She would never get to celebrate all of my achievements, my joys.  She concluded that she just must not die just yet, and I assured her that I was pretty positive her spirit would follow me long after her physical being was gone.  Time is a thief in the night and try as hard as we do, there is no barring the door, no slowing of the clock, no remnants of youth to hold onto for long.  The passage of time does, however, prepare us for the evolutionary stages of our lives. Where once she ran back and forth to dressings rooms for me, I now do the same for her and every other “mother” who peeks cautiously out of the door, asking if this color is right, is it too long or tight……it makes me happy when they smile and off I go into the maze of designers to find the right piece which will make them smile as well and feel beautiful. I order lunch for us both as she can’t hear well above the diners, and guide her through the menu as she once did for me.  Like a thief in the night, time plucks ever so tiny pieces from us until one day, we look in the mirror and realize we have been robbed.  Perhaps time understands far more we do; like the Carrousel we watched this afternoon.  Around and around we dance on painted horses moving in perfect rhythm to the sound of the music. We laugh and wave, smiling at the brightly colored lights until, ever so softly, the carrousel slows to a stop and it is time for us to leave.  I file away the moments as I know she does now, trying to hold tight to the very essence of love before she is not there to remind me, and give me cause to laugh.  I love you Mum.


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The silence surprised me when he left; it echoed in the rooms and but for an occasional bird singing praise for early spring weather, I felt somewhat empty.  How quickly we settle into forgotten routines, bantering after dinner, arguing over which channel to watch…joking about how much of our news comes from social media.  The Easter basket’s empty, the tulips he left slowly lean towards the light and their lavender heads reveal blossoms that slowly emerge as the sun crosses the sky. There’s leftover salmon in the fridge to eat, he’s turned into a far better cook than I and yet my appetite is for the sound of his voice, his earnest look as he discussed the state of the world with me, the gentleness and kindness he has with me now…my boy turned man.  Oh, how I wish childhood lasted longer, or perhaps the best of childhood I remember.  I am like the tree who has given her branches, her fruit, and desires nothing more than to give to the boy who once climbed on her lap, who listened to her stories, shade and comfort and love.  The bond that spans the miles is stronger than any superhero could imagine.  It exists in the tightly woven story of our lives sewn with tears and laughter…puppies and campfires.  When I look at him, I see me and I wonder at the marvel of it all; how we continue to live on through the eyes of the ones we carried so carefully.  I know its time for me to come to grips with it all, this singleness I never imagined I would experience again but I can’t help but look back over my shoulder for in its memory, it still brings me joy. 

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