Thanks, Ma

Val J
From the 1990s: Before The Kid was my roadie, it was just me and my mom.

Today marks the 13th year that my mother died of cancer and I don’t know how I feel.

Usually, I know exactly what’s going through my mind and heart when another year rolls around. Sometimes I feel anger, sometimes grief, sometimes happiness of the memories and sometimes just lost. But this year, I feel challenged, both good and bad.

See, I know she would want me to be doing better and it just occurred to me within the last week or so that I want to do better. I say how creative and smart I am, but I’ve never made myself push the limits on either my creativity or intelligence. Sometimes, it’s fear of not being understood and sometimes it’s plain orneryness. But I realized lately that this life of mine isn’t about anyone else but me. I am the director, actor and audience at all times. Sometimes, I just lose my way.

That’s it… today I feel as if I’ve lost my way. I lost the drive to push boundaries, to be daring, to find new thrills and reignite some old ones. I just stopped caring about a lot of things and in doing so, I’ve allowed a slight numbness to settle on me.

Which brings me back to what today is. My mom, Vivacious Val, enjoyed her life. I remember being a kid and all the things she and her friends would do, telling myself that when I grow up, I’m going to have dinner parties, go on group vacations, throw cool Halloween and New Year’s Eve parties (both where people get dressed up for the occasion). In all my adult years, I’ve done none of these things. My sense of adventure, instilled in me by my mother, is laying dormant.

While I will take my time to grieve my loss today, I will also take time to remember all the things I promised myself I would do when I grew up and start doing them. When it’s my time to go, I want to look back and not have any regrets.

Thank you, Mommy, for giving me flair, for your aliveness, for your talents and for all the times when you told me that I was bigger than what I saw when I couldn’t see it. I love you and I miss you. This life’s for us.

Advertisements

4 Comments

  1. What a beautiful post. Yesterday was the 25th anniversary of my older brother death and I really got to think about all the things we used to do together and I would have love for him to meet my kids and to see me now as an adult. But it’s true what you said we have to live our lifes to the fullest for us and for those who didn’t have the chance to do it for as long as they should.
    Take care!
    G

    1. Thank you for stopping by. I’m sorry to read about your brother, but I can kind of understand where you’re coming from (my brother is still with me). It’s the occasional ‘OMG! She really is gone!’ moments that really get me. I can manage on an ordinary day, but those days… they take a lot of energy to manage.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s