I’m feeling low today, and it’s hard to shake. I have a stash of tools I use on days like this, like getting out of the house and stopping for a coffee, but today, I feel heavy.
Yesterday marked 6 years since my mother died, at age 51, from cancer. The anniversary of my mother’s death is not sadder than any other day since she’s been gone. No. But I focus more on her, and both hurt and joy comes with that.
Today, my heart is crying. It’s the silent aftermath of grief revisited…yet yesterday was a very happy one; joyful and not sad. I met with all my sisters, and we spent the day together, reminiscing, laughing, eating and shopping. Mum would love that…that we made an effort to be together.
As I sat at my mother’s grave, I took a moment to recall, just one memory.
I was in my late teens and Mum and Dad spontaneously decided to go to attend the Caboolture Show. My other three sisters did their own thing that day so it was just Mum, Dad and I.
Nothing extra ordinary happened but it stuck in my mind; there was a lovely togetherness. We walked around the stalls, drank tea in the tea room, ate an amazing German sausage hot dog and talked about plants. I remember it all so clearly, because of how it made me feel. For years after the show, Mum and I talked about the day because it was so special.
As I sit and write this, I can feel what I felt then: a sense of belonging that kept me in good stead as I continued to mature into womanhood.
This encouraged me. This is what we do as parents. We nurture, we encourage, and we give memory anchors for our children to draw on for the rest of their life. There’s comfort in that thought.