Feed on


It’s my Mama’s birthday today.  Memories keep flooding back, and I probably am entitled to be wistful, just for today.  Happy memories of when she was still around are enough to warm my heart and put a sweet smile to my face, but the thought that she is no longer around for tight hugs, sweet birthday kisses, or simply just being there to listen to me rant about my long day at work and plans for the family is likewise causing a pain in my heart that is enough to bring about a withdrawn stance.  Sometimes, late at night, there is that moment between being fully awake and near sleep…a very still moment when flashes of her last days in the hospital come back very clearly, and I am left with just a sigh to deal with that sadness.  That is the thing about being busy most of the time, you spend hours and hours working, or else relaxing from work but still reading books, watching videos, spending time in tv series “marathons” until you start feeling your brain turn to mush (my current addiction is Once Upon A Time, a tv series about fairy tale characters being cursed by the evil queen, trapped in another world, not remembering who or what they are), that your brain and senses are so full of activities and processes you simply do not have enough for emotions.  And when you get a few moments of stillness, of listening to what your heart really has to say, you just start aching and longing.  My Mama used to call my attention to that busyness thing: she used to say I should not get lost in all the mayhem of professional life, or get caught up in all the noise of the world, and should take time to keep still, be quiet, and listen to whatever there is to hear in those moments.  Yes, without exaggerating, my Mama does speak as though from a motivational book, not owing only to her wisdom and experiences, but also because she was a wide reader and had a very good memory of everything she had read.

To date, I still have not finished reading “The End of Your Life Book Club” (Will Schwalbe, 2012), which I (shamefully) started in January (of this year…I need to emphasize that just to lessen the shame).  I would like to make up excuses for my slow pace…that I have been busy, that I could not find enough time…but I should admit one of the reasons for not being able to finish it yet is that some parts are quite painful, they just take my breath away.  I should have been forewarned, as the story (a biography, btw) revolves around an exclusive “book club” of a dying mother and her son, and how the books they have both read relate to their lives and their situation.  But what can I say, in some respect I am quite a masochist, rubbing salt to wounds by means of books and movies tend to be my thing.  At times while reading I would stop and wonder if it would have made a difference had I known that Mama only had months, or days, to live back then.  Would acceptance have been easier?  Would the pain be less crippling? Would there be no more words left unsaid, deeds left undone?  I will never know.  For now, there is just longing.


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